Lessons in Loving a Laird (13 page)

“Sir,” said the rail-thin man, his white whiskers trembling with dread, “my name is Kincaid. I run the linen draper’s shop in Thornhill. A lass came into my shop—tall, flaxen-haired, very bonnie—and she had the bairn with her. While she was looking at fabric, a couple of men came in and began to talk with her. She didn’t seem to know them, so I came out from behind my counter … just to be ready to send them away in case they began to bother her. Sure enough, they were up to no good, for I saw when they grabbed her by the arm, shoved her into a carriage, and sped off like the de’il was chasing ’em.”

Shona pushed Bannerman to one side, her face pale. “That’s my sister!”

Kincaid swallowed hard. “Oh, miss! Heartless they were, to take a woman and leave the child all alone. I would ne’er have known who he belonged to if it weren’t for her, sir. For as they hauled her away, she shouted yer name.”

“What did they look like?” she asked.

“Och, I could pick ’em out in a dark room! Tall as trees, both of ’em. One old, one young. Wearing the same tartan, green and red. Highlanders, I’ll wager.”

“Which way did they go?” Conall asked.

“North. Up the high street, my lord.”

“Oh, no!” cried Shona, dissolving into sobs. “Willow!”

Conall handed Eric to Mrs. Docherty, and took the distraught Shona into his arms. He had never seen her cry before, not even at her most distraught. “Listen to me, Shona. They can’t be far. We’ll find her. Do not fear.” Despite his assurances, worry lined his forehead.

He held his hand out to the old man. “Mr. Kincaid, thank you for bringing my son home. Bannerman here will give you some refreshment and something for your trouble. One of the stable lads will drive you back to Thornhill.”

He walked Shona to his study, where he poured her a large brandy to calm her nerves.

“Why, Conall? Why would they do this?” She sat on one of the chairs, the glass in her hand untouched.

His gut had told him something was amiss. Now, he knew that his instincts had been correct. But he wished he hadn’t had to confirm it at the expense of Shona’s tears.

He sat down in the adjoining chair. “I had my suspicions those men were after something.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes. “But what would they want with Willow?”

Conall sighed deeply. He didn’t want to speak his fears, because they would only cause more tears to fall down her cheeks.

“Ye don’t think—” Shona stiffened. “Oh, no … do ye think they might try to rape her?” Horror twisted her features.

“Calm yourself, Shona. No, I don’t believe they’re planning to hurt her. But I do believe they plan to bend her to their will. Tell me—do you or Willow possess any wealth?”

Shona wiped her nose. “What do ye mean?”

“A dowry, perhaps, or some hidden treasure?”

“Of course not! If we had, do ye think we would ha’ wound up as wards of the Poor Law?”

“What about land? You once said that your father had been a laird of a small estate. I forgot—what was the name of it?”

“Ravens Craig.”

“That’s right. What became of that when your parents were killed?”

“I dinna know. A
slaighteur
forfeits all holdings. I just assumed that Ravens Craig went to the clan chief, the Buchanan.”

“Hmm. Assumptions can be wrong. Let’s suppose for a moment that the land wasn’t forfeited, that it never went to the Buchanan. That means it would still belong to your father’s successors. Since your brothers were killed, that means that the land would be inherited by the next of kin.”

Shona sniffed. “Which would be us.”

“Yes. Or, more specifically, the elder of you two.”

“Willow.” Shona’s damp eyes widened. “No wonder the McCullough wanted to know which of us was born first!”

Conall’s mouth thinned. “If our surmises are correct, then the McCullough is trying to get Willow to marry into his family. If he succeeds, ownership of all of her property would then transfer to her husband. He is trying to make Brandubh the new owner of Ravens Craig.”

“And I led them right to her. I told them where she was!” Shona squeezed her eyes, stemming a torrent of tears.

Conall pushed back a tendril of black hair that had adhered to Shona’s wet cheek. “Hush, now. There’s no point in self-recrimination. Let’s think rationally … where could they have taken her? A church, perhaps, to solemnize the marriage?”

“This isn’t England, Conall! Any person of worthless character can declare them legally married. A couple can marry without the benefit of banns, a kirk, or even a clergyman. All they would need is two witnesses … and Willow’s consent.”

“They shan’t have it, then. Shall they?”

Shona shook her head. “Willow is fearful and easily dominated. They can tell her any tale and she’d believe it. I have to get to her, Conall. Before it’s too late.”

Bannerman came to the door. “Forgive me, sir. But Her Grace requests a word in private.”

“Not now, Bannerman.”

Bannerman stiffened in uncertainty. “What shall I tell Her Grace?”

“Tell her whatever you damn well please.”

The valet hesitated. “Yes, sir,” he muttered before closing the double doors.

By the time Conall returned his attentions to Shona, she’d already begun to unwind the bandages from her ankle.

“Don’t do that. Your ankle still hasn’t healed.”

She puddled the linens on the chair. “It was never hurt to begin with. I just made believe it was.” Her cheeks pinked. “To keep ye by my side.”

Underneath Conall’s baffled expression, she sprang up from the chair and marched to Conall’s desk. She spun the ornate wooden box around and lifted the lid. And removed her dagger.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to get her back.”

“No, Shona. I can’t allow you to go off in pursuit of Willow. You’ll get yourself hurt.”

“Conall, this doesn’t concern ye any longer. It’s a matter of blood. They took my sister. My beautiful, perfect sister. I don’t care why they did it. I’m going after her. And they will give her back or I will make them wish they had.”

“What will you do? Try to poke them full of holes before they slice your throat? Give me the dagger.”

Shona shoved it behind her. “No! I told ye, I can defend myself. Go on aboot yer wedding. I must find my sister.”

He held out his hand. “Dammit, Shona, I said give me the weapon.”

“Stay clear of me.” This time, the dagger came out in front of her, its point aiming straight at him.

He raised a sardonic brow. “What are you going to do? Kill me?”

“I canna kill ye. I love ye.”

The bemusement fled his face as his hand dropped to his side. “What?”

She bit her lip. “Ye heard me. Now get out of my way.”

A smile inched across his face. “I’ve never known a woman to profess her love at the point of a dagger.”

The emotion knotted up in her throat. “’Tis the love of a
slaighteur,
who must love from afar. And so great it is that I’ll be content to withstand the separation from ye, Conall MacEwan, so long as ye’re happy.”

Conall took a step in her direction. Fresh tears brimmed in her moist eyes. He inclined his head and pressed his mouth to hers.

Her lips trembled slightly at first, but she kissed him earnestly and with abandon, knowing it to be their last. Her arms came around his neck, the blade still clutched in her hand. Conall wound his arms around her waist and pressed her forcefully against him. This is where he wanted her—in his arms, near his heart.

Languidly, he tasted her mouth. Her lips were salty from tears, but her tongue was sweet from the honeyed tea. She was a woman of such contrasts—caution and daring, knowledge and innocence, damage and completeness. Passion and revenge.

He twisted around and backed her against a chair. He sat her down, and knelt in front of her.

He held out his hand. “Let me have the knife.”

She shook her head. “No. I’ll need it to save Willow.”

“Shona, do not disobey me in this.”

“You dinna know these people as I do, Conall. Highlanders are violent, brutal men. They will stop at nothing to get their way.”

He encircled his hand around the blade, and squeezed it closed. If she pulled it away, it would slice his palm wide open.

“Those who live by the sword will die by the sword. I won’t let that happen to you. Let it go.”

Shona’s eyes searched his somber face. Slowly, her grip on the hilt loosened. Her fist opened, releasing her hold on the dagger.

“Do you trust me?”

She nodded.

“Good.”

There was another knock at the door.

Conall grunted in frustration. “What is it?”

The door opened. The duchess herself stood in the doorway, surveying the scene before her eyes. The only movement was the winking of the jet beads that were sewn into the bodice of her burgundy silk dress.

“Your Grace, please allow us a few moments. Shona is much distressed at present.”

A fine eyebrow flew into her alabaster forehead. “Another sprained ankle?”

Conall stood up. “That sort of remark is beneath you, madam.”

“And that sort of girl is beneath you, sir. My God, you are about to be married to the heiress of one of the largest dukedoms in Great Britain. If you must take a mistress, kindly do me the dubious honor of selecting one that wouldn’t be found amid the sweepings of a farmyard.”

Conall took a step in front of Shona, as if to shield her from the duchess’s diatribe. “You go too far, madam! How dare you insult her that way!”

“I am but illuminating you, sir. Anyone can see that the girl is fairly struck with you. And she is unquestionably trying to dissuade you from the honor of marrying my daughter.”

“If Shona
is
struck with me, then that to me is the greatest honor by far.”

“Really, sir! Have a care for your class. Have you so little appreciation for the nobility?”

His blue-fire gaze burned into the duchess’s face. “The only nobility I recognize is the one inherent in a person’s character. And it shines in Shona MacAslan. It is her kind of nobility that I should have sought from the beginning, and not the kind that you so begrudgingly offer.” Conall took Shona by the hand. “I regret to inform you I will not be marrying Lady Violet. Find some other fool to foist that poor girl upon. Then go, exact your vengeance upon me. Do your worst. Because I will not inflict any more grief upon Shona. I desire
this woman
’s happiness above my own. And if marrying me will give her any measure of joy, then I am the luckier for it.”

“Conall,” Shona interrupted, rising behind him, “think what ye’re saying. I know I’ve been selfish in wanting ye for myself. But I canna let any harm come upon Eric.”

“Nor will I. Her Grace will simply have to see for herself which of us shall be the more vehement in protecting his child.”

The duchess looked from Conall to Shona and then back again. “I am not willing to discuss this at present. I came to the study only to request your assistance in locating my daughter. It seems she went for a walk this morning and has not returned. Might I request that your footmen be instructed to search the grounds for her?”

The flame in Conall’s eyes diminished to a slow burn. “No.”

Her eyes flew open. “No?”

“I am organizing a search party for Willow, who has been abducted. The servants will be otherwise engaged. You may search the grounds yourself for your wayward daughter. Feel at liberty to ask Stewart to assist you.”

The duchess’s cheeks caved inward in affronted pride. She turned elegantly on her slippered heel and exited the study.

“Are ye sure ye know what ye’re doing?”

He smiled. “Aye,” he said, affecting his best Scottish accent. “’Tis ye I love, Shona MacAslan. And ’tis ye I want to marry.” Tenderly, he kissed her mouth.

From the hall, a clock struck three. Mrs. Docherty knocked on the open door.

“Pardon me, sir. But yer brother asked me to deliver this letter to ye, and he commanded me not to do so before three o’clock precisely.”

Puzzled, Conall tore open the folded sheet and read. A grin inched across his face. “The crafty devil. That’s my brother for you. The only sweets he’ll have are stolen ones. Mrs. Docherty, please inform Her Grace the Duchess of Basinghall that a search of the grounds for her daughter is no longer necessary. The Lady Violet has eloped with my brother.”

Mrs. Docherty’s face turned a paler shade. “Oh, sir. The duchess will be scandalized!”

“I know. I’m only sorry I won’t be around to see it. But I’ll have my own hands full trying to stop one marriage—” He took Shona by the hand. “And plan another.”

TWENTY-ONE

Shona leaped out of the carriage when it finally came to a stop outside Ballencrieff House.

“Conall! Are ye all right?” She climbed up to the perch.

In the driver’s seat, Conall was clutching his side, grimacing in pain. Fresh blood still rolled past the dried blood above his left eye, and a purpling blotch discolored his cheek.

“Willow, go get help from inside. He’s too hurt to climb doon himself.”

Bannerman ran out of the house toward the driveway, together with two footmen recently returned from the search party. They lifted him from the perch and carried him up to his bedroom. Shona followed them up the stairs, her worried thoughts flapping about like a bat in her hair.

Conall was lowered onto his bed, and the valet began to remove Conall’s boots. “Miss, you really ought not to be here,” said Bannerman.

“Then try and make me go,” she replied, her eyes never leaving Conall’s pained face.

“Miss, I really must protest. I’m about to disrobe the master. He will be indecent—”

“It’s all right, Bannerman,” Conall managed. “I’m going to need some help, and Shona isn’t squeamish or prudish about matters of the body.” He shifted on the bed. “Besides, I know what the sight of blood does to you. The last thing I need right now is for you to faint dead away on top of me.”

“Very well, sir,” he conceded, but his relief was evident in the grateful look he tossed at Shona.

“You can serve me best by getting me my medical valise in the study. And bring me the tray of brandy.”