Rogue of the Highlands: Rogue, Book 1 (15 page)

As she scampered up the steps, keeping her head low, he pulled the arrow from the nearby tree where it had lodged. He looked at the cockfeather and then the other two. They were the same color as all the other fletchings had been and the arrow was beech, as were the practice ones.

Had the arrow accidentally gone amiss? The ladies who were practicing didn’t know what they were doing, so it was possible. The distance was nigh a hundred paces, a short bowshot. But somehow, he thought the shot had been deliberate.

But whom had the shooter been aiming at? Himself or Jillian? Who would want to harm Jillian though? He knew Wesley disliked him, but murder?

Was it another warning?

Chapter Nine

Mari’s eyes were big and round as she curled up on the loveseat in the solar the next afternoon. “You think someone deliberately shot at Lord Cantford?”

Jillian picked up a warm scone and bit into it before she answered. The question had worried her all day. “I don’t want to think so, but after what happened with his saddle girth, I’m beginning to wonder.”

“Would someone have known it was Lord Cantford’s horse?” Mari asked. “The sorrel color is quite common. It could have been a street urchin who wanted to make mischief or a villain who is jealous of the
ton
.”

“True enough,” Jillian agreed, “however, the horse was on private property behind the club.”

“But tied to a hitching post and not in the stable,” Mari said.

“If it wasn’t a vagabond, and the arrow was deliberately shot, that means it is one of our young men who is acting quite the coward.”

Mari reached for her tea. “Well, my friend Madeline says Lord Cantford is all the crack with the debutantes. That would certainly make some of their beaus quite jealous, especially with him being an outsider.”

Jillian smiled. “He calls us that.
Sassenach
is the word he uses.”

She thought of what Mari had said. There was no doubt that the younger women were intrigued by him. His long hair and dark good looks gave him a quality the English dandies didn’t have. And his polite aloofness only added a challenge to girls like Violetta, who were used to getting their own way. Strangely, a part of her was secretly a bit smug that he didn’t act aloof with her, but then he had a way of driving her completely mad by playing with propriety.

“Well,” she said brightly, trying not to remember how much propriety was breached when his hard body had covered hers on the ground yesterday, “we are a civilized society. I’m going to assume that the arrow was a wild shot. The ladies were practicing and none of them were very good.” When Mari didn’t answer her, she frowned slightly. “What is it?”

“I don’t want to alarm you, Jillie, but Maddie said her sister remarked that some of the girls were being catty about the reason Lord Cantford isn’t courting one of them.”

“Oh? And what did Madeline tell you?”

Mari’s face suddenly turned quite pink. “They said… that maybe you…that is…well, you are a widow…” Her face went several shades darker. “I told her it was quite uncharitable of them to say such things.”

Jillian hoped her own face wasn’t a reflection of her sister’s. Some widows may miss their husbands’ ministrations, but what had passed between her and Rufus in bed still gave her cause to shudder in alarm and she wanted no repeat of that humiliation.

“You know I would do no such thing as that.” She couldn’t deny she had enjoyed the very thorough kiss Ian had given her. But that’s as far as it would go. She was all too aware of how a man turned into a beast when he was not satisfied.

“Still,” Mari said, her face troubled, “would one of the women be mean enough to try and shoot at
you
?”

Jillian nearly dropped the tea cup she had just picked up. “Nonsense. I’m no threat to those young girls. Lord Cantford knows quite well he is expected to choose a wife from among them.”

As bothersome as that thought sometimes was, now another niggled at her mind. Lady Sherrington had been quite sharp in her speech concerning Wesley. The woman was a practiced archer, even if she acted every bit as helpless as the girls had. She was also known to have a temper.

Could the arrow have been meant for Jillian, after all?

After the experience with the arrow, Jillian decided that perhaps taking a short break from Society and showing Ian his country estate might be a good thing to do. Wesley had not yet seen Newburn either, and as painful as it was going to be for her to visit the property, it was something that needed to be done.

They proceeded to Newburn first and, drawing up to the gate, Wesley suggested that Cantford go ride on to his own estate. Jillian gently chided him.

“The properties connect, my lords. It is advisable for you to learn the lay of the land together so there will be no boundary disputes.” After his insane suggestion that they marry, she had no wish to be alone with him.

Wesley just grunted, but Ian agreed with her. “I will have business in Scotland and I want no problems for my seneschal.”

Jillian leaned out the window as the carriage rolled up the graveled driveway to the main house, wondering if this was going to be the last time she would see the place.

She much preferred the large, three-story house with its warm red bricks and the simple rectangular windows trimmed in white to the townhouse, although there were some bitter memories here as well. Steps led up to a covered entryway supported by twin columns and a huge double black-walnut door. The only bit of relief from the smooth balance and proportion of the lines came from an arched Palladian window situated on the second level directly above the entrance.

The butler, Mr. Adams, greeted them at the door. If he were surprised to find new strange men on the doorstep, he did not show it, although he slid a furtive glance at Jillian when Wesley announced himself to be the new master of the household.

“Please show Lord Newburn to the master’s chambers,” Jillian said, “and give Lord Cantford a room as well.”

“Very well, madam,” Adams said and led the men off.

When they were gone, Jillian turned to Darcy. “Unpack my riding habit, please. I wish to visit the horses.”

“Yes, mum,” the maid answered and instructed the footman to follow with Jillian’s trunk.

Jillian looked around the foyer, noting the mahogany Chippendale table with its curved, cabriole legs and the mirror with a minimum of gilded finish above it. Across from that wall hung a large painting of the white Andalusian stallion that had sired so many of the present stock. Jillian allowed herself a smile, remembering how Rufus had hated the painting, but she had pointed out that if he wanted to make a profit from breeding the mares, a reminder for guests was in good order. It was one time she had won an argument. She moved toward the curved stairs that led to second story. It was going to feel so good to ride again.

Darcy had laid out the special habit she’d had made with a split skirt that allowed her to ride astride. Quickly, she slipped into it, tucking the fine lawn of her blouse into the waistband and donning a short bolero jacket that’s only trim was a bit of dark green velvet about the collar.

As she hurried down the stairs, she heard Wesley demanding to be shown where the ledgers were kept. She could almost hear Adams sniffing in distain at Wesley’s arrogance, and she grinned. The butler had on more than one occasion put Rufus in his place, albeit so smoothly that her contemptible husband had actually thought he was being complimented. Mr. Adams could hold his own, so Jillian ducked behind the stairwell and took the back door across the yard to the stables.

The groom had just finished saddling her mare when Ian appeared in the doorway. He too had changed into soft doeskin breeches that hugged his muscular thighs and wore only a linen shirt with a plaid sash across his chest, held in place by the belt that carried his sporran. As form-fitting as his breeches were, she wondered how well they molded what lay beneath the sporran. Jillian quickly averted her eyes, hoping the tell-tale blush wasn’t showing on her face. Thank the Lord the stable light was dim.

“I thought ye might be here,” he said as he walked inside. “’Tis a grand day for a ride. Do ye mind if I join ye?”

She really shouldn’t allow herself to be alone with him. Thoughts of how his lips had felt on hers, how he had tasted, filled her mind far too much of the time. But the Andalusians were fantastic saddle horses with a springy, smooth trot and a rocking-chair canter. He needed to experience them before Wesley sent him away.

“If you like,” she said. “I’ll have another of the mares saddled.”

Ian moved past her to the back entrance of the stable that opened into an enclosed paddock and rested his arms on the gate that separated it from the interior. “Do ye mind if I ride that colt over there?” he asked as he pointed to a dappled grey horse that had been frolicking at the far side, kicking up its heels.

She walked over to join him. “That’s Nero. You’ve got a good eye. He’ll be a great stud once he’s fully broken.”

A corner of Ian’s sensual mouth lifted. “Is
stud
a proper word for ye to use?”

She thrust her chin out, refusing to rise to the bait in his voice. “Perhaps not in parlor society, my lord, but it is a perfectly correct term to use when describing breeding stock.”

“Oh, aye.” Ian’s smile widened. “Have ye witnessed the deed?”

Her chin rose another notch. “Our master of horse took care of those actual arrangements. I oversaw the fees and such things.”

“Och, lass. Ye owe it to yourself to see the deed done. ’Tis not much that is more powerful than a stallion when he senses…” He stopped and tilted his head as he looked down at her and lowered his voice. “’Tis much the same as when a mon and a woman come together in the heat of passion.”

Her cheeks grew warm. She
had
seen the deed done once. The image of the huge stallion screaming and then mounting the mare, his…his
thing
nearly two feet long, had remained imbedded in her head for weeks. How he had bitten the mare’s shoulder even as his large, strong haunches had moved… Unbidden, she thought of Ian looming over her, pressing her down, his mouth on her neck as he thrust into her… Heat seared through her, causing her breasts to tingle and a throbbing to start at her core.

Ian watched her through hooded eyes and suddenly she felt as if he knew her very thoughts. Her cheeks flamed. The man really was an incorrigible rogue.

“I believe we should change the subject, my lord.”

His grin widened, but he acquiesced. “As ye wish. Did yer husband actually allow ye to take care of the business?”

Jillian wasn’t sure if she was relieved or piqued at his change of direction. What in the world was wrong with her? Never in her entire life had she had these strange feelings of wanting…wanting something physical from a man, although she wasn’t really sure what it was. Her nipples felt raw against the soft material of her shirt and she was glad for the broadcloth jacket that hid their tight peaks.

“Rufus cared nothing for the horses,” she said, not adding that he was deathly afraid of any but the most docile of the animals. “The horses were his father’s love, however, and when he inherited the title, it came with the entailment that enough stock would remain to continue the breeding program.”

“And ye love them too, do ye nae?”

She hesitated a moment and stroked the velvety nose of one of the fillies that had come up to gate to nuzzle for an apple. How could she explain how much she would miss them? They understood her better than most people did. She choked back a sob that threatened to emerge.

“I love them almost as much as I do Mari,” she said softly and then motioned for the groom who had been standing a discreet distance away. “Saddle Nero for his lordship, will you please?” She forced a smile as she looked up at Ian. “I hope you can handle a skittish horse.”

He reached toward her and stroked her cheek lightly with the backs of his fingers. “It only takes a slow hand to ease the fear, my lady.”

Jillian wasn’t quite sure if he meant her or the horse. A part of her wanted to stand very still and let him continue to caress her, but he’d already dropped his hand. Embarrassed, she quickly moved to her own mount.

“We’ll ride to the boundaries of your land,” she said when he brought the big colt under control as it pranced alongside her.

He nodded and they set off at an easy gait, Jillian enjoying the pleasure of riding astride again. The late afternoon sun slanted its rays across the lush green of gently rolling hills and cast a pale sheen to the chalky downlands in the distance.

“Over there—” she pointed toward the south where a liquid blue ribbon wound its way through rich farmland, “—lies the Kennet River. It’s actually part of a canal that can be followed all the way from London to the Bristol Channel.”

Ian looked suitably impressed. “’Tis somewhat similar to the lochs that connect our Firth of Lorn to Moray then.”

“The important thing is that the river runs along the far border of your land,” Jillian answered, “which make it very valuable.”

“Aye. I suppose it would,” Ian answered as he shaded his eyes with his hand to look it over.

“Do you remember what I told you about needing to have your neighbors support?” Jillian asked.

He grinned. “And I asked if they would rise up against me if I did not?”