Trade Winds (Choc Lit) (43 page)

‘You may be sure it is,’ came a voice from behind him, and Killian turned around to find Fergusson standing by the door, with Jess in front of him, held in a vice-like grip. At her throat glinted the steel of a knife blade and Killian could see Fergusson’s black eyes glittering almost as dangerously. He sucked in a sharp breath as the blood in his veins turned to pure ice.

‘How the hell …?’ he hissed, but he knew the answer already. Fergusson must have been waiting outside the house and crept in behind them, catching them unawares just when they thought they were safe. He swore inwardly at his own stupidity in not thinking of this and swallowed down the bile of pure terror that rose in his throat. Taking a deep breath, he tried to think of a way to salvage the situation.

‘Fergusson, there’s no need for this,’ he said, trying to keep his voice steady. ‘I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.’

‘I’m not interested in discussing anything with you, you snake,’ Fergusson snarled. ‘Go behind my back to take away what was mine, would you? You’re beyond despicable, Kinross. Now give me the will or your little wife dies.’ Pulling Jess with him, he moved sideways, away from the door and towards the tiled stove so that his back wasn’t exposed to attack.

‘The company wasn’t yours in the first place,’ Killian said. ‘It belonged to Jessamijn and you know it.’

‘She’s just a girl. What does she know? Nothing, I tell you. She had no business learning anything about trade. I worked hard to earn my place there. Put up with her father’s patronising partnership offer – ten percent, I ask you? Is that any way to reward a man who’s worked for you for years? That company was my due and I
will
have it.’ Fergusson’s face turned red, and Jess uttered a terrified squeak as he tightened his grip on her.

‘Well, perhaps if you hadn’t been quite so greedy, no one would have suspected anything,’ Killian replied, keeping a tight rein on his temper. ‘If you’d paid out Jessamijn’s dowry in the first place, she wouldn’t have gone looking for answers.’

‘Stupid little bitch. You should’ve just done as you were told.’ He pushed the knife closer to her skin, making her whimper. ‘This is all your fault.’ Killian had been inching closer and Fergusson barked, ‘Stay where you are or she’s finished. I mean it.’ Jess stayed silent, but Killian could see the terror in her eyes. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing Jess, when he’d finally thought them safe. She and Brice were the most precious things in the world to him and even to contemplate life without them made cold sweat trickle down his back.

‘Come man, be reasonable. Think of your own wife and child,’ he whispered hoarsely, swallowing down the panic that was making it hard to come up with a plan of action.
Think, man, think!

Fergusson snorted. ‘My wife isn’t interested in anything other than Ramsay. She hardly notices me any more. Hah! You can look after her now, play the dutiful son-in-law,’ he sneered.

‘Your son needs you. Surely you can’t just abandon him?’ Killian tried his best to sound persuasive, but Fergusson was too agitated to listen to reason.

‘I’ll come back for him when he’s grown up a bit. Serve Katrijna right for monopolising the boy. For the last time, Kinross, give me the will.’

Killian held up his hands as if in surrender. ‘Fine, but I’m going to have to come closer to you. It’s hidden near the stove. Don’t do anything hasty now.’ He walked slowly towards Fergusson, who backed further into the corner.

‘Keep your hands where I can see them.’

‘I am. Look, I have to kneel now. There’s a loose floorboard here and the will is underneath.’

‘I checked all the loose boards already. You lie!’ Fergusson shouted.

‘No, you probably didn’t put your hand in far enough. Hold on, let me show you.’ Killian got down on all fours and crawled closer to where Fergusson was standing. Pushing the corner of a floorboard, it came loose easily and he pulled it out, sticking his left hand into the hole. ‘It’s in here somewhere, just a moment.’

He pretended to search around under the joists and saw out of the corner of his eye that Fergusson had moved slightly towards him, craning his neck to see what Killian was doing. Killian grunted with imaginary effort and surreptitiously gripped the loose floorboard with his right hand. Before Fergusson had time to step out of the way, Killian suddenly swung round and caught the man a heavy blow on the back of the knees with the piece of wood. Fergusson howled with pain and let go of Jess momentarily.

Killian shot to his feet and pushed her out of the way, then rammed into Fergusson’s chest. The two of them crashed to the floor, with Killian on top. He raised his hand to strike his former employer, but suddenly noticed the man wasn’t fighting back.

‘It’s a’right, he’s oot cold.’ Adair came rushing over and pulled Killian up with one hand, while still holding onto Brice with the other. ‘Hit his heid on the tile stove.’

‘Thank the Lord for that.’ Killian bent over to rest his hands on his knees in an effort to steady his legs. ‘Watch him for a moment, please, will you? I’m going to tie him up and let Milner deal with him. Then I’ll need to find an apothecary for Mrs Ljung.’

‘Scum,’ Adair muttered and went to stand guard over Fergusson, who showed no signs of stirring.

Killian took a deep breath and went over to Jess, pulling her into a fierce embrace. ‘Are you all right, my love? Did he hurt you much?’

She was still pale as new snow and trembling almost as much as he was. She clung to him, but managed to shake her head. ‘I’m … f-fine. Oh, Killian, that was …’

‘Shh, I know. Too close. But it’s over and we’re safe. No one else is going to hurt you, I swear.’ He kissed her hard on the lips, revelling in the taste of her, the feel of her in his arms. He promised himself he
would
keep her safe from now on, if it was the last thing he did. ‘Perhaps now we can have some peace and quiet for a while,’ he said. ‘I don’t know about you, but a few weeks without adventures of any kind would suit me just fine.’

Jess kissed him back just as fiercely. ‘Amen to that.’

Epilogue

Rosyth House, Scotland

Lord Rosyth was in his private sitting room, resting on a day bed and sunk in gloom. Not even visits from his great-granddaughters could cheer him up these days and he felt as if he might as well just close his eyes and go to sleep for good. He’d lived too long as it was and there was nothing left to look forward to.

How had it all gone so wrong?

He sighed and closed his eyes, willing death to come and claim him, but his body had other ideas and his heart wasn’t ready to stop beating yet. He was simply too healthy.

‘Damn it all,’ he muttered, and got up to poke at the fire with one of the irons, watching a shower of sparks fly up the chimney. He gave the nearest log another vicious jab, but it didn’t soothe his frustration one bit.

A knock on the door made him turn around, and he frowned at the servant who entered at his call. ‘Yes, what is it, McKay?’

‘A visitor for you, my lord. Shall I show him up here or would you prefer to come down to the salon?’

‘I’m not receiving anyone today, I told you earlier,’ he replied testily. He couldn’t understand why his neighbours persisted in trying to jolly him out of his bad moods. They should have given up a long time ago. Couldn’t they see he just wanted to be left alone?

‘This particular visitor is different, my lord,’ McKay persisted. ‘You’ll be sorry if you send him away.’

Lord Rosyth stared at the servant, surprised by his impertinence. ‘Well, really!’ he exclaimed. ‘Who is it then?’

‘You’ll see,’ McKay said with a smug grin that annoyed him even more. The man had been with him for a long time, but never had he acted in such an infuriating manner. What was the world coming to?

‘Make him come up here,’ he shouted after the fellow, who was now heading for the door without even waiting for an answer. ‘I’m not going downstairs before suppertime. And tell him not to stay too long, it tires me.’

‘Very good, my lord.’

Lord Rosyth scowled after him. He’d have to replace McKay, the man was obviously getting above himself. People seemed to think that because he was old, he didn’t have his wits about him. Well, they were wrong.

A moment later, however, he began to wonder if perhaps his wits had deserted him after all and he was seeing things. His eldest grandson came into the room and bowed to him, rather curtly. The grandson he hadn’t set eyes on in over two years and who hadn’t replied to a single one of his letters in all that time.
Damn his impudence!

‘Where the devil have you been?’ Lord Rosyth snarled by way of a greeting. ‘And what have you done with your cousin?’

‘Hello, Grandfather. A pleasure to see you as always,’ Killian replied.

‘Don’t give me any of your cheek, boy. Not a word have I had from either of you in years. Years! Surely you didn’t expect me to welcome you with open arms?’

Killian shook his head and smiled somewhat ruefully. ‘No, that was the last thing I expected. A leopard doesn’t change his spots, as they say.’

‘Well, good, because you’re not getting so much as a farthing, either of you. Good-for-nothing scoundrels, leaving an old man to shoulder all the burdens on my own. I should have you horsewhipped for negligence, the pair of you.’

Killian calmly crossed his arms over his chest, a stance that exuded strength and confidence. ‘You can always try.’

‘Enough of this insolence! Just tell me what you’ve done with Farquhar and then you can go. At least now I know you’re alive so obviously your avoidance of me was deliberate. Nothing more than I expected, but still …’

‘And what makes you think I’ve done anything with him? He didn’t go with me to Sweden.’

‘Well, I …’ he had no logical answer to that question, just a gut feeling that Farquhar’s disappearance had something to do with Killian. ‘The two of you were always getting into scrapes together,’ he blustered. ‘Stands to reason you’d know where he is. You were always the leader.’

‘Not so. Just because I took the blame for most of our misdeeds doesn’t mean I instigated them. But be that as it may …’ Lord Rosyth saw Killian take a deep breath and look away, before turning his gaze back to his grandfather. An expression of sadness and regret passed like a shadow over his features, then he said quietly, ‘I’m sorry, but Farquhar is dead.’

‘What? How?’ He felt his head reeling. He had been afraid both his grandsons had perished, but now that he’d seen Killian, he had been lulled into false hope. ‘What did you do?’

Killian’s mouth tightened. ‘Nothing, Grandfather. I didn’t
do
anything, but I doubt you’ll believe me, so perhaps it’s best if we just leave it at that.’

‘How did he die then?’ He felt wrongfooted somehow, but that only made him more cross. ‘If it wasn’t you, what happened?’

‘Farquhar died at sea, from dysentery I believe, on board the ship
Hertogh van Lorreynen
. You can verify that by writing to Captain John Ley of the Ostend Company.’ Killian pulled out a sheet of paper from his pocket and put it on the nearest table. ‘Here is his direction.’

Lord Rosyth blinked, still in shock at this news. ‘I heard a rumour he’d gone to China, but I couldn’t credit it. What in blazes was he doing on board an Ostend ship?’

‘Following me.’

‘Why would he do such a thing? I don’t understand …’ he trailed off. There were too many questions swirling around inside his head and he didn’t know which one to voice first.

‘No, that was always the problem.’ Killian walked over to the window and stared out into the garden. ‘You never noticed what was right before your eyes. It was easier to let Farquhar play his little games unchecked, wasn’t it, than to deal with him once and for all. The sad thing is he would have been welcome to the estate because I want no part of it. You can give it to whoever you wish.’

The words were said with quiet determination, quite unlike the vehemence and acrimony with which their last conversation had been conducted. Lord Rosyth suddenly understood that he was no longer dealing with a petulant youth, but a man. One who knew his own mind and who couldn’t be manipulated or coerced in any way.

Before he had time to think about this further, however, Killian turned and headed for the door. ‘I will leave you now. No doubt you’ll want to grieve in peace.’

‘Grieving be damned! I want the full story and none of this mawkish rubbish. Playing games indeed. You’re the one who was always doing that.’

Killian stopped and turned around, but he was scowling now and fixed his grandfather with stormy blue eyes. ‘Me? I was never anything but honest in my dealings with you.’

‘Hah! Running away to Edinburgh to force my hand – you don’t consider that manipulation? Well, I called your bluff. Bet you were surprised when I didn’t go after you and offer to have you back.’

‘Not at all. I never expected that.’ Killian walked over to the fireplace. ‘May I?’ he said and gestured to one of the two large wing chairs that flanked the hearth. ‘If we have to have this tedious conversation, I may as well sit down.’

‘By all means.’ Lord Rosyth lowered himself into the other chair, feeling every one of his years weigh heavily on him all of a sudden. ‘Now start from the beginning, damn it. What was it you think I never saw?’