Highland Heiress (17 page)

Charlie scratched one of the fleabites on his arm. “If
he comes at all. It's been too long, I tells ya. He ain't comin' a'tall. We been cheated. We done what he said, put our necks in the noose and all for naught.”

Red glared at him over his shoulder. “Shut yer gob.”

Charlie's dog rose, growling.

With a triumphant grunt, Red raised himself on his elbows, then scrambled up on his hands and knees. “Here he comes! I told you he'd come!”

Red moved back from the opening and sat on his haunches, satisfaction on his face. “I told you!”

“Is he by himself?”

“Aye.” Red rose, standing as straight as he could beneath the overhang.

“What if he ain't? I say let him come up here, not us go down where we'll be seen.”

Red hesitated for the briefest of moments before shaking his head. “He won't be able to make it up the slope,” he said as he went to the entrance and started to climb out.

“Stupid git,” Charlie muttered. “Go on, Dan,” he ordered his dog, who leaped eagerly out of the cave.

Charlie followed more slowly, his gaze sweeping over the slope, the bushes, the rocky riverbank and the scattered, stunted trees.

Below him Red lumbered down the slope like a bear, heading toward the well-dressed fellow waiting near a spruce that likely wouldn't last another winter. The man appeared to be alone, but there could be other men hidden nearby, with guns and ropes to bind them. Then it would be prison and the hangman's noose.

Maybe he should cut and run right now. Let Red be caught and imprisoned.

But what if the man was alone and intending to pay? He had less than a shilling in his pocket, and no food at all.

Hungry, uncertain, wishing he'd stayed in Glasgow, Charlie watched as Red approached the nobleman. He saw his confederate's shoulders relax, and then the nobleman brought out a purse.

He'd brought the payment after all.

Whistling for Dan, wanting to keep his dog beside him because it could still be a trap, Charlie hurried down the slope.

But when he got there, the earl was still holding tight to the money, his voice raised in anger.

“All you were supposed to do was frighten my daughter and burn down the building,” the old man snarled. “You weren't supposed to hurt anyone. I wanted to prevent violence, not cause it!”

“It wasn't our fault that fella came along when he did,” Red protested. “And what else should we have done? Let him walk away? Told 'im you were payin' for the job?”

“If it was already alight, you should have fled.”

“It wasn't yet, and he'd seen us. And we ain't been paid. We weren't going anywhere without our money, so it's your fault we had to kill 'em. If you paid us before like I asked—”

“I never pay in full for a job until it's completed to my satisfaction,” the earl retorted. “And you
didn't
kill
him, you oaf. He's alive and in my house at this very moment.”

Charlie and Red both stared at him. “Wha'?” Red muttered. “He ain't dead? But I stabbed him.”

“Not deeply enough, apparently, and he can identify you, so I suggest you take this money and go far away— America would probably be best. Nobody cares who goes there,” the earl growled as he finally shoved the leather purse into Red's hand.

Scowling, Red weighed the pouch in his hand. “There ain't enough here for both of us to sail for America. And you kept us here when we could ha' been well away. More risk for us, more it'll cost ya—another fifty pound or so.”

“Are you daft?” the earl demanded.

“No, my lord. We're willin' to go far away if you're willin' to pay. O' course, if you're not, we could always ask your pretty daughter for more. Don't you think she'd pay us, Charlie, rather than have everybody in Dunbrachie know what her father done?”

Blanching, the earl drew a pistol from his greatcoat. “I could shoot you down like rabid dogs and all I'd have to say is that you tried to rob me.”

Charlie glanced at his dog, sitting obediently at his side. All
he
had to do was whisper a word and Dan would attack, as ferocious as a lion.

“If you attempt to talk to my daughter—if she so much as sees you from a distance—you'll be sorry. If you're caught, you'll hang. And if you try to involve me,
there's not a soul in Scotland who'll believe your word over mine. After all, why would I want to destroy my own daughter's school?”

“Maybe your daughter isn't as stupid as you think,” Red replied. “Might be she'll believe us. After all, why else would we come to this godforsaken place? Not for the sport of it, that's for sure. And she's heard of the Three Feathers in Glasgow, ain't she? If we say that's where we met you, she'll believe it, won't she? Ain't she had to send servants to drag you out o' there often enough?”

Charlie kept his eyes on the earl. He'd worked with mute beasts long enough to recognize a silent human reaction, and the man hesitated a moment too long before saying, “You can make all the accusations you like. My daughter will never believe you.”

Whatever he said, the earl had doubts about his daughter's trust in him.

They had him. They had him good. “I'm thinkin' we ought to get more than fifty,” Charlie said. “After all, we'll hang if we're caught, whether we got a hundred pounds or twenty. Might as well get a hundred. We can go back to that empty barn at the edge of your grounds, my lord. That's convenient for ya, ain't it?”

“I don't have a hundred pounds in ready money!” the earl protested.

“But you can get it,” Charlie amiably replied. “And you'd better, or your daughter'll be finding out just what kind o' man her pa is.”

“How?” he charged, panic in his voice. “You wouldn't dare show your face in Dunbrachie!”

“Your house ain't in Dunbrachie, and there ain't a lock in Scotland Charlie here can't pick,” Red noted with a smirk. “If we want to pay a little visit during the night, we can. And, by God, we will.”

E
mbarrassed but determined, Moira clutched her reticule as she declined the offer of a chair after she entered Mr. Stamford's parlor. The room wasn't large but had many cunningly contrived shelves and cupboards, and the pine boards of the floor had been very well laid. The mantel was strong and yet lovely to look at, like the Dutch tiles around it. The expert construction and finishing of his home had been one reason she'd hired him to build her school. The furnishings were plain and likewise well made, reminding her of their home in Glasgow.

Taking a deep breath, Moira got right to the point. “I'm very sorry, Mr. Stamford, but my father has declined to pay for the rebuilding of the school. That will have to wait until I can raise the funds myself.” She reached into her reticule and pulled out a cheque for nearly the whole amount of her remaining pin money,
except for enough to get her to Glasgow, where she could stay with friends. On the other side of country from Edinburgh. “In the meantime, this should be sufficient to cover your costs thus far.”

Mr. Stamford took the cheque with surprising delicacy. “We've had our differences, my lady, but I'm sorry it's come to this. You're sure your father won't change his mind?”

“No. After the fire and the attack on Mr. McHeath, he thinks what I'm trying to do is too dangerous. I don't agree, so he's withdrawn his support completely.”

Mr. Stamford tapped his chin with the cheque. “I can't say I blame him, my lady. I might do the same if you were my daughter.”

“Things have come to a sad pass if vandals get their way, Mr. Stamford, and I don't intend for that to happen,” Moira said as she made her way to the door. “While I regret having to call a temporary halt to our project, I have every confidence that it
is
temporary, and I hope you'll be available when I have the necessary funds to begin again.”

“Yes, my lady, you can count on me. How is the young solicitor? A terrible business, that.”

“Doing much better, I'm happy to say.” Better enough to come downstairs. Better enough to kiss her and almost make love with her.

Better enough that surely the doctor would say he was well enough to go home.

And then what? And then what? Those words had been a refrain in her mind all last night and this morning, and all the way into Dunbrachie.

“I'm glad to hear it. I never saw such a prizefight in all my life.”

Neither had she, but then, she'd never seen any kind of prizefight and never wanted to see another. “Good day, Mr. Stamford. I'll let you know when we can begin building the school again.”

“Aye, my lady. I'll be waiting.”

 

“I wish I could say you're fit as a fiddle,” Dr. Campbell said as he examined the wound in Gordon's side, “but you'd be a little out of tune. Mrs. McAlvey tells me you've been doing more than you ought, so I can't say I'm surprised.”

Gordon darted a swift glance at the nurse, who was standing at the foot of the bed with the virtuous expression of an angel. “Has she indeed?”

“It's my duty to tell the doctor you didn't stay in bed,” she said, as calm and gentle as a nun.

Gordon wondered if that was all she'd told him, and he got his answer when she winked at him behind the doctor's back.

He was glad she'd been reticent on exactly what he'd been doing, but he blushed nonetheless.

The doctor immediately put his hand on Gordon's forehead.

“Is that a fever or are you rightly ashamed of yourself for disobeying your doctor's orders?”

“I'm sorry I didn't do as I was told,” Gordon contritely replied, “but it's difficult to stay in bed when you don't feel sick.”

“Well, no serious harm done, it seems,” Dr. Campbell
said as he began to rebandage Gordon's torso. “This is healing quite nicely, really. I see no reason you can't go home today or tomorrow, if your carriage goes at a moderate pace.”

Gordon had a reason not to go home, and it had nothing to do with the speed of the journey. However, he did have clients waiting, and he could hardly abandon them, at least so abruptly. Perhaps in time, gradually, he could move his legal business to Glasgow.

But that was in the future. For now, he had to go back to Edinburgh. “I didn't come in a carriage. I suppose I can hire one in the village?”

“Aye, at the livery,” the doctor answered. “And a driver, too. I recommend no more than ten miles a day. It'll take you longer, but you'll be the better for it.”

“Thank you, Doctor, and remember what I said about the bill.”

Dr. Campbell nodded as they shook hands. “Good day, and good luck, Mr. McHeath,” he said, then turned and left the room.

“I'll be leaving now, too,” Mrs. McAlvey announced. “You don't need a nurse anymore—not that you listened to me anyway.”

“I'm very grateful for all that you've done for me, and you'll find an appropriate expression when I send a cheque for your services,” Gordon said. “I'm sure I wouldn't have recovered so well without you.”

Her lips curved into a sly little smile. “Oh, I think you would have. I don't think it was me that made you mend so fast. Nothing like love's promise to make a person get better.”

He considered protesting, but how could he, when she'd seen him with Moira in the morning room?

“And I trust you won't do any more prizefighting,” she said sternly. “Such carryings-on for a grown man, and a solicitor, too!”

“That was my last fight, I assure you.”

“Good. You'll break that poor girl's heart if you get hurt again, and she's got enough to worry about with that father of hers.” Her brow furrowed as she patted him on the arm. “I suppose I ought to warn you. Although they're on the outs for now, she's too used to taking care of him to ever really stop.”

He wouldn't expect anything else. “No, I don't think she ever will.”

“Well, as long as you know what you're in for,” she said as she picked up her valise, which he hadn't seen behind the door.

“She's worth it, Mrs. McAlvey. More than worth it.”

The nurse gave him a warm smile. “Aye, I suppose she is. Well, sir, I wish you all the best, and Lady Moira, too.”

He held out his hand. “Goodbye, Mrs. McAlvey, and thank you.”

Instead of taking it, she enfolded him in her arms. “You take care. And marry that girl.”

 

That was easy enough for Mrs. McAlvey to say, Gordon reflected after she had gone and he was alone. He'd like nothing better than to marry Lady Moira.

However, in his business he was used to considering
cold, hard facts in the bright light of day, and he did so now, trying to keep his feelings—his need, his desire—out of it.

She was a lady; he was just a lawyer.

Her father considered him an enemy, and he—Gordon—was responsible for a breach between father and daughter that might continue for months or even years, and would be painful for them both.

Moira had her school to build; he had his clients.

She would be in Glasgow; he would be in Edinburgh.

Most importantly of all, could either of them really trust their emotions? Once before he thought he was in love; she had believed she loved Robbie. How could either of them be sure that what they felt was truly a love that would last the rest of their lives unless they spent more time together?

Yet they had no more time, for tomorrow, he would go to Edinburgh and she would not.

 

Dressed in her nightgown, bedrobe and slippers, Moira crept quietly along the corridor toward the blue bedroom sometime after midnight. Tomorrow morning, Gordon McHeath was leaving for Edinburgh and she was determined to see him alone before he departed, just as he had been firm in his decision to go when they spoke at dinner, and afterward, when they'd sat on opposite sides of the hearth, careful not to get too close, lest the butler or maid come to the door.

She, too, was still resolved to go to Glasgow to raise money for her school, so much so, anybody overhearing
would have thought they were having a calm, rational discussion of their future plans, and that they would likely never see each other again.

In reality, it hadn't been like that at all. Underneath their serene, deliberate words had been that smoldering desire waiting for release, that same deep affection and respect.

That feeling that had to be love.

There was light coming from beneath the door of the blue bedroom, telling her Gordon was still awake. Because a young unmarried woman shouldn't be alone with an unmarried man at this time of night, she didn't knock before she opened his door and slipped inside.

Gordon stood by the hearth, one hand on the mantel as he stared into the flames. He hadn't disrobed; he wore the same clothes he'd had on before—dark trousers, white shirt and riding boots. He had taken off his cravat and loosened his collar, but that was all.

The only light came from that low fire. Everything else, including the bed, was in shadow, so that it looked as if he were marooned there, and waiting to be rescued.

“Gordon,” she whispered, venturing farther inside.

“Moira!” he cried softly, straightening, his brow furrowing as he ran his gaze over her, making her warm despite the thinness of the fabric, and her nipples harden as if he had touched them. “What are you doing here? You should go. If anybody finds you here—”

“I realize this isn't proper,” she said, “but I couldn't let you go without seeing you once more, in private.”

Where they wouldn't be interrupted. Where they could be alone, together.

As she came closer, his body grew more tense, his gaze more searching, as if he couldn't quite understand.

“Tomorrow, you go to Edinburgh and I'll be going to Glasgow in a few days,” she began, “and I didn't want to leave without saying…without telling you…”

Now that the time had come to say the words, her confidence seemed to have disappeared along with his cravat.

His expression softened. “What is it, Moira?” he asked, still keeping his distance, as if he were afraid of what might happen if they got too close, as she ought to be, but wasn't. “What did you want to tell me?”

“I love you,” she whispered, the words so simple, yet so potent. Words she had never said to Robbie.

His eyes shone in the firelight and his lips curved into a smile. Finally, he moved away from the mantel toward her.

“Moira, my darling, I love you, too,” he said as he met her in the middle of the room and took her hands in his. “I care about you more than any other woman I've ever met. I love you more than I ever guessed it was possible to love anyone. I hardly dared to hope you could ever love me, yet my feelings were so strong…right from the moment I met you.”

“Mine, too. From the moment I saw you running down the hill to help me, like Galahad.”

“Hardly a Galahad. I stumbled.”

“Yet you recovered so gracefully,” she murmured as she lifted her face for his kiss.

No wonder they'd kept their distance here, and in the dining room, because the instant their lips met, their passionate desire exploded. His mouth took hers, hard and strong. She returned his passion, measure for measure.

This heated kiss, this intense embrace, was as different from the others as a grown man was from a boy.

As she was no girl, but a woman, and a woman willing and wanting, eager and excited, thrilled by the power of his need that equalled her own.

“Marry me, Moira,” he said as his lips left hers to trail across her cheek and down the line of her jaw, while his hands continued to caress and stroke her. “Please, marry me. Nothing would make me happier than to spend the rest of my life with you. Moira, please say yes.”

She wanted to—oh, how she wanted to! Yet once before she had agreed to marry, and that had been disastrous.

Gordon drew back, his gaze searching her face as she tried to think, to separate the yearning from practicalities, the reality from the beautiful dream. “My school,” she said quietly, still holding on to him, not willing to let go. “What about my school? And your practice?”

He ran the tip of his finger along the curve of her jaw. “I know how much the school means to you, so I would never try to stop you from building it. As for my practice, there are plenty of lawyers in Edinburgh. One less will make little difference, and perhaps Dunbrachie could use a new one.”

“There aren't any solicitors in Dunbrachie.”

That practical observation brought a smile to his face. “Then, my dear, my darling, as soon as I can see that all my current clients have new solicitors, I'll pack my books and bags and return.”

“You would give up your practice in Edinburgh for me?”

“I'd do much more than that,” he assured her as he bent his head for another deep, soul-searing kiss.

Confident in his love, she returned it eagerly, wantonly, untying the sash of her robe and letting it fall unheeded to the ground as she leaned her body into his. Knowing that he loved her, certain that she loved him, all restraint fell away and she gave herself up to the desire that had been too long denied.

Until he broke the kiss and drew back, panting, and a pang of dismay caught her. “Did I hurt you?” she asked anxiously, for in her selfish need, she'd forgotten about his wounds.

He shook his head. “It's not that,” he huskily replied. “We aren't married yet, so I should behave with honor and make you go.”

She heard his words, but his body and his eyes told her something else. And she paid more heed to them, as well as the yearning of her own heart. “Tomorrow you'll be going back to Edinburgh, and I must go to Glasgow to raise money for my school. It may be weeks or months before we see each other again. I want you to be sure of me before you go, Gordon. To prove to you that I won't change my mind. I want you to believe that I can and will be constant.”