Rogue of the Highlands: Rogue, Book 1 (41 page)

A stable hand she didn’t recognize came out to take her horse when she arrived. She had hoped to see Evan’s friendly face. She walked up the steps and pulled the bell. The man who answered the door wasn’t Adams.

“Mr. Adams is no longer employed here,” the butler said when she inquired and he let her in. “I’m Mr. Carter. We’ve been expecting you.”

Jillian turned startled eyes on him. “Why would you?”

A look of confusion crossed Carter’s face. “Why, this is your home. Lord Newburn left specific instructions that you were the lady of the house.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. If Wesley had left instructions, at least he wasn’t here. She’d get her things and visit with the housekeeper a bit, see the horses and leave. “Please tell Mrs. Willows I’m here then.”

“Mrs. Willows is no longer employed here either. Mrs. Jones has taken her place. At the moment, she’s addressing the new maids.”

Jillian’s heart sank. Was the entire staff replaced? Wesley had said he wanted to make cuts, but everyone that she knew seemed to be gone. She only hoped that Mrs. Willows had enough time to gather the goods as they had discussed before.

She decided to visit the horses first and received her second shock of the day. Gunnar stood in the paddock beside the stables. Why wasn’t he safely at Sherrington’s as Ian thought? The horse nickered at her, extending his neck over the fence and she walked over to him and patted the soft velvet muzzle.

“Careful, lady!” a harsh voice called out. “That one’s crazed.”

She turned to find a short, squat man with the burly arms of a blacksmith. Even as he approached, Gunnar flattened his ears and bared his teeth.

“You best get away from him,” the man said. “The devil himself couldn’t ride him. Even a whip doesn’t help.”

Jillian cringed inwardly, her hand tightening in Gunnar’s silky mane. “Are you the new master of horse?”

He nodded. “Name’s Drake. And you are?”

She didn’t like his brazen attitude, and for some unknown reason she decided to use her maiden name. “Lady Jillian Blakely.” She looked at Gunnar and then back to Drake. “If the horse is so much trouble, why doesn’t Lord Newburn sell him?”

The man snorted. “Someone did try to buy him, but Lord Newburn says the horse is a present for his betrothed.” He shook his head. “It’s said the woman is his stepmother. Kind of hard to believe he’d marry an old lady.”

Jillian felt a fresh stab of fear slice through her. Had Wesley not given up on that idea yet? Thank goodness he wasn’t home. Suddenly, all she wanted to do was get back to Cantford and to Ian. Perhaps once the banns were read, Wesley would let go of this absurd idea of marrying her. Then Sherrington could buy Gunnar.

She excused herself and hurried back to the house. She’d just pack a few clothes in the satchel she’d brought and be gone.

The room was exactly as she left it. The night rail that she had flung over the chair still hung there. The bedcovering was still mussed from where Mari had sat on it. Even the empty teacup in its saucer had been left on the table. Yet there was no dust on anything. Someone had been in here to clean, but had left everything in place. Why?

Puzzled, she opened the armoire and removed a gown. She was folding it when she heard the door close behind her and heard the key turn in the lock. Dropping the dress, she turned around.

“So you came back,” Wesley said. “I knew you would. I’ve been waiting.”

“I understand ye dinna want to do business with Newburn after your wife’s death,” Ian said as he sat across from Sherrington in the man’s library, sipping a fine Scots whisky.

“It wasn’t that,” Sherrington replied. “The offer had been made before Delia’s…ah, accident. The two mares he let me have, but he said the stallion was going to be a present for his wife.” He frowned slightly. “Strange. I didn’t know he was courting anyone.”

Ian held back a curse. Did that damn bastard still have hopes of marrying Jillian? Well, not for long. The banns would be read for the first time this Sunday.

“He dinna say who it was?”

Sherrington shook his head. “I always thought he and Delia… Well, perhaps I was mistaken. I should not speak ill of her.”

Ian admired that the man was so honorable. “How is your daughter doing?”

The earl took a sip before he answered. “She’ll be fine, I think. She and her mother were not overly close.”

Ian could understand that. As Abigail matured, she would be a constant reminder that Delia was aging. And the girl had a natural beauty that remained well-hidden behind the glasses, pulled-back hair and drab dresses. Perhaps now she’d have a chance to blossom.

Sherrington was staring at his glass contemplatively. “You know, the whole thing is strange. Delia rarely drank more than a glass of wine at dinner. The allegation that she was drunk, in mid-morning, on strong spirits just doesn’t make sense.”

Ian felt a familiar tingle at the back of his neck. Had Wesley had a hand in Delia’s demise? “Did the magistrate not investigate?”

“He did. Mr. Adams, the butler, told them what Wesley had said happened.”

“They dinna question Newburn?”

“Yes. In fact, the prince actually called Newburn to Clayton House. Newburn insisted it was an accident…that they’d had an argument over his betrothal. In the end, the prince seemed convinced that Wesley spoke the truth when he asked for a special license to marry.”

Ian’s nape hairs crackled as his head started to pound and he stood abruptly. He needed to get back to Cantford, collect Jillian and ride to London to confront that fat oaf of a prince himself. Under Scot’s law, Jillian was
his
.

Even as he rode away, rehearsing just what he’d say to the English prince, his hair kept bristling. He’d never felt the kenning this strong before.

He spurred his horse to a gallop. Something was horrible wrong at Cantford.

Jillian stared at Wesley. “I thought you were in London.”

He gave her a sinister stare. “That’s what I wanted everyone to think. I knew you wouldn’t come back if you thought I was here.”

“What do you want?” she asked uneasily.

“I think you know,” he said and started toward her, pulling a rope from his pocket.

She leaned quickly to pull the bell cord by the bed and then moved behind a table. “You need to leave.”

That strange smile stayed on his face as he took another step closer. “Your people are gone. These servants will follow my instructions. No one will come.”

“But what do you want, Wesley?” Dear Lord, she needed to stall him. “Let’s talk, shall we?”

“If you wish.” He shrugged, his fingers playing with the twine. “I have nothing but time.”

Unfortunately, that was true. Ian was probably still at Sherrington’s, and Mari wouldn’t worry about her riding over here to pick up some things. “I heard about Delia’s death. I’m sorry. I know you were friends.”

He shrugged again. “She tried to kill you.”

He knew? “I suspected that she might have been jealous. It’s why I left.”

“You don’t need to worry about her anymore. I took care of that.”

Jillian felt a chill slide down her spine. “What do you mean?”

“I couldn’t let her hurt you,” he said and an odd look of confusion flitted across his face. “I hated to do it. She pleased me well in bed…” He frowned slightly and then a bright smile appeared which made his eyes glitter. “But you’ll make up for that.”

Her stomach felt like she had swallowed hot lumps of coal. Wesley was between her and the door. She glanced toward the window. This room was on the first floor…it was only a matter of a meter or two to the ground. Could she make it?

“Don’t even think about it,” he said with that eerie smile. “There’s a guard posted outside.”

Jillian drew a deep breath and forced herself to think calmly, trying to ignore the rope that dangled from his hands. “Why do you want to hurt me?”

He looked surprised. “I don’t want to hurt you. I want to marry you.”

“You’re too late. I’m hand-fasted to Ian.”

His face darkened with rage and he shoved the table aside, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. “Do not mention that barbarian’s name to me again.”

“It’s true—”

“It’s not!” He stopped shaking her and his eyes narrowed dangerously. “Did you whore for him?” When she didn’t answer, he backhanded her hard enough that she fell across the bed.

Jillian’s vision blurred, but she scurried across the bed before he could reach for her and wobbled to her feet on the other side. “I thought you said you didn’t want to hurt me?” Already, the sting of the slap was turning into a dull, aching throb.

“Don’t anger me then!”

“Wesley, please.”
Dear God, help me
. “There are so many young ladies who would be glad to be your wife—”

“They’re not
her
.”

Her? “Do you mean Delia?” Jillian asked slowly.

“No.
Her
. Lorelei.”

She wondered if her brains had been addled. Rufus’s first wife had been named Lorelei. “Your mother?”

He laughed harshly. “She wasn’t my mother.”

Jillian tried to make sense of that. Had Rufus had a bastard child and his wife had fostered it? “Did your father have a paramour?”

“I don’t know. The old bastard couldn’t make his own wife pregnant.”

Something niggled at the back of Jillian’s mind. “How do you know that?”

“She told me. The bastard tried every night for years. That’s when she came to me.” Wesley’s eyes began to glitter preternaturally. “She thought I could give her the child, but I was too young.”

“Who was your mother, Wesley?”

He shrugged. “Some maid who needed coin. My loving
father
gave out the story that Lorelei needed complete bedrest until I was born. No one ever knew that I wasn’t his. Funny, isn’t it?” His face twisted into a sinister smile. “She taught me a lot. We had such good plans.”

Jillian’s blood froze. She was beginning to make the connection. He’d had relations with his adoptive mother. Jillian was his stepmother. People had remarked, more than once, how much she looked like Rufus’s former wife. She looked at Wesley, for the first time seeing the madness in that twisted smile and glinting eyes.

Maybe she could keep him talking. “What happened?”

“We got caught.” His voice broke, and when he spoke again it was with a child-like lilt. “He sent me away and a few weeks she disappeared too.”

His eyes turned vacant and Jillian could almost see him slipping into total madness. What would he do then? She had to try to bring him back to the present. “You’re home now, Wesley. You have everything your father ever owned. Doesn’t that help you a little?”

He gave her a sly smile. “I don’t have
everything
my father owned. Not yet.”

Her stomach plummeted to her toes. This was why he wanted to marry her. “You have everything that matters.”

He shook his head, that strange look coming back into his eyes. “No. I want the bastard to turn over in his grave. I want him to know that I had both of his wives. He took Lorelei from me. I will take you.”

“That won’t accomplish anything, Wesley. I didn’t love your fath—Rufus. I despised him.”

“Then we can hate him together when we’re married.” He reached suddenly into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out a paper. “The prince regent has already granted me a special license.”

It had the prince’s seal on it. She stared at the offending paper. It couldn’t be.

Not now. Ian had no chance of having banns read if that paper was authentic.

Wesley started moving around the bed toward her. “I see no reason to wait until it’s official, my dear. We will consummate the marriage now.”

She moved away from him, pushing a chair in front of her. “Don’t do this.”

He swung the rope menacingly. “You can come willingly to this bed or by force. I enjoy it either way.”

She shoved her hands into her pockets, wishing desperately that she had listened to Bridget’s advice to always carry a small dirk. Right now, she would have no qualms in using it.

Her fingers encountered the faerie stone. It felt warm as though it had been held over a fire, but maybe that was because her hands felt like ice. What was it the faerie girl had said?
Call on the faerie inside and she will come.
Jillian didn’t dare to close her eyes, but she wished with all her might.
Help me if you can
.

She blinked as the room became hazy. The blow to her head must have been stronger than she thought. She fought a sudden wave of nausea. Maybe she was the one going insane for the room was fading away.

“I am here.”

Jillian blinked. Mist swarmed around her, and slowly she could see a form emerging from it. A beautiful young woman with long, pale hair and silver eyes stood in the midst of it. Jillian looked around but could see nothing but the sparkling droplets of mist as they circled around her, yet she was dry. “Are you real?”

The maiden shrugged a delicate shoulder clothed in gossamer white. “’Tis of no importance if I am. What is it ye need?”