When a Scot Loves a Lady (21 page)

He shrugged. “'Tis tragedy, lass.”

She pivoted about, putting her back to him and a hand across her mouth, and Leam's heart beat so hard he could hear it. He had brought her to this state, again rendering the exquisite undone.

He was a complete ass revealing himself in this manner. He knew it and he couldn't care. This clever woman—this beautiful woman—this woman whose rare and precious laughter stole beneath his ribs—she had given herself to him and he wanted more. Fool that he was, he wanted much more. He wanted to let himself feel what he knew he could feel with her if he allowed it.

He simply could not.

So he spoke now without disguise, disguising himself in the language of his youth's passion, the poetry that his once reckless heart had adored. For the first time in his life, his tongue would not behave.

“I have played the fool before, my lord.” Her voice held steady, unlike her body that trembled when he held her, that had trembled the night before as he lost himself so completely in her. “But that was some time ago and I do not intend to repeat the experience now.” She moved toward the door.

“A dinna wish ye tae play the fool, lass.” The Scots clung. Leam willed it away, but it would not go. He suspected why. He knew their names. Their son awaited him at Alvamoor for the holiday. Their son who called him Father.

He must maintain this charade with her until he could leave. It was his only protection against the danger he wanted to dive into with her. He could not allow his heart to become engaged. He could not trust in his self-control, the self-control that had deserted him entirely when he had met his wife and became blind to all else. When he discovered her infidelity and his jealousy knew no limits.

A man who had sought his own brother's death because of his jealousy over a faithless woman must not allow himself to love again.

Kitty turned partially toward him, her hand on the latch.

“Oh, you needn't worry.” She did not meet his gaze. “I have done this before, you know, and it is quite easy. One simply says good-bye, and,
voilà!
, no more fool to be had here.” She tugged on the door. It stuck. She put her shoulder into it. It did not budge. Leam went forward, reached over her, and bent to her tightly bound hair. He inhaled her fragrance, the dangerous beauty in his senses like nothing he had known in an eon. Very likely, he'd never known it.

He stroked the backs of his fingers along her cheek and neck, and she gasped in air and her body quivered. She ducked her head.

“Please open it.” Her voice was tight.

“Kitty—”

She grabbed the edge of the door and pulled hard. Leam shoved it open, his stomach hollow. She marched through.

A crack sounded across the space. She screamed, pivoted about, and tumbled into a snowbank.

L
eam leaped forward, darting his gaze to the surrounding buildings.

“Yale!” he bellowed. “
Yale!
” He dropped to his knees beside her. Snow enveloped her, red speckling the white.

Frantically he searched.
Dear God, please no
. He unfolded the cloak tangled about her. A small circle of blood settled on the wool of her sleeve, spread through the torn fabric of her gown. He yanked his cravat loose, swallowing around the panic.

Where was the shooter?

A flash of dark moved about the edge of the building opposite.

Goddamn it
. “Yale!”

The inn door burst open.

“Pistol shot! From the north. Get the dogs.”

Yale whistled into the inn, then took off across the street, Hermes and Bella streaking out the door and leaping ahead of him.

Kitty opened her eyes. Her lips and cheeks were pale. It looked a minor wound, but it would pain her greatly when he made her move, which he must do without delay.

“Good heavens.” She sounded more surprised than distressed.

“Good God.” He had done this to her. The shot must have been meant for him. The man following him must have a nervous trigger finger to have mistaken it. “Kitty, ma girl.”

“I believe I have been shot.”

“That ye hae. Lie still, lass.”

Gently, he lifted her arm. She screamed. He slid the cravat beneath it, looped it quickly again, then pulled it tight.

“
Oh, God
,” she groaned weakly. “Will you never cease torturing me?”

Leam tied off the cravat and gathered her in his arms. He carried her through the stable door and into the tack room. Carefully he set her down, propping her elbow upon a bench as she breathed fast and shallow, her eyes and lips clenched. He reached for a blanket, smelling of horse but it would have to do, and wrapped it about her shoulders, then slid an empty bucket to her side.

“An ye need tae be ill, gae at it.”

“I am to suppose, then, that you know of what you speak?” she gritted out.

“Aye.” He stood. “Stey here.”

At the door he scanned the yard. The shooter had run, but he might have a partner, although it seemed unlikely. He hadn't even shot twice.

Lady Emily and Mrs. Milch appeared in the inn's doorway.

“Gae inside,” he called over. They retreated and the door closed.

Yale appeared around the building across the way, moving fast, Hermes loping alongside.

“Someone's gone in a boat beyond the beaver dam, but I don't know if it's the shooter,” he shouted as he neared. “Bella's tracking the bank. I'll ride.”

“Nae.” He moved aside for the Welshman and wolfhound to enter and pulled the door closed to a crack. “We dinna ken the land.”

“Or if he's alone.” He dropped the pistol into his coat pocket. “Blast and damn, Leam.”

“Yale.” He moved toward Kitty. She sat with her legs curled beneath her as he'd left her. “Pardon ma friend. He's a whelp a'times.”

“I have already heard you curse, my lord. He may as well do so too.” She regarded him steadily as he crouched down beside her and moved the blanket aside. The cravat had absorbed some of the blood on her gown, but only a tiny fresh dot of red had come through it. The wound was merely a nick. The shooter had not intended to hit her, perhaps had balked at the last moment. But the knot in Leam's belly would not unwind.

“We'll be needing tae properly see tae the scratch, lass. An ye canna stand, A'll—”

“My lord, it has not escaped my notice that you and Mr. Yale seem remarkably unsurprised at the fact that someone shot me just now.” Her voice quivered.

“Nae at all.”

“Sir, we have already discussed fools. Pay me the compliment of recalling that.”

“You two have some interesting conversations.”

Leam shot a glare over his shoulder. He looked back at the beautiful noblewoman sitting in a pile of straw because of him.

“Maleddy—”

“You will tell me this moment what is going on here or—”

“Or whit?” His temper flared. “Ye'll go haring aff after the shooter an ask him instead?”

“Some ladies have more hair than brains,” Yale murmured.

“A'll thank ye tae keep out o this, ye boor. Miscaw the leddy again an A'll belt ye.”

“Twice in one week? You flatter me with your attentions, old chap.”

“Whin A'm finished here.”

“Oh, I daresay you are finished already.” Her tone was curt, but strain played about her generous lips, and her glorious eyes were dull.

“Lass, A'm gang tae carry ye tae the inn. A'll thank ye nae tae protest.”

“Would it matter if I did?”

He nodded. “Aye.”

She allowed him to lift her again, tucking her against his chest, and she curved her good arm about his neck. But she averted her face. Still he could smell her and feel her and want her, and he cursed himself for a whelp now. Bella came into sight and Yale went swiftly across the yard while the dogs scouted the surrounding buildings. Leam waited in the doorway until the Welshman knocked, hand in his pocket on his firearm. The door opened. Leam headed across.

The others hovered about the foyer.

“Glory be!”

“Kitty, good gracious! Is she all right?”

“Aye, miss. Juist a wee scratch.” Leam laid her on the sofa.

“Someone shot me, Marie,” Kitty said quietly. “Do take care when strolling in the yard today.”

“Shot! Mrs. Milch said it but I did not believe it. Oh, Kitty. Whyever would someone wish to shoot you? And who?”

“I do not know. But it is possible I was not the intended target.”

The innkeeper's wife brought a blanket and Lady Emily tucked it about her.

“Milch,” Yale said, “His Lordship requires boiled water, sharp shears, bandages, and salve if you've any.”

“A've some in ma kit.” Leam gestured.

Yale headed toward the stairs.

“Lord Blackwood has wound salve in his traveling kit? Whatever for?”

“His nefarious life leads him into frequent scrapes, I daresay.” Kitty's cheeks looked gray now. Milch had presumably gone for supplies. Leam bent to the hearth and piled logs on the grate.

“Milord, the Quality's better not doing such a thing,” Mrs. Milch said, but her voice sounded thin. Not many gunshots in this tiny Shropshire village, apparently.

“Ma'am, a pot o tea an a biscuit woud be walcome nou for the leddy.”

“Of course, milord.”

“Kitty.” Lady Emily shook her head. “I don't know anything at all about seeing to injuries, I'm afraid. But I don't know that Mrs. Milch will prove very useful either. She swooned when she saw you in the snow. I was obliged to revive her with smelling salts.”

“Very nice sensibilities for the laboring class, hm?” Yale said with a grin, handing over the salve. “But no need for concern. Blackwood is a dab hand at dressing wounds.”

“Sir,” Cox said stiffly. “I don't believe that would be at all proper. Lady Katherine ought to be moved to her bedchamber and attended by the women.”

Yale's grin widened.

“I'm sure I don't know why, Mr. Cox,” Lady Emily said. “If Lord Blackwood is the best among us to do the job, petty niceties ought not to allow Lady Katherine to remain in any sort of danger.”

Leam crouched down beside Kitty. “She's nae in ony danger, miss.” Not with him sitting beside her, she wouldn't be.

“Merely excessive discomfort,” the beauty reclining before him said softly. “Will this hurt?”

“Nae mair than a wee pinch.”

“Now, why don't I believe you?” Her gaze slipped across his shoulders and down his chest.

“I still say it's not the thing at all,” Cox said more stridently now. “Neither for a gentleman to be playing nursemaid, nor for a gently bred female to be subjected to public prodding.”

“Sir, have a spot of tea, why don't you?” Mr. Milch gestured toward the dining area.

“Yes, Cox,” Yale murmured. “Absent yourself and the prodding will be considerably less public. Lady Marie Antoine, tea?”

“The big dog got into the biscuits and ate them all.”

“Then you shall have to turn your talents to baking sweets now, ma'am.”

“Sir, you cannot improve my opinion of you with false flattery.”

“I am crushed. Truly.”

“But it's true, the bread was quite good.” They moved toward the table, Lady Emily glancing back with concern.

“A'll hae tae cut aff the sleeve,” Leam said quietly.

Kitty's eyes glimmered. “Will you keep the part, then, in lieu of the whole?”

He smiled and set the shears to fabric. “Shuirly.”

“You planned this, I daresay.” She watched as he cut. “You could not bear relinquishing this gown in the end. But now you will only have a piece. A torn one at that.”