Her Highland Protector

The horse was another matter. ‘How is Midnight when he’s not so fresh?’ he asked Peter. They’d remained correspondents over the years, but until now their paths hadn’t crossed.

Peter winced. ‘He needs a strong hand. It’s why he doesn’t get out much. None of the lads can ride him when he’s fresh and I rarely have the time. I get him out on the leading rein when I can.’

Niall studied the gelding. A beautiful specimen. Glossy black coat. Heavily muscled. He ran a hand down its nose and patted its neck. The animal didn’t flinch or start and nor were there any signs of malice, just high spirits. Fortunately, while Ian was the only one of the Gilvrys who owned a horse, he’d been generous in sharing Beau as needed.

Niall took advantage of the mounting block and eased into the saddle. The feel of the animal beneath him and through his gloves, the trembling eagerness, warned him to be ready for anything. No doubt the Lady Jenna had hoped he would be thrown so she could look down her haughty wee nose at him.

‘Let him go,’ he said to the groom.

Midnight sprang forwards. Niall held the horse under tight control, guiding him to the gates. He signalled to the gatekeeper to open them. As they slid up, the animal tossed its head and fought him. Then finally they were passing under the arch and out beyond the bailey. The road wasn’t empty, but there was room. He urged the animal into a controlled trot then a slow canter, feeling his gait, the way he responded to commands, the strength and the power. The animal was truly magnificent. Lady Jenna should never have ordered up such a fine beast as this without knowing his skill level. Not unless she wanted him to fall.

He was surprised she would be so petty. Still angry with him about Carrick hearing about the footpads, no doubt.

He let the animal have its head, let him run for a good few minutes in the direction of town, then brought him to a halt and glanced around. The countryside was spectacular. He never ceased to feel awed by this country of his. The green hills. The mountains, faint smudges on the horizon. The streamers of mist rising up from the dense trees, sucked up by the sun. He frowned. One of those curling, twisting ribbons looked darker, more like … smoke from a fire.

The hairs on his nape rose to attention. He scanned the road behind him for his charge. She was coming towards him at a ladylike trot. She halted as he drew close and wheeled his horse to stand beside hers.

She slanted a glance at him from beneath the jaunty hat. ‘I’m glad you finally managed to get him in hand.’

Unfair criticism. But three brothers made him immune to such jibes. ‘Forgive me, my lady, but you will not be riding out today.’

Her eyes widened in surprise ‘Why ever not?’

‘I have changed my mind.’

She frowned at him. ‘But I had an appointment.’

‘You mentioned nothing of an appointment to me, my lady. Where is this appointment? With whom?’

She hesitated a fraction too long. ‘With the seamstress. I have a riding habit on order.’

It was his turn to be surprised. And annoyed. ‘What were you thinking? An unmarried woman of quality cannot go to a seamstress with a gentleman. Not if she values her reputation.’

He had visions of sitting in the dressmaker’s front parlour while the Lady Jenna removed her clothing in a nearby changing room. He envisaged the seamstress taking her measurements, exposing her delectable curves, passing strings around her waist and breast and a plump little bottom he’d very recently cupped in his palm.

His blood thickened and heated and headed south. He shifted in the saddle to ease the discomfort. He caught a quirk of her mouth, a small secretive smile that had him wondering if she’d read his mind.

She cast him an arch look from beneath her lashes. ‘I had not planned that you would accompany me inside. You were to wait for me.’

‘On the pavement, like a lackey.’ He couldn’t think why the idea annoyed him so much, but it did. ‘I am no a fool, my lady. You should have invited your chaperon to go along.’

‘Mrs Preston isn’t well this morning.’

‘Well, then, you cannot go.’

‘Oh, but—’

‘No buts, Lady Jenna.’ To make sure she understood, he grabbed her horse’s reins and turned it around, heading back for the castle. He scanned the surrounding moors and the distant trees, but saw no reason for concern, so released her bridle and gestured for her to go ahead of him.

‘Mr Gilvry, the seamstress is expecting me. I must have the final fitting today.’

How many riding habits did a woman need? The one she was wearing looked perfectly adequate to him. More than adequate. It fit her luscious figure like a second skin, hinting at the curves that he knew lay beneath it. He glanced at her face as she leaned towards him and saw genuine concern in her eyes. ‘Please, Mr Gilvry.’

And he couldn’t believe his urge to make her worry disappear. He gritted his teeth. Her safety was more important than making her happy.

As soon as they were back inside the castle walls, Niall leaped down and signalled to a lad to take his now-calm horse. A groom came forwards to help Lady Jenna down.

Peter left the young plump pretty girl he’d been chatting with and strode across the cobbles to join Niall. ‘Is aught amiss?’

Niall glanced across at Lady Jenna descending from her mount and an idea flashed into his mind as if from nowhere. ‘Is the carriage available? Lady Jenna has a mind to go shopping.’ He lowered his voice. ‘There are some ugly customers hanging about the road. It will be an opportunity for me to report them to the local authorities. I’ll need a weapon and a man who can handle the ribbons.’

Peter gave him a hard look. ‘I’ll drive. I’ve some bridles at the saddlemaker’s for repair. They should be ready by now. I’ll fetch the carriage.’ He hurried off.

Niall caught Lady Jenna as she was about to go up the stairs into the keep. ‘I have had an idea of how we can both accomplish our errands this morning.’

She looked up at him, surprise and curiosity reflected in her green, catlike eyes. ‘And what is that, Mr Gilvry?’

‘We will go to Wick in the carriage and take your maid.’

He gestured closer the young woman Peter had been talking to. ‘It is Mary McDougall, isn’t it?’

She nodded.

‘Are you willing to accompany your mistress to the seamstress in the carriage, Miss Mary, since Mrs Preston is indisposed?’

Mary looked thrilled. ‘Yes, sir.’

Lady Jenna tilted her head as if trying to decide whether she would accept this as a peace offering or not. ‘I didn’t think you were the sort to change your mind, Mr Gilvry.’

‘I am when it suits my purpose,’ he said drily. ‘I also have urgent business in Wick. This solution suits us both, I believe.’

For a moment he thought she might refuse. It would be typical of a spoiled young miss to cut off her nose to spite her face. But even as he had the thought, she smiled at him prettily. ‘Very well. Thank you.’

That seemed too easy. But since he could see nothing in her face beyond delight, he pushed the suspicion aside. ‘Very good, then. The carriage should be ready at any moment.’ He would not tell her about his suspicions with regard to the footpads. There was no need. She would be safe enough with him and Peter and it would only worry her. In his experience, worried females were inclined to be difficult.

As he expected, Peter had the carriage put to with quick efficiency and, with the two women safely shut up inside, Niall leaped up beside Peter on the box. The head groom accomplished the delicate manoeuvre through the gate with skill that spoke of long practice.

‘What makes you think these men are out there?’ Peter asked, once the carriage was on the road to town.

‘I saw smoke from a campfire. It might have been nothing. A traveller. But the men I encountered a day or so ago were a dangerous lot.’

‘No honest Scot would spend the night in the open with the hospitality of the castle so close. It wouldn’t make sense.’

‘My thoughts exactly. To make matters worse, the men were Sassenachs. Lady Jenna is not to take her horse out without my permission until we either have them under lock and key, or they have left the area.’ At Peter’s quizzical expression, he grinned. ‘And it is me who will decide if they are gone.’

‘I’ll tell my men.’

Niall narrowed his eyes against the sun’s glare and scanned the trees on the hillside.

Peter followed the direction of his gaze. ‘Is the smoke still there?’

Niall shook his head. The faint blue haze he had noticed rising into the sky was no longer visible. But the sun was higher now and a light breeze had picked up. ‘I plan to report them to the local militia. There is a company in town, is there not?’

‘Aye. Under the command of a Lieutenant Dunstan.’

Niall groaned. Lieutenant Dunstan wasn’t exactly a friend to the Gilvrys, although Niall had no reason to doubt that he would do his job and do it well. ‘He is in charge?’

‘Aye. Watching the coast for smugglers.’

‘He is looking the wrong way, then.’ Almost all the illicit whisky went overland.

Peter chuckled. ‘Thank God.’

It took barely a half hour to reach the outskirts of town and Niall acknowledged to himself that he was glad to arrive at the first of the stone cottages lining the road without incident. Perhaps he was being overcautious. They passed the White Rose Inn and, with the addition of two small buds on its stem barely discernible, Niall knew the picture on its sign for what it was—a Jacobite’s nod of allegiance to the King across the water, and nothing to do with the white rose of the House of York.

‘You’ll find Lieutenant Dunstan there,’ Peter said. ‘He’s been trying to recruit some of the local lads.’

‘Has he had any success?’

‘One or two have taken the King’s shilling.

They’ll pass on his troop’s movements to family members engaged in the trade.’

‘You would think the Sassenachs would have figured it out by now.’

Peter grinned and pulled up in front of a small bow-windowed shop in the centre of town. ‘The seamstress. I’ll drop you here and continue on to the livery.’

Niall jumped down.

Peter waved his whip in acknowledgement and Niall could not help noticing how his friend’s gaze sought out Mary as she stepped down and turned to help her mistress. Oh, yes, the poor sod had it bad. Niall promised himself he would try to help his cause with McDougall.

Lady Jenna swept by him regally with a small incline of her head. He hoped that meant they had achieved a truce. He followed the two women into the shop.

A woman of about fifty, modestly gowned and with a cap over her greying brown hair, hurried to greet them. ‘Your ladyship!’

Was it his imagination, or did the woman sound surprised? He looked at the Lady Jenna, who was stripping off her gloves. ‘I’m here about the riding habit we spoke of last time.’

The woman’s face wreathed in smiles. ‘But of course. Please. Take a seat while I prepare the dressing room.’ She glanced doubtfully at Niall. ‘Can I offer you refreshment, sir? Tea? Whisky?’

Hell, did she think he was some sort of cicisbeo? ‘I’ll no be staying. Her ladyship’s maid will keep her company.’ He looked at Jenna. ‘How long do you think this will take?’

‘No more than an hour, I shouldn’t think.’

The seamstress nodded a confirmation.

‘I will be coming back before the hour is up, then.’

‘And where will you be going, Mr Gilvry?’ Lady Jenna asked with deceptive sweetness.

‘To the White Rose.’

‘I should have guessed.’

‘Yes, you should.’ He bowed. ‘In one hour, Lady Jenna. Do not leave here without me.’

‘I will be waiting. Please do not imbibe so much that you lose track of the time.’

A jibe at his earlier tardiness, no doubt. His ire rose. He forced himself to ignore the slur on his character and departed before he said something he would regret.

‘What a handsome young gentleman he is, to be sure,’ the seamstress said to Lady Jenna, taking her coat and hat.

If you liked arrogant men who ordered everything to suit them. Jenna sniffed.

The seamstress gestured for them to sit down. ‘Give me a moment to prepare. My last customer left only a few moments ago and I wasn’t expecting you.’

‘I know. I am sorry for that.’ She gave the woman a confident smile. ‘While you are getting ready, I will run an errand.’

Mary stared at her. ‘But Mr Gilvry said we were to stay here.’

Jenna gave her a reproving stare. ‘And I said I would be here waiting for him when he got back.’

She turned to the seamstress. ‘I am just popping down to the market. Is it all right if I use your back door for a shortcut?’

The woman looked a little startled. ‘If that is your wish.’

‘It is. Thank you. And, Mary, if Mr Gilvry should return before me, do keep him busy out here.’ She gave the seamstress a bright smile. ‘Please make sure the rear door remains unlocked.’

Not waiting for a reply, or for the argument clearly forming on Mary’s tongue, she made her way to the back of the shop and slipped out into the filthy back alley, the kennels running with night slops and other matter. It would all find its way down to the sea eventually, but on a fine day like today it stank. Jenna tried to breathe as little as possible until she found herself out in the open and a few yards from the market square.

Having very little time to spare, she ignored the hawkers and farmers and kept a lookout for a tinker’s stall. Ah, there, a colourful awning hung with pots and pans and a trestle piled with goods of every description. The stall owner’s gypsy heritage showed in his olive skin and dark flashing eyes. A gold earring glinted in one ear. He’d been the one who had brought Mr Hughes’s message to her before she left Mrs Blackstone’s house. He came out from behind his counter to greet her with a quick sly smile and a flourishing bow. ‘Lady Jenna. An honour to meet you again. What can I do for you today? A paper of pins, perhaps? A pot of rouge? Not that your pretty lips need enhancement.’

His point was obvious. No sale, no message. And good for him, too. ‘I’ll take some ribbons, if you please.’ The gift would settle Mary’s feathers, hopefully.

‘How about a gift for a young man with hazel eyes?’

Her heart stilled as she pictured Niall as if the gypsy had conjured him up. His strong jaw. The firm lips that had lingered on hers with such warmth and tenderness. And the determined set to his chin when he’d refused to take her riding this morning. She jerked back from the image.

How could he know about Niall? And she certainly wasn’t buying him a gift. She shook her head. ‘Just the ribbons and the message.’

He put a hand to his heart. ‘And there I was thinking you came for the pleasure of my company.’ His eyes darkened. ‘You are not the only one interested in people from Braemuir.’

A suspicion crossed her mind. She looked around her, but saw no sign of a tall handsome Scot. ‘Who are you talking about?’

He shrugged

‘A young man? Handsome in a rough kind of way.’

He raised a black brow. ‘I can’t say I noticed his looks. Indeed, I hardly noticed him at all. I was busy with a customer at the time.’

Why didn’t she believe him? But it couldn’t be Niall. He knew nothing of the message she had come to collect. And glad she was of that, or he would no doubt have told Lord Carrick about this, too.

She pulled out a small pouch of coins. ‘How much for the ribbons and your services?’

‘A shilling, if you please, my lady.’

No doubt Mr Hughes had also crossed his palm with silver, but she didn’t argue. The man needed to make a living. She dug out the requested coin and held it out. He slipped a folded piece of paper into her hand. ‘You have been sorely missed, Lady Jenna.’

A pang twisted her heart. She should have returned home long before this, but Mrs Blackstone had been so kind to her, she’d felt obliged to see her through her long illness. She would never regret that decision, but she could only hope it was not too late for Braemuir. It could not be. She would not allow it. ‘I will be there very soon.’

‘Mr Hughes will be pleased.’

She turned to leave and almost bumped her nose on the chest of a man standing right behind her.

She stepped back. Looking up, she instantly recognised his face and gasped. It was one of the brutes who had accosted her on the road. To her right, a knife appeared as if by magic in the gipsy’s clever fingers. Oh, no. Was he in league with this thief?

Wildly, she glanced around for help. The gypsy backed away, his gaze fixed not on the footpad or on her, but on something behind her. Weak at the knees, she glanced over her shoulder to see another large figure looming towards her. Her breath left her chest in a rush of relief. ‘Mr Gilvry.’

‘Lady Jenna,’ he said in disapproving tones. ‘What the blazes are you doing here?’

Despite the anger in his tone, Jenna edged closer to his bulk, unconsciously seeking protection, while his gaze raked the footpad and a grim smile curved his lips. ‘So. We meet again. There is someone here who would like a word with you.’

The man backed up a few steps, then turned and fled. The gypsy’s knife disappeared as if by magic.

‘Is this the man?’ An officer in scarlet stepped up smartly, glaring at the gypsy who immediately melted into the crowds.

‘Not him,’ Niall said. ‘Him.’ He pointed to the retreating ruffian’s back. ‘Quick, man, he is getting away.’

The lieutenant gave Jenna a quick bow and hurried after his quarry.

Niall took hold of her arm and swung her around to face him. ‘What is going on, Lady Jenna? Why are you not at the dressmaker’s as you promised?’

A very real desire to have him put his arm around her and hold her close until her body stopped its cowardly tremble, took her by surprise. With difficulty, she forced herself to stand her ground and look him in the eye. ‘I did not promise to stay there. I promised to be there when you got back.’

‘Hair splitting.’ He glanced around, frowning. ‘Why were you meeting that criminal?’

Shocked, still shaking inside, she stared at him open-mouthed. ‘I wasn’t. He must have seen me and decided to finish off what he started.’

His eyes widened. He didn’t believe her. She could see it in his tight expression. His mistrust hurt. Not that she cared about his opinion, one way or the other. She didn’t dare. It would make her too vulnerable when she needed to be strong.

‘An odd coincidence that you should both be here at the same time.’

He really didn’t trust her. She felt miserable and angry all at once. ‘Wick is a small place. Many people come to the market.’ Somehow, though, she didn’t feel as if this second meeting was by chance. Yet how could it be otherwise?

His gaze was fixed on the note still clutched in her hand, suspicion rampant in his expression. ‘Then why are you here? And to whom are you writing?’ he asked.

Dash it all, was she to have no privacy? ‘It is none of your business. You are not my guardian or my gaoler.’

His mouth tightened. Disappointment filled his expression, as if he expected her to trust him when he did not trust her. ‘Unfortunately I am, until Lord Carrick returns.’ He stared at the letter and held out his hand.

Unfortunately. What did he mean, unfortunately? That really hurt. ‘This is a private letter, addressed to me from a friend of my father’s. It came via the tinker at this stall.’

Mr Gilvry’s lips thinned. ‘If it is all so innocent, why not simply send it by way of the post office?’

Why was he being so starchy? Surely he wasn’t jealous of her letter from home? Not possible. He was simply doing his duty. So he thought. She drew herself up to her full height. Not very impressive beside him, but necessary to make her point. ‘Again, it is none of your business.’

‘It is, if the getting of it puts you in danger.’

Did that mean he really was worried about her? Her heart gave a cheerful little skip. ‘How could I have guessed the man would be here and would risk an approach among so many people? Besides, I thought they must be far away by now, fearing the hue and cry.’

An odd look crossed his face: guilt. She frowned. ‘Did you know they were still in the area?’

‘I suspected it. I should have warned you.’

So it was guilt. ‘Yes, you should have.’

He huffed out a breath. ‘It would not have been necessary had you stayed where I left you.’

Now she felt guilty. ‘Well, I am certainly glad you came along at the right time.’

He glanced around. ‘Where is the tinker you came here to meet?’

She shook her head. ‘I have no idea. He ran off when he saw you.’

Should she mention the gypsy’s knife? She hesitated a moment too long and Mr Gilvry’s face hardened as if he guessed she was holding something back. ‘It is back to the dressmaker’s with you, Lady Jenna. And then home to Carrick Castle.’

‘Carrick is not my home.’ She belonged to Braemuir. Heart and soul, though no one else seemed to understand her devotion.

He marched her though the crowds as if she was the criminal, not the man who had accosted her. And yet she did not mind the feel of his hand in the small of her back, the warmth of his large body, and the protection it offered. Should she say something about her suspicion that the man had sought her out? He had probably figured that out for himself.

As he hurried her along, she caught a glimpse of the gypsy. He was watching them with dark unfathomable eyes. She wondered if she should point him out to Mr Gilvry, but before she could do so, the man faded from sight. Besides, if Mr Hughes trusted him, she should too. The person she must not trust was Niall Gilvry.

When they got back to the seamstress’s, Campbell already had the carriage waiting outside. He and Mary were deep in conversation at the horse’s heads.

‘Are you finished here?’ Mr Gilvry asked Jenna, nodding towards the shop.

She mentally winced. ‘Not quite.’

He sighed. ‘Verra well, let us go in. Miss Mary, your presence is required.’ He opened the door.

‘You don’t need to come with me.’

He gave her a look that spoke volumes. Anger. Frustration. And something hotter than either, though he was doing his best to damp it down.

An answering glow sparked in her own veins. Like a child playing near the fire, the closer she got to him, the more likely she was to burn. But there was something about him that made him hard to resist. And that made him dangerous.

With a shiver, she let him take her arm and escort her into the shop.

Chapter Four

Jenna couldn’t sleep. After an hour or so of tossing and turning, she’d given up and had moved to the window seat to gaze out into the night. Was it simply by chance that ruffian had been there in the market place? One of them had said something on the road, and it only just now had returned to her. You are sure this is the one? The one what?

It wasn’t only the ruffian intruding on her rest. She kept seeing Mr Gilvry, at first furious at her trickery, but then reaching for her, pulling her close, kissing her. Not a quick touch of his mouth, but something far more erotic, a melding that made her body burn with longing. The vision had sent her fleeing from her bed.

She glanced over at the tumbled bedcovers. Her mind was going around and around far too quickly for her ever to fall asleep.

She picked up the book she’d finished earlier. She could read it again. Or she could go to the library and choose another one. It might help her sleep. Something boring, like a treatise on sheep-raising. Or something a little more risqué, like a book of Gillray’s cartoons. Except that would make her laugh and keep her awake.

No, something deadly dull was in order. She pulled on her robe, shoved her feet in her slippers, lit a new candle from the stub in the candlestick on her bedside table, and headed for the library.