Her rebel lord, p.11
Her Rebel Lord, page 11
‘I thought my home was warm to you?’ he chided.
She frowned. ‘What?’
‘You are shivering from cold.’
She shook her head slowly. ‘No, I am shivering from fear. This is no parlour game you play.’
‘I know.’
‘Then why do you do it?’
‘Because if I do not, these men will die as so many already have.’ His voice darkened. ‘You were not at Culloden. You did not see the slaughter. I will do everything I can to help those who survived. Most, when they reach me, are already wounded or sick. I shelter them until they can travel and then I get them out of England.’ Even though he spoke barely above a whisper, his dedication and conviction seemed to fill the room. His commitment was like a beacon.
‘I can help you with the wounded ones.’
She spoke before thinking of the consequences. But she did not regret them. She spoke from the heart. The men he helped often needed medical care. And if they were caught, they were as good as dead. The healer in her longed to help them.
‘You don’t know what you are saying.’ His arm tensed under her fingers and his tone was harsh.
‘I am not naïve.’
‘You are not Scottish, and your father is loyal to the man I am defying.’
Again, there was something in his tone that hinted of things unsaid, dark, dangerous passions. His jaw clenched and there was a twitch in his cheek. He was a man driven by demons.
‘I am half-Scottish, but more than that, I do not believe that continued killing solves anything. I would help you no matter what.’ She planted her feet, pulled her fingers from his arm and faced him. ‘And what of you? You are an English lord.’
He planted his fists on his lean hips, brushing aside his dress sword. ‘I am half-Scottish, as you are. My father was a Scotsman. My mother is English aristocracy. My title and lands came to me from her father. I was Lord Byrne before I was in leading strings. ’Tis an old and distinguished title.’
She snorted. ‘And you turn it to such a use.’
Rare amusement lit his hazel eyes, making them seem like molten gold in the occasional flicker of candlelight that reached them. ‘I am sure Mother’s ancestors are spinning in their graves.’
‘So what of your father’s people?’
His countenance cleared of all emotion. His entire body stilled, as though he did not even breathe. ‘McNabbs. A minor branch.’
‘And the origins of the name you are known by. Why “The Ferguson”?’
His mouth twisted. ‘My father’s mother’s people were named Ferguson. I chose the name to honour them, as well as hide my identity.’
‘But what if it became known you fought at Culloden?’
His face twisted. ‘I would lose my title, my property and my life. So far, I have managed to keep the Crown from learning things that would not be good for me.’
‘Kept it secret? That could not have been easy.’
He shrugged. ‘’Twas not, but I am an influential man. As was my maternal grandfather. And very wealthy.’ He smiled for the first time since they had started on this topic.
Her intuition told her not to ask, but her impulsivity blurted the words. ‘And your father? What happened to him?’
He looked at her, then away. An emotion she did not want to decipher moved over his face, then was gone. ‘He died while Mother and I visited my English grandfather who was on his deathbed.’
Compassion for the small boy he had once been filled her heart. She laid her hand on his chest, felt it rise and fall. ‘I am so sorry. That must have been an awful time for you and your mother.’
He shook his head as though to clear it of pictures and memories. He looked down at her. ‘It was.’
There was a hardness in his voice that told her the events might be in the past, but they were not forgotten. Trouble gnawed at the edge of her mind. She ignored it.
‘That must make it even more difficult for your mother to know what you do.’
He removed her hand from his body and released her. ‘It does.’ Coldness leached from him, a coldness she had not felt from him before.
‘Was your father a Jacobite?’
‘Yes. My maternal grandfather managed to keep secret my father’s true allegiance. Otherwise, the Crown would have never allowed me to inherit my grandfather’s title. We did not return to where my father had been killed.’
She heard his pain even though his voice was cold. The urge to comfort rose again. This time she suppressed it. He had made it clear that her touch was not welcome.
‘Shall we return to the others?’ If possible his tone was colder. ‘They will begin to wonder what we are doing.’
She shivered as her treacherous blush moved over her skin. She forced a laugh, but it was a weak thing. ‘No one will think anything. I am a spinster and known to be too occupied in my healing and my papa for dalliance.’ She had forgotten her previous mortification that everyone would know her father was trying to play matchmaker.
His gaze narrowed. ‘Then they are fools.’
Without another word, he strode to the door. She had to scurry to keep up with him, all the while wondering what had happened to change him from the warm, engaging man who had brought her here to the frigid stranger who looked at her with unfathomable emotions playing in the depths of his eyes.
Chapter Eight
T hey arrived back in the drawing room in time for her to see her father smile at Mrs McNabb, a widow of long standing. Jenna now realised that Mrs McNabb was a very attractive woman who seemed to have the ability to make her father enjoy things.
‘Ah, there you are, child.’ Viscount Ayre rose and bowed to his hostess. ‘’Tis past time we were gone. Particularly as I have offered a ride to the Reverend and Mrs Kingston. The night is too cold for them to travel in their gig. The same for Captain Seller and Lieutenant Bering on their horses.’
Fortunately their coach was large and comfortable. But Jenna still wished they would not have company. She wanted to think about what she had learned this evening.
‘Best you hurry, then,’ Lord Byrne said, returning from the hallway. ‘The butler tells me the weather is changing.’
Jenna shivered. ‘It seems Lizzie is right as usual. She said her bones ached and a storm would move in before the night was gone.’
Papa grimaced. ‘She is never wrong, much as I wish she were.’
‘Especially tonight,’ Jenna added. It seemed they were to leave before she could make arrangements to come back and see Gavin. She would just have to pay an afternoon call.
They were less than a half mile from Huntingdale, Lord Byrne’s lodge, when the carriage stopped. Rain pounded on the roof like drums. Everyone exchanged looks. No smuggler or highwayman would hold them up. They had outriders and the carriage was well known and the occupants well liked.
‘My lord—’ one of the outriders opened the door ‘—there is a huge tree across the road and water is dammed behind it. The road is washed out. My horse can cross, but Hobbs says he cannot manoeuvre the carriage around the blockage. Nor is there enough light. And we don’t have enough horses to clear the road.’
The viscount groaned, but levered himself out of the well-cushioned seat and into the cold and wet night. The chill, damp wind whipped in through the open door.
‘Mercy, but ’tis a miserable night,’ Mrs Kingston said. ‘We are so lucky you and the viscount were the other guests, Jenna. When we left in our gig, the sky was clear.’
Captain Lord Seller shifted. ‘The weather here is very changeable.’
‘That it is,’ the Reverend replied. ‘The clouds could blow away as easily as they moved in. If it had been snowing instead of raining, we would make it home. As it is, we are likely stopped for the night. Fortunately, people who live here understand.’
Viscount Ayre returned and climbed inside, closing the door with a resounding bang. ‘We must go back and impose on our host’s further hospitality.’ He hugged his cape closer. ‘It has been a long time since this road washed out, according to Hobbs. Of course this situation is caused by the wind blowing down the tree.’
‘But then it has been raining more than normal and the wind is worse than I can remember it being in quite a while,’ the Reverend added. ‘Before your time, actually, Lord Ayre.’
The carriage rocked and rolled until it turned around. The rain pounded on the roof like a thousand gunshots and echoed in the silence. Thankfully the return trip was short.
Several hours later, Jenna shivered in her nightdress borrowed from Mrs McNabb. The older woman had been gracious when they had returned, quickly assigning everyone a bedchamber without a moment’s hesitation.
Jenna also had her hostess’s thick wool robe that helped against the cold, but like the nightgown was not long enough. Still, they were clean and she was thankful for them, otherwise she would be in her chemise, which would be worse. Mrs McNabb’s slippers were a good fit.
Determined to make the best of the situation despite the fact that she had been unable to talk privately with Lord Byrne about seeing Gavin, Jenna sank on to a plain upholstered chair. She was close to the roaring fire and thankful for its warmth. Now all she needed was to figure a way to contact her host.
A knock made her start. Everyone should be in bed. Perhaps…
A spurt of energy set her on her feet and to the heavy oak door. Cracking it open, she saw Duncan McNabb, Lord Byrne. He was still in his evening clothes, but the light of his lone candle showed that the star patch at the corner of his mouth was gone.
‘What are you—?’
‘Shh.’ He held one finger to his lips. ‘Let me in.’
She blinked. A lady never had a man in her bedchamber. Her boudoir was acceptable, but even then the lady was in carefully arranged dishabille. This was not a situation like that. She shook her head.
He frowned and whispered. ‘Do you want to see someone?’
Understanding made her nod.
He pushed at the door, and she allowed him to open it enough to slide inside. He shut it quietly. ‘Everyone else is in their rooms. This is the perfect time, unless you want to go in several hours when it is closer to morning.’
‘Are you sure no one is about?’ The last thing she wanted was to lead someone to her cousin.
‘As best as I can be. I thought of waiting until later, but doubt much will change. Guests normally stay in their own rooms—for a while at least.’ He grinned at her.
She raised her eyebrows. ‘And why would someone wander your halls at all?’
‘Because Seller and Bering are looking for any clue that will lead them to the person or persons smuggling out Jacobites. The opportunity to search my home will be one they won’t resist. Just as they won’t hesitate to go over every last inch of your father’s castle and grounds. They will have no honour.’ His jaw clenched on the last word. ‘That is why Gavin is safer with me.’
‘Gavin is here, then? I had hoped, but the danger…’Tis much safer than de Warre Castle. But you do not have a priest hole.’
He shrugged, the candle flame wavering. ‘You are right, but we have something much better. And all my servants are loyal to me.’ He grinned and Jenna realised he did not need the patch to make her attention focus on the curve of his lips.
‘What if they are not?’
‘An assignation with one of my guests?’ His good humour fled. ‘I do not condone that behaviour from my servants or from guests toward my servants.’
Surprised, she took a step back as a blush rushed over her cheeks. ‘I did not mean that. I did not even think…that is, I was thinking they might be prowling around.’
‘Good guests stay in their rooms unless they are meeting someone in secret, and then usually everyone knows what is going on. To the best of my knowledge, nothing of that sort is happening.’ The scowl eased from his face. ‘And as I said, I will not countenance the other.’
‘You are here.’ She stated the obvious only to berate herself silently the second the words were out. ‘That is, not that we have an…’ She frowned when his smile turned sardonic. ‘Shall we go and see my cousin?’
It was what he had come for and what she wanted more than anything. She worried about Gavin. If there was a hollow sense of disappointment in her stomach, it was because she was hungry or some such. It had nothing to do with the fact that this man, whom she admired so much and half hero-worshipped, was only here from duty to Gavin, not from any desire of his own. Duncan McNabb knew how much she cared for Gavin and Gavin for her.
He glanced down at her clothing and an arrested look moved over his face. When he spoke his voice was rougher than normal. ‘You should wear something over those. ’Tis chilly in the halls.’
Her blush returned along with an unfamiliar sense of helplessness. ‘I do not have anything else.’
His gaze lingered where her ankles showed below the hems of her clothing before travelling slowly up, pausing where the robe gaped at her bosom. She was more amply endowed than his mother, a fact that had not mattered until this moment.
Then his eyes met hers. ‘The cape you wore here.’
She had forgotten it in the play of emotions caused by his perusal. Her face felt like she had been standing directly in front of the fire for some time, and the last thing on her mind was being cold. But he was right. She needed the cape for decency if nothing else.
‘Of course.’ She pivoted and rushed to the wardrobe, which she opened and then whipped out the clothing. In one practised motion, she swirled the heavy black folds around her shoulders. She clutched the collar around her neck. Now she was decent.
‘Very quick.’
‘Sometimes more than others,’ she muttered, thinking how long it had taken her to realise just how revealing his mother’s nightwear was. ‘Can we go now?’ She wanted to escape this awkward situation.
He made her a mocking bow before going to the entrance where he held a finger to his mouth. Slowly, he inched open the door and listened. Then he peered out. After long moments, he held the door open wide enough for her to slip by.
She glided by him, her back to him so that her shoulder brushed his chest and her hip grazed his upper thigh. Now she knew the cold in the halls would be no problem, just the slight touches of forbidden body part to equally forbidden body part had ignited a fire she had never truly understood until him. Not even his previous kisses had torched her as the illicit touches did.
She felt him move behind her as he followed. She did not think they touched, but she felt as though his body pressed against hers. She heard the soft exhale of his breath and felt the warmth against her cheek. His musky scent engulfed her.
She took a deep breath. This arousal could not be happening to her. He was not doing anything to entice her. He was merely taking her to see Gavin. And their situation—regardless of what he had said earlier—was dangerous.
Determined to get beyond this aberration of emotions, she strode to her left. His fingers caught her shoulder through the heavy folds of her cloak and held. Tingles went down her arm and into her chest. It was as though he held her intimately in two places and all from one grip on her shoulder.
The knowledge of his power over her body was unsettling.
She clenched and unclenched her hands inside the cover of her cloak. Thankfully he could not see her reaction. Lifting her head, she raised her brows in silent inquiry.
Amusement lit his eyes, making him more disturbing to her sang-froid. He jerked his head in the direction opposite from the one in which she was heading. She nodded, wanting to shake his hand off her shoulder for self-preservation, but refusing to be so obvious.
He released her, and she swayed toward him without meaning to. She jerked back and nearly lost her balance.
Sardonic appraisal flashed over his face before he turned and moved away at a rapid pace. She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to still the rapid thudding of her heart. When she looked, he was nearly at a turn in the hallway. She rushed after him, hoping nothing else would happen to make her seem even more foolish.
She needed to concentrate on Gavin, not the handsome, virile man taking her to her cousin. She was nothing to this man. She needed to remember that.
They moved through the halls and down several flights of stairs. Jenna recognised the working area of the house. He led her through the kitchen and to a small door that opened to a pantry. Inside and hidden behind several kegs of ale was another door. He moved the barrels and opened it. Stooping, he passed through, the light from his candle flickering and casting his shadow back on her. She followed.
Straightening up, she looked around. Gavin lay on a pallet against the wall that backed the kitchen fireplace. The room was toasty. A sigh of relief escaped her as she rushed to her cousin.
She knelt and stroked the damp hair from his forehead. He stirred and his eyes opened.
‘Jenna?’ His voice was hoarse, but his face was no longer flushed as it had been when The Ferguson had spirited him away.
‘How do you feel?’ she whispered, afraid a loud noise might echo somewhere it should not. She began to feel a part of this secret, deadly game they played, where one side seemed to hold all the cards.
‘Could be worse,’ he muttered. ‘Thirsty.’
She looked around. Nearby was a small table with an unlit candle and a pitcher and glass. She poured him some water and put the rim of the mug to his mouth. He drank greedily. When he was finished, he lay back down and closed his eyes.
She glanced at Duncan. He watched her with an intensity that unnerved her. ‘What?’
He shrugged. ‘Nothing.’
‘Jenna,’ Gavin said, drawing her attention away from the disturbing man, ‘why are you here? What are you doing in Duncan’s house? ’Tis not done.’
She snorted. ‘Nor is it the thing to be a Jacobite right now, but you are.’
He chuckled, but it turned to a cough that made him wince in pain. She grabbed a nearby pillow and held it to his chest to stop his motion and ease the pain of his jolting.
