A Laird for Christmas (11 page)

He had brought her into the cottage because he knew they were being followed. He had heard the telltale sounds of one set of hoofbeats behind them and he had wanted to confront the enemy at a point of his own choosing. Had they returned to the castle, it would have been too easy for the villain to blend in with everyone else, as he had before, bringing them no closer to finding who was threatening Jane. He could protect her from harm here with a face-to-face confrontation.

There was a shuffle just outside the door; the latch raised.

Nicholas tensed and soundlessly moved with Jane further into the shadows, out of harm’s way. The door creaked open, and a sliver of daylight seeped into the cottage. With only a rush of air to be heard, Nicholas drew his sword. A foot appeared, then the full skirts of a woman. A young woman?

“Who’s there?” the woman asked, peering inside the cottage.

Nicholas did not lower his weapon as he stepped out of the shadows. “The better question is who are you?”

She fumbled with her skirts as she stepped back outside. “I came to meet my brother, the woodcutter. He lives here. I saw the horses and worried he might be in trouble.”

Nicholas kept his grip firm on his sword, still uncertain about the woman or her purpose in the woods. “Who is your brother?” Nicholas asked, watching her response.

The girl paled. “I told you. He is the woodcutter here.”

“His name.” Nicholas stepped toward the intruder. “If he was your brother, then what was his name?”

“P-Peter,” she said with a hint of triumph in her voice.

“And your name?”

“Clara-Clarisa. Clarisa.”

Nicholas’s instincts warned him that all was not right with this girl. But he honestly could not tell if the girl had a simple nature, or if she were having a difficult time recalling her brother and her own name. She appeared harmless enough.

“Where is my brother?” she asked again.

“He is not here.” Nicholas eased his grip on his sword.

Her eyes narrowed. “Then what are you doing here?”

Nicholas studied the woman. Was she the one who had attacked Jane that morning? A thin serving girl? She appeared too slight and inexperienced to launch the weapon that had taken down Jane’s horse. “We needed to rest before we returned to the castle.”

Nicholas sheathed his sword, but his senses remained on alert. He moved back toward Jane as his protective instincts heightened. Never would he take chances with Jane’s life. If the girl were involved in Jane’s accident, she had to be working with someone else.

The girl scowled. “You’re from the castle? I have never seen you before.”

Jane stepped around him. “Perhaps not, but I am from Bellhaven.”

At the sight of Jane, the young woman’s eyes widened. She dropped into a curtsey, bowing her head, or blocking her face from full view. Nicholas was not certain which. “Milady, I had no idea ’twas you.”

By the inflection in her voice, the girl sounded genuinely surprised at Jane’s presence. As the young girl straightened, Nicholas turned his attention to Jane. Her face was calm, but a slight crease settled across her forehead as she studied the young, flaxen-haired woman. Neither woman spoke as they sized up each other. Finally, Jane turned back to him. “We all need to return to the castle. At least there we are safe.”

Jane’s last word trailed off and Nicholas knew she was thinking about the times at the castle when someone had threatened her life. She was not safe, neither in nor out of the castle. Was she even safe in the presence of her suitors? The thought made Nicholas uneasy, for he knew he could not have exclusive rights to Jane. Not while this ridiculous competition was underway. Something inside him twisted at the thought, but he forced it away. He needed to remind Jane of what they once shared and let the memories bring her back to him.

Wasting precious moments in the cottage would not serve him there. He gently took Jane’s hand in his. “Come, let us return to the castle.”

Jane started at the touch of his hand, almost as though the feel of his roughness against her softness were a foreign kindness. She tightened her fingers around his and scorched him all the way to his heart. He swallowed, then stiffened as he led Jane outside.

Nicholas made certain at all times that the flaxen-haired girl was in front of them. He watched her mount the horse she had taken from Bellhaven before he set Jane upon his horse. They would once again share an animal since Jane’s horse was no longer in sight. Presumably instinct had sent the injured animal back to the castle. He would make certain to find the beast when they returned and treat any possible wounds.

“After you,” Nicholas said to the girl, waving her in front of them. He had no intention of giving her access to Jane or a chance to run away. He had more questions for her when they returned.

As they plodded through the snow, Nicholas was keenly aware of Jane’s nearness. The feel of her back against his chest did something to him that he could not define. Nicholas breathed in her sweet, feminine scent as his body throbbed and ached for her with a primitive need. Was there anything he could do or say that would help her remember what they had once shared? Did he have a chance of winning at all when compared to the physical perfection of Colin Taylor?

Plagued by the disquieting thought, Nicholas turned his attention back to Jane. Despite the incident this morning, she sat tall and proud upon the horse. Her chin was tilted slightly, and a look of determination settled across her face.

Instantly, he remembered what it was about Jane that had captivated him long ago. It was not her beauty; it was her indomitable will. There was a strength in Jane he had rarely seen in other women. She spoke her mind. And as she spoke, it was hard not to see that her soul was filled with fire and vitality. An irresistible combination.

Nicholas frowned. Did the others see what he saw in Jane? If so, this competition could become ruthless, for Nicholas did not intend to lose what was once so precious to him.

With the reins in one hand, he brought his other hand up to pluck a leaf from the escaping hair of Jane’s tight plait. He should have pulled back when the leaf was gone, yet he could not resist coiling his finger in the wisp at her nape. Her glorious thick hair had always intrigued him. In the weak winter sun, her hair was like golden sunshine and warm silk against his flesh.

At this touch, she did not pull away. He saw her smile. Sensual and knowing and devastating. The amused gleam in her eyes was breathtaking, and her features softened with the charm that had always been his undoing. She would melt their hearts, all six of her suitors.

Nicholas suddenly needed to ask the question burning in his mind. “Why have this competition, Jane? Why not choose your champion and be done with it?”

“The competition was Aunt Margaret’s idea.”

“You seem perfectly happy to participate,” Nicholas replied with an edge to his words.

Jane’s smile faded. “I have no other choice. If I want to keep the castle, I must marry. Father’s will allows me no other option.”

“You are certain your kin are dead?”

“It has been six months.” Her voice rose. The girl on the horse in front of them turned back to stare. “Why do they not return if they are alive?” Jane asked in a softer voice as her brow knit. “I know it sounds terrible, but I almost hope they are being held prisoner somewhere. Better a prisoner than dead.”

“If they were being held hostage, would not their keepers send word for ransom?” Nicholas lowered his voice. “I am sorry, Jane. Losing your father would be difficult. Losing both your father and brother must be unbearable.” He smoothed her arm atop her cloak, not knowing how else to comfort her.

“The odd thing is—they left with a company of men.” She twisted to look him in the eyes. “Not a one of them returned.” She paused and drew a sharp breath before continuing. “How can all those men vanish, every single one of them? Not even a horse returned home to us.”

She swallowed hard, saying nothing, and he knew the turmoil of emotion that must tie her in knots every night. He had felt that kind of loss before when his own mother had died. It was not the loss of her that had hurt so much, though he did miss her every day. It was the monster her loss had unleashed in his father. Nicholas had been forced to endure that pain for years.

To counter the emptiness inside him, Nicholas had become ferocious and reckless, hiding his pain and desolation. He had thought himself jaded to all humanity before he had met Jane. Somehow she had managed to touch something soft in him, and from that day forth he had been a different person. He had come back to life because of Jane and her brother Jacob. Only when he had befriended them and escaped the horrors of his own home had the endless twisting in his gut disappeared.

A chill breeze teased the end of Jane’s hair against her neck, the same wind that caused his hair to ruffle against his forehead. He became acutely aware of the crisp scent of the forest they had left behind, the rhythmic sound
of the wind in the grass, the bitter cold as it brushed his cheeks. The air seemed suddenly thick and hard to breathe.

“Jane,” he said, forcing her name past the roughness in his throat. “I will make inquiries. I am well connected. Someone had to see them during the battle or after.”

He did not say the word “dead.” He would find her something of the truth—give her some way to accept what had happened. He owed her that much, and more.

“Thank you, Nicholas, for giving me something to hope for.”

He smiled. “ ’Tis the season of hope. All things are possible at Christmastide.”

She tipped her face up to greet the wind, and tendrils of hair brushed her temples and cheeks. “I keep forgetting it is the holiday season.”

“I will see what I can do to help you remember that fact each and every day until Epiphany.”

She smiled, a true smile this time. “I used to love this time of year.”

“You will again,” he said, as they reached the approach to the castle.

The drawbridge was down and the gates stood open. Why had they not closed the gates when the hunters left? Nicholas frowned. He would have to speak with the guardsmen about security. They could not afford any more vulnerability than they already had.

They rode the rest of the distance in silence. The outer bailey was silent, eerily so. It was not until they entered the inner bailey that activity resumed. Six warriors stood next to their horses while others from the castle gathered around. As Nicholas and his party approached, all eyes turned toward them. A cry rose from the crowd and Margaret rushed toward them. Nicholas dismounted and assisted Jane, holding her close for one final moment before he set her on the ground. He kept hold of her hand as he led her from the horse toward her aunt.

“Merciful heavens. What has happened?” Margaret asked, stopping before them. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes concerned as she studied the two of them from head to toe.

“Jane was attacked during the hunt,” Nicholas said, releasing Jane’s hand.

Nicholas’s gaze shifted to the unidentified warriors. Why were they not wearing their colors? Was it a mere coincidence that these men had arrived on Jane’s estate very shortly after she was attacked? Were these men responsible? He had an easier time believing these men were Jane’s attackers rather than the slip of a girl they had met in the woods. Nicholas gripped the hilt of his sword, ready to draw if necessary. The odds were against him should they attack, but he would not make their task easy.

“We knew something was amiss when Jane’s horse returned on its own. I was preparing a party to go search just as these warriors arrived.” Margaret picked up Jane’s hands and intensely scrutinized her niece. “Are you hurt?”

“I am well,” Jane reassured. “How is my horse?”

Her aunt sighed. “She is in the stable with Ollie.”

Nicholas maneuvered so that he was between the women and the men. His gaze fixed on a blond-haired man about his same age. The man’s gaze held anger, then resentment, as he studied Jane. Nicholas’s frown deepened. He tightened his grip on his sword. Was the warrior disappointed not to be among those invited to compete for Jane’s hand in marriage? Or was there something more at play here?

Nicholas ran his gaze over the others, watching for any aggressive movement toward their swords. It was not until Nicholas sized up the oldest member of the group that recognition flared. Seamus MacGuire, one of his late father’s friends.

The way the other men stood behind the patriarch, Nicholas assumed the others to be members of that clan as well. Something inside Nicholas tightened. Seamus MacGuire had been as mean-spirited as his own father and not known for his diplomacy. Quite the opposite. The man and his clan were far more likely to draw their swords than ask questions of their neighbors.

Nicholas was about to draw his sword when he saw Ollie and Angus approach. He did not relax his grip on his sword, but his tension eased as he asked, “Why are the MacGuires here?”

Margaret’s eyes clouded with tears. “They have something to present to you, my dear,” she said to Jane, guiding her closer to Seamus.

Nicholas spared a glance back at the girl they had discovered in the woods, only to find her gone. Her horse remained beside his, but there was no sign of the young woman. His irritation spiked. He had had several questions for her. No matter. He would find her later. At the moment, whatever the MacGuire clan wanted with Jane was far more urgent.

Jane’s expression was nervous and intense as she approached the men. Seamus stepped forward, bowed, then offered Jane a folded piece of cloth. “We felt it necessary tae return this tae ye. We found it after the Battle of Bothwell Bridge. We thought ye might like the remembrance of yer father and brother.”

Nicholas stiffened as she unfolded the standard bearing the Lennox crest of two broadswords in saltire behind an imperial crown. Jane’s face paled.

“We also retrieved this.” The man held out a white piece of linen. When Jane simply stared at the cloth, Seamus unwrapped the object within, revealing a broadsword.

A chill air rushed past Nicholas. “Your father’s sword.”