Hero in the Highlands (20 page)

“I didn't ‘allow' a damned thing, Miss Blackstock,” Sergeant Kelgrove grunted. “I learned a long time ago that Major Forrester—the Duke of Lattimer to you—will see a problem solved in the most expedient way possible. Even if that means putting himself in harm's way.”

“Bollocks,” Fiona retorted, and Gabriel grinned. She and the landslide had some things in common. At the least they were both unstoppable once they got started.

“Say ‘bollocks' all you like,” Adam returned, “but I was given an order. In the king's army we follow orders, whether we approve of them, or not.”

“Then I do say ‘bollocks' again, English. He isnae yer commanding officer any longer. He's yer liege lord. Ye dunnae merely agree to die with him leading ye into bloody battle. Ye make certain ye keep him from harm, even at the cost of yer own blood.”

Gabriel scowled. No. That was wrong. He wasn't some precious … thing. He didn't lead his men from some safe hill far away from the battlefield. And he was no one's liege lord, and certainly not the Laird of MacKittrick Castle. He was the Duke of Lattimer, and he only required his tenants and servants to do the work to which they'd agreed. His duty was to see Lattimer safe and well managed, and then to return to a war that needed to be won.

“I can keep myself from harm,” he stated, jumping the last few feet to the valley floor. “And I recall you saying that while I might have been named the Duke of Lattimer, I would never be the Laird of MacKittrick.” He lifted an eyebrow for emphasis.

“Ye arenae,” Fiona retorted. “But if ye die stupidly, ye'll have everyone worried aboot the MacKittrick curse rearing its blasted head again. I've enough to manage withoot ye doing that.”

“
You
have enough to manage, do you?”

Her shoulders squared. “Ye've nae tried to send me away, so aye,
I
have enough to manage.”

“If you're in my employ, then, and if you don't like the way I've done something, Fiona, tell
me.
Don't blather on about it to any fool who'll listen.”

“Sir!” Kelgrove protested.

“Not you,” Gabriel amended.

“That's one command I'm pleased to follow,” Fiona put in.

“I don't doubt that. Now. I found shovel marks up there. Was that from your men cleaning up the slide?”

She looked toward the top of the gorge. “Nae. Are ye certain?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes narrowed, her gaze moving from the slide to the far field. “Well, now. That would be a handy way to separate half the flock and do away with them, wouldnae?”

“I thought so. But it doesn't tell me who did it. As for why, how much would a hundred sheep be worth?”

Fiona shrugged. “They were all ewes, so I'd say aboot two pounds each. Two hundred pounds. That's a fine profit fer the effort of a rock slide.”

“Where might they sell a hundred head all at once?”

“We've drovers all over the Highlands, paid to drive herds of cattle or flocks of sheep to market. It could have been as far as Aberdeen or Fort William. Or both. That would look less suspicious, I reckon—dividing up the flock.”

This was getting more interesting—not because of her ready answers, but because this quest wasn't some ploy manufactured to keep him occupied. She didn't know who'd done this—and he meant to give her the answers she wanted. “In other words,” he said, “anyone could have taken them, and sold them anywhere.”

“Aye.”

“That's not helpful.”

Her arms crossed over her pert chest. “Ye asked me what was amiss, and I told ye. Sheep are missing. We lost another four yesterday. I didnae say ye'd be able to discover who stole that hundred head.” She tilted her head, the dark hair that caressed her temples drifting across her face in the breeze. “As backward as we Highlanders are, even we might've been able to find the thieves if they'd kept the flock in their garden.”

“You should address His Grace more respectfully,” Sergeant Kelgrove stated, his expression annoyed.

Gabriel had nearly forgotten his aide was even present. “I'm already accustomed to Miss Blackstock's direct manner of speaking.”

“It's her between your tenants, your servants, and you, sir. The way she addresses you will be imitated by others.”

“Dunnae speak aboot me as if I'm nae here,” Fiona protested. “And I reckon if
Gabriel
doesnae like how I address him, he can tell me so.”

Adam looked like he'd swallowed a bug. Gabriel, though, didn't feel nearly as annoyed as his aide looked; she'd called him by his given name in front of someone else. It shouldn't have mattered in the slightest, but it did. Covering his abrupt urge to smile by turning his back to collect Jack, he couldn't explain even to himself what seemed to be happening, except that in the midst of this chaos and frustration at the stubborn nonsense keeping him from his duties, he felt … easier. Not quite relaxed, because God knew he'd stepped from one battle direction into another, but lighter. Because of her, and her relentless pushing at his well-established sensibilities. It would never serve him in Spain, but here humor seemed to be an essential part of dealing with Highlanders and the Highlands. And it felt like it had been a very long time since he'd laughed.

“Are ye finished, then?” Fiona asked.

He mounted Jack and swung the bay around to face her. “Here? Yes. The trail's too old. Why don't you take me to see my gamekeeper? I imagine he would have noticed any odd comings and goings.”

Even if he hadn't been watching for it, he would have seen the widening of her dark eyes, the way she checked her advance for just a heartbeat. His hunch had been correct, then; it had been Ian Maxwell who'd kissed her. It was therefore time that they meet. Past damned time.

“Sergeant, return to Lattimer and send people out to give me a head count of the stock I have left. Employ some additional shepherds to help keep watch.”

“Some of them have sons and daughters who know what they're aboot,” Fiona put in, still being unexpectedly helpful.

“Your Grace, it isn't … proper for me to leave you out here alone with Miss Bla—”

“Och, I promise ye I willnae ravish yer commander,” she broke in. “Dunnae be such a lass.”

Kelgrove flushed. “Once again, I am trying to do my duty. Insult me all you like, but the fact remains that—”

“The fact remains that I can't be in two places at once, and so you're going back,” Gabriel finished. “I want to know where we stand, and I want to move a few steps ahead of our thieves. You'll provide me with accurate information, and she knows where to find this Ian Maxwell. Go.”

With a curt nod Kelgrove dug his heels into his mount's ribs and galloped back toward Lattimer. Or MacKittrick, or whatever the castle wanted to be known as today. The old manse could be more fickle than a woman, it seemed.

“If ye wanted to be alone with me, ye should have told me where ye were headed this morning,” Fiona commented, swinging up as easily as any man to sit astride her mare.

“I frequently want to put my head through a door after a conversation with you, Fiona, but I think I've made it clear what I want of you. And since you followed me out here, I conclude that you want me in return.”

“Mayhap I'm only being neighborly,” she returned, moving into a trot beside him.

He snorted. “You? Neighborly?”

Her eyebrows lifted. “I'm very neighborly. Ask anyone.”

“Anyone but me, you mean,” Gabriel said, kneeing Jack to send the bay a touch closer to Fiona and her black mare. “While I happen to find your antagonism charming, I wouldn't call it neighborly.”

“My antagonism's yer fault,” she retorted with a half grin, “because ye're hard-hearted
and
trying to give yer sergeant
my
job. I'll nae give the stewardship up withoot a fight, ye ken.”

“Good. I like to fight.”

“I've noti—”

He reached out, caught Fiona beneath the arms, and dragged her out of her saddle. Pulling her across his thighs, using her flailing grab around his shoulders as she tried to steady herself to draw her still closer, he took her mouth in a deep, hard kiss.

Her fingers tightened across his shoulders, her legs curling against his thigh. Gabriel teased at her until her lips parted. He tangled his tongue with hers, forgetting to breathe, as he pulled her against his chest. His cock jumped at the weight of her across him. He hoped she felt it, felt that he wanted her. His fingers wanted to tear at her clothes, bare her skin to his gaze and his touch. Gabriel caught the bottom of her dress, drawing it along as he ran his palm and splayed fingers up her thigh.

“Stop,” she whispered against his mouth, turning her grip on his shoulders into a push.

Damnation.
His blood high, lust and battle pounding together in his chest along with the desire—the need—to claim her as his own, and she'd said the one word that he'd sworn he'd listen to. Clenching his jaw so hard he could practically hear the muscles creak, he lifted her away from him and set her onto her feet in the middle of the shit-covered field. He wanted to bellow a protest, to demand to know who he needed to bloody in order to have her remove that word that kept her from him. Ian Maxwell seemed the most likely opponent, and luckily he was close by.

Fiona stood with her back to him for a moment. Abruptly, though, she turned around. “Well,” she panted, putting a hand on his boot and lifting her face to look up at him, “that's definitely a fine beginning, I reckon. But I'll take more convincing than that.”

The world righted itself. “It's to be war, then,” he murmured, taking her chin in his hand and leaning down to kiss her sweet, soft mouth again.

Her black eyes danced as he straightened. “Oh, aye. Come and get me if ye dare.” Releasing his boot, she collected her mare and mounted again. “I recommend ye find a better battlefield than one that's covered with shite. And that's the only help ye'll get from me, Beast of Bussaco.”

He hadn't put that nickname on the list of forbidden epithets, damn it all. “I have an idea or two,” he countered. “But you should know one thing.”

“And what might that be?”

“I never lose.”

 

Chapter Nine

“Ian!” Fiona called, hoping that the gamekeeper would be out shooting rabbits and not sleeping the morning away in his cottage. Aye, he was notoriously charming, and aye, the two of them had a bit of fun from time to time, but it hadn't been anything to merit that deadly look in Gabriel's eyes when she'd told him to stop undressing her. He'd done so, at once, but if he did suspect her connection to Ian, and if he thought her hesitation had been because of the gamekeeper … She shut her eyes for just a moment.
Please let him be elsewhere.
“Ian Maxwell!”

A moment later the door rattled and pulled open, and Ian's shock of tousled red hair emerged into the sunlight. “Fiona, my lovely,” he drawled. “If ye wanted to see me, I told ye I'd—”

Before she could cut him off, Gabriel stepped into view, and Ian snapped his mouth shut. Immediately he straightened, tucking in his shirt as he stepped onto the packed dirt and oyster shells at the front of the small cottage. With a quick glare at her, he ran a hand through his hair and made a half bow. “Yer Grace.”

“You told Miss Blackstock you'd what?” Gabriel asked, his tone flat and hard. She sent the duke a glance, alarmed. Telling him about the sheep had made her feel like a traitor. Admitting her interest in him as a man had gone against every logical bone she possessed. He was not allowed to do any battling because of her.

“He told me he'd be by first thing tomorrow morning,” she cut in.

“Aye,” Ian seconded. “I didnae expect her to bring ye by to call on me is all I meant, Yer Grace. And why are ye here? Is someaught amiss?”

“My flocks of sheep are thinning,” the duke returned. “You, I assume, are a competent tracker. What have you noticed?”

At least Gabriel hadn't named her as the one who'd given away the secret she'd asked everyone else to keep. Ian would likely ask her outright later, but when she considered it, it really wasn't any of the gamekeeper's affair how she worked to stop the thefts, as long as they did stop.

“Surely a duke has larger worries than where a few sheep have wandered off to.”

“I do not,” Gabriel stated, still brusque. “This property relies on sheep for a good portion of its income. Income that filters down to the salaries of my employees and the upkeep of their homes, and mine. Aside from that, I cannot abide thieves. So instead of telling me where my attention should lie, why don't you answer my question?”

“Yer question?” Ian repeated, his fair skin darkening. Likely no one had spoken to the redheaded charmer in that tone for a very long time, if ever.

“Have you noticed anything?” the duke repeated, his tone saying he wouldn't be doing so again.

“Nae. I've nae noticed anything aboot missing sheep,” Ian stated, starting to fold his arms across his chest and then evidently changing his mind.

“And why is that? You travel more of this property than anyone else in my employ. Hasn't Miss Blackstock asked you to look into the matter?”

“Aye, she has.” The gamekeeper regarded her with narrowed eyes. “But sheep trample all over the territory. I cannae look at a track and tell if this one's been stolen or that one's wandered off on its own.”

Gabriel tilted his head, his continued aggression making her wonder if he'd overheard her talking to Ian earlier in the week. And good God, the gamekeeper had kissed her that morning. If he
had
heard, that explained him asking if she was seeing anyone, and his suggestion she warn them away. Whatever he'd heard certainly hadn't made him stop pursuing her. Fiona shivered. No one had ever desired her like that. If she allowed herself to dwell on it—on him—well, it could be very intoxicating.