How to Abduct a Highland Lord (28 page)

 He settled on the blanket next to her. “We’ve had a wild time of it, haven’t we? First our marriage, which was not the usual fare. Then we had to adjust to each other. Your brothers did not make things easier, either. Plus the problems with Lucinda and the runaway horse…And now, here we are, attending a wedding.” He picked up a knife and began peeling a pear. “I don’t like weddings.”

 “Really? Why not?”

 He cut the pear into slices and placed them on a plate. “Devonsgate, please give her ladyship some juice.”

 Devonsgate poured some juice into a wineglass and handed it to Fiona. “And you, my lord? I daresay you’ll wish for some ale or—”

 “No. I will have juice, too.”

 Devonsgate and Fiona looked at each other in amazement, then Fiona looked at Jack. “Juice?”

 He shrugged. “What’s good enough for my son is good enough for me.”

 Son? He thought she was—She blinked. She kept wondering, yet her mind skittered around the thought as if it were too hot to touch.

 Silently, she began to add up the weeks. It was possible. Yes, it was possible. Her eyes watered.Was she carrying Jack’s child?

 “Fiona, drink your juice,” Jack said gently.

 She took a convulsive gulp, the liquid tart on her tongue.

 “Devonsgate,” Jack said, his gaze never leaving Fiona, “I believe we have all we need. You may retire to the coach.”

 “Thank you, my lord. If you need me I am but a step away.” He bowed deeply, gave the blanket one last critical look, then disappeared up the walk.

 Jack sipped his juice, grimaced, but quickly hid it. He set down his glass, picked up a small plate, and placed an apricot tart on it, along with a wedge of cheese. “Try these.”

 She picked up the tart and nibbled on the edge. She’d donned a white muslin morning gown trimmed with pink rosettes that peeked from between the gap in her cloak. In her hurry to dress, she’d used far too few pins, and her hair was in imminent danger of falling down.

 She looked fresh and young, the smattering of freckles dusting her nose so appealing that he was tempted to trace their progress with a kiss.

 Fiona bit into a tart. “Jack, why do you dislike weddings?”

 “I find all the trappings and the flowers and such ridiculous.”

 “I suppose,” she said slowly. “But still…” She blushed. “You may think me silly, but the ceremony itself was beautiful. They really love each other. Jack, sometimes…sometimes, don’t you wish things were different between us? That our wedding had been more normal?” She flushed deeply. “Of course, we wouldn’t be together then. But if we had…do you miss that?” She sighed. “I am making things difficult, aren’t I? I am sorry.”

 “No, please go on. What did you like about the wedding?”

 She looked surprised but pleased. “The whole thing was lovely—the ceremony, the reception. We didn’t have that.”

 He grinned. “No, our wedding was quite different. The groom was drunk and unconscious.”

 She put down the tart, her cheeks hot and pink. “I wish you wouldn’t remember that.”

 Jack laughed. “I will do my best to forget, though it will be difficult.”

 She sighed, and silence filled the space between them. Jack’s flippant remark died on his lips. She was serious. This meant a lot to her.

 “What do you wish our wedding had been like?”

 She gave him a quick smile. “It is silly even to wonder. We had no choice in our marriage, especially you.”

 “I am not sorry we married.” The words surprised him, but he knew instantly they were true. Now there was a purpose to his life, a reason for everything.

 Her gaze flew to his face.“No?”

 “Not at all. Considering everything, I think we’ve done well.”

 She pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. “I think we’ve done well, too.”

 He took her hand, noting how small it was in his. “Fiona, I—”

 A shot rang out.

 Jack was on his feet, his pistol in his hand before the echo died.

 But the thick woods revealed nothing—no movement, no sound. Nothing but an eerie, unnatural silence.

 “Damn them!” His chest pounded with shock. “Someone must be hunting.”

 Fiona didn’t answer.

 He turned. A stunned expression on her face, she opened her mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out.

 He knelt. “Do not be frightened. When I find—”

 Blood, rich and red, soaked her pristine white gown.

 “No!” he gasped.

 Her lips quivered. “I—” Her eyes fluttered, and then, slowly, she fell forward into his arms.

 Jack caught her, dropping his pistol to the blanket.“Devonsgate! Hamish!” Jack’s mind thundered with fear. He had to do something to save her! The blood was spreading so fast.

 “Damn it, Devonsgate!”he yelled frantically. “Fiona! Please, God, no!” Tears blurred his eyes as he scooped her into his arms.

 A whisper of sound brushed across his ears, then—

 CRACK!

 Something exploded across his head. He fell, pushing himself to one side, cushioning Fiona against him.

 He fought with all his will to stay conscious, to reach for her again, but thick, black, cold silence swallowed him whole.

 Gregor peered through the thicket.

 “Can you see anything?” Dougal asked.

 “Aye. I can see both of them. It looks as if they’re having a picnic.” He glared at Dougal. “So much for your thought that Kincaid was bringing her here to murder her.”

 “I didn’t suggest any such thing.”

 Gregor lifted a brow.

 Dougal flushed. “I don’t trust him, that’s all.”

 “Sometimes I think he truly cares for her. Right now, he’s looking at her as if she’s the only woman in the world. I wonder if he knows he does that.”

 Dougal scowled. “He needs a good thumping to wake him up. She’s the best woman on the earth, and he’s a fool not to realize it.”

 “Aye.”

 “And we should be over there, protecting her. I don’t trust him, and neither did you until recently.”

 “Has it ever dawned on you that he’s had many a chance to harm her if he wished? A push down the stairs, a bit of poison in her daily tea. It wouldn’t be so difficult,” Gregor pointed out.

 Dougal scratched his chin, then peered through the leaves. “Oh, God. He’s going to kiss her. I hate seeing that.”

 The brothers turned away, resting against the tree trunk. Silence reigned, except for the bubbling of the brook.

 Finally, Dougal looked at Gregor. “I hate to admit it, but perhaps you are right. We don’t need to be here.”

 Gregor nodded, and they headed back for their horses.

 Dougal turned to duck under a low branch, then pausing, peering back into the woods.

 “What is it?” Gregor asked.

 Dougal stared a moment longer, his blond head cocked to one side. Finally, he shrugged. “I thought I saw something, but whatever it was, it’s gone. Probably nothing.”

 They crossed the small stream, and suddenly, a shot rang out.

 Dougal turned a white face to his brother, and both of them yelled,“Fiona!”

 Then they were running, through the trees, over fallen logs, their booted feet thudding, their breath harsh.

 They turned the corner in the overgrown path and burst into the clearing.

 “Fiona!” Gregor charged across the clearing to where she lay on the blanket, a red stain spreading across her gown, her face alarmingly pale. On the blanket beside her was Jack’s pistol. Fury flooded him as he scooped up his sister, and lightning cracked overhead.

 “To the village,” Dougal said grimly, tucking the gun into his waistband. “Old Nora knows more about medicine than any doctor.”

 Gregor nodded, striding toward their horses with Fiona alarmingly still in his arms. How had he let this happen? As clouds gathered with amazing swiftness, he handed Fiona to Dougal, who was already astride his mount.

 Dougal immediately set off at a gallop.

 As Gregor swiftly followed, he silently swore vengeance. And not just on Jack Kincaid, but on the entire family who’d brought that son of a bitch into this world.

 Hell was now roused.

 Chapter Twenty

 Aye, they brought her to me, they did. Two more desperate men I’ve never seen. And all the while I was tendin’ her, the lightning and wind roared overhead, shakin’ the ground and rippin’ the trees from the earth ’til even the bravest fell to their knees and prayed.

 OLDWOMANNORA OFLOCHLOMOND

TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD NIGHT

 Jack awoke slowly, as if layers of gauze were slowly drawn from his mind. He was lying on a plank floor with his hands tied behind him. His head ached powerfully. Overhead, thunder rumbled and roared, so loud it shook the ground.

 He shivered at the sound, a part of his mind searching for something—a lost thought or a memory or—

 Fiona.

 Horror trembled through him.

 “Here, now. Ye be awake already, eh?”

 Lightning split the air, lighting the face of the man who stood in the darkness. He was broad, his arms powerful, his face heavily lined and dirty. Lank hair fell over his eyes; his nose was bulbous.

 A crash of thunder made the man glance at the window. He frowned. “’Tis a horrible storm. I’ve never seen the like.”

 Jack knew that storm meant Fiona’s brothers were somewhere, their hearts as torn as his own. He tried not to think of the blood on her gown. Shecouldn’t be dead. He could not accept it. He’d thought they’d be protected, with Hamish and Devonsgate and the two footmen. What had gone wrong? Who had done this, and why?

 He had to escape, reach Fiona. Save her. His heart burned at the thought, and he looked around to see what he had to overcome. He was in a shed of some sort, tackle hanging from the walls, the smell of hay and horses strong.

 The man pushed Jack with his boot, the hard leather digging between his ribs. “Awake, are ye?”

 The man was too happy by far. “Where am I?”

 “Where I was tol’ to keep ye until ’tis time.”

 “Time for what?”

 Another flash of lightning cracked, eerily lighting the man’s face. “Time to let ye go, o’ course.”

 That made no sense. “You’re not going to kill me?”

 The man’s grin didn’t waver. “I could. I’ve done it afore. But this time, I gets me money fer doin’ nothin’ more than holdin’ ye fer a bit. Ye see, everyone thinks the constable will be wishing to speak to ye. Ye’ll tell them ye were captured by a mysterious man, but I’ll be long gone by then. No one will believe ye.”

 The man leaned closer, his foul breath in Jack’s face. “They’ll think ye’re making excuses fer killing yer woman.”

 Despair gripped Jack, numbing his brain.

 “Here, now, perhaps I should stand ye up a bit so I can sees ye better.” The man roughly grabbed Jack by the arms and hauled him to his feet.

 Pain lanced through him. “The ties. They are too tight.”

 “What do I care fer that?”

 Jack thought quickly. “If they leave marks, they will verify my story.”

 The man swore. “Damn, they might at that. Very well. I’ll loosen them, but just a bit.” He reached behind Jack and fumbled with the ropes.

 Jack felt the knot loosen, then slip free.

 The man grabbed the ends to retie them, but Jack was faster. He flung up his arm, his elbow catching his captor on the chin.

 As the man stumbled back, Jack grabbed the lantern and swung it with all his might into the man’s face.

 “Argh!”

 Jack bolted for the door, out into the yard of an inn that looked vaguely familiar. Where in the hell was he?

 A noise came from the shed, and Jack scrambled behind a barrel. Crouched there, he rubbed his wrists and forced his sluggish mind to work. By God, he would find out who had done this and make them pay.

 Blinding lightning flashed, and the shed exploded before Jack’s bemused eyes, splintered wood flying through the air. Thunder crashed and rolled, the very ground shaking.

 Inside what remained of the shed, fire flickered as the straw began to catch, then smoke poured from the windows. Jack’s captor staggered out into the yard, collapsing in a gasping heap.

 A shout went up, and people began to pour from the inn. As Jack watched, a man came to one of the windows and stared out into the yard, then disappeared.

 Jack trembled with the desire to leap through the glass and take the bastard by the throat, whoever he was. But he was too weak from the attack, his head still swimming, his chest aching.

 He slipped from his hiding place and darted through the inn yard between the running groomsmen and stable hands. As the mayhem grew, he disappeared into the darkness beyond, pausing at the edge of the yard to look back at the window.

 His enemy was there, but he could not do this alone; he had to have help. And there was only one place he could go for it.