How to Abduct a Highland Lord (29 page)

 He only hoped they would let him live long enough to explain.

 “Good God! Lightning struck the shed!” Campbell turned from the inn’s window, his face pale. “It is the MacLean curse.”

 “Oh, don’t be silly. Fires happen all the time, as does lightning.” His companion stretched luxuriously before the fire of their private room. “It’s a summer storm, that’s all.”

 As if in answer, a deep boom rattled the window. “You don’t understand, Lucinda. The MacLeans have power. More than you know.”

 She held her slippers toward the embers. “Superstitions are for the lower classes.”

 He glared at her, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his brow. “I cannot believe you. How can you sit there so calmly—” He whirled away from her and madly paced across the room. “You never said you’d kill her! You said your men were crack shots, that they could graze her arm from such a short distance. That was all we needed to set the MacLeans against the Kincaids!”

 She shrugged. “My men could have grazed her arm or anything else,if I’d requested it.” Lucinda’s face hardened. “I wanted her dead. She stole Kincaid and humiliated me before everyone.No one embarrasses me.”

 He turned on his heel with a jerk. “Oh, God—I can’t believe this. Lucinda, the MacLeans will figure it out and come after us.” He stopped at the window, staring out at the burning shed, horror on his pale face. “Nothing will stop them.”

 “Nonsense. They think Kincaid shot their sister. You will get your desired outcome; the families will be at each other’s throats.”

 He sank onto a chair. “So many deaths. I never thought it would come to this, especially a woman—” He closed his eyes and shuddered.

 Her gaze sharpened. “Deaths? There have been more than one?”

 He slowly opened his eyes. “Yes. Her brother Callum.”

 Lucinda sat upright. “You revived the feud.”

 “Yes. It was so easy. Callum had fought with one of Jack’s brothers—they were forever tufting, so no one paid it much heed. Callum had been left at the inn, unconscious and lying on the floor. It was late at night and few were about. I came into the room just as some man, ill-dressed and desperate looking, finished rifling through MacLean’s pockets. He had smashed MacLean’s head against the hearth, probably to keep him from awakening.” Campbell shuddered. “It was horrible. I saw the man there and all the blood and I…I ran.”

 “You ran?” Lucinda’s lip curled. “How valorous of you.”

 He glared at her. “I came back, of course. By then, though, the damage was done—Callum was dead. I was horrified. But then I began to think of the advantages to be had if the MacLeans and Kincaids revived their little feud.Really revived it.”

 “They would fight.”

 “Of course. Then it would escalate, and they’d have to hire men to increase their forces. Eventually they’d begin to sell off property, jewels, whatever they had.”

 “And you’d be there, ready to ‘assist.’”

 “Yes.” Campbell ran a hand over his face. “I cannot believe it has come to this. I spoke with Fiona, danced with her. It’s almost as if I’ve lost something precious.”

 “Don’t be silly,” Lucinda snapped. “She wasn’t worth the time of day.”

 The storm raged overhead, unchecked and wild. Campbell glanced out the window. “Not to you, perhaps, but I suspect she was worth a great deal to some.”

 Lucinda made a face, watching him from beneath her lashes. “Why didyou wish that marriage to end?”

 He crossed his arms over his chest, his shoulders hunched. “A long time ago, my family owned all of the land along this valley. We were powerful and feared. But my family was never good at holding on to things of value. Over time, the land fell into disrepair. We lost everything. The MacLeans bought that land.”

 “Why not just offer to buy it back from them?”

 “I have. Many times. They will not part with it. I thought if they were drawn into the feud, they’d need ready funds and would reconsider.”

 “How complicated. My needs are simpler. Now Kincaid is free to marry once again.”

 “Andyour husband?”

 Lucinda met Campbell’s gaze.

 He flushed but said in a firm voice, “Kincaid will never marry again. He loved her.”

 “He didnot !” Lucinda’s eyes flashed. “He would not have married her at all except she had him tied and bound at the altar. Once he has observed the proper mourning period, he will come back tome .”

 Campbell scowled. “You are mad. You cannot think—”

 The door burst open. A large, burly man stood in the doorway, his face cut and blackened. He staggered forward. “Lady Featherington! He got away. He—” The man collapsed at Lucinda’s feet. Outside, a harsh rattle clacked against the window.

 Campbell sank onto a chair, his gaze on the window. “Hail. Gregor MacLean has been roused.” The noise rose, ice pounding from the sky, obliterating the thunder, obscuring the lightning.

 Lucinda wrinkled her nose at the fallen man and said over the roar, “Call someone, and have him moved.”

 “But he said Kincaid has escaped!”

 “We will send word to the constable that we’ve seen him. He cannot be too far away. Once he’s in custody, I will arrange to have him exonerated, but not in a way that gives peace to the MacLeans.”

 The window shook under the onslaught, a faint crack appearing in one corner. Campbell looked at the crack as it traced across the glass. “Dear God,” he said under his breath. “What have we done?”

 Jack slowly opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by boots. Four pairs, all well made and huge.

 He groaned. At least he’d made it to the MacLean stronghold.

 The last hour had been a blur. He’d found a horse in a field and had ridden it to MacLean House. If the storm had been bad at the inn, it cracked and exploded here. Like a living, breathing thing, it roared with fury, the wind swirling madly, lightning and thunder crashing.

 Just as he’d pulled the horse into the yard, the hail had begun to fall. Jack had thrown his arms over his head, trying to protect himself from the icy furor, urging his horse to the portico. Desperate for cover, the horse had obliged.

 Jack had not been there a second before the front door had opened, and Gregor—or Alexander?—had yanked him from his horse and thrown him headfirst onto the stone steps. That was the last thing he remembered.

 Dougal planted a boot on Jack’s shoulder and shoved him so hard Jack’s head smacked on the stone floor. “That’s for our sister, you mangy dog.”

 “Let him up,” growled Alexander, hands fisted at his sides. “So we can kill him properly.”

 Jack struggled to his feet. “You can kill me if you like, but not until we capture the person who killed Fiona.”

 Alexander exchanged looks with his brothers, then hauled Jack into a chair. “Youshot our sister.”

 “I would never harm her.Never.”

 A pistol was tossed onto the floor at his feet. “Then where did this come from?”

 “It’s mine, but it hasn’t been shot.” Jack pushed it with his foot. “You will not smell powder.”

 Gregor retrieved the pistol and sniffed it.

 “Well?” Alexander said.

 “He’s right,” Gregor said. “There’s no powder smell.”

 “That doesn’t mean anything,” Dougal said tersely. “It has been hours.”

 “It’s still loaded,” Jack said wearily. “Look at it and see.” He swallowed hard. “The bastards who shot Fiona left my gun there to implicate me. They tied me up and took me to the stable at the Strathmore Inn, but I escaped.”

 “And came here?” Gregor said, disbelief in his tone.

 “I need help. I cannot do this on my own, and I’ll be damned if I let these murderers escape justice.”

 Alexander continued to stare at him. Finally, he nodded.

 “You cannot believe this bastard,” Hugh protested. “He tried to kill our sister!”

 Jack’s head lifted, hope blooming in his chest.“Tried?”

 “Jack?”

 The soft voice came from behind him, its sweetness drawing every iota of breath from his chest. Jack could not move. Could not think. He could only sit and watch as the woman he loved more than life itself came back into his world.

 Gregor stepped forward. “Fiona! Nora said you should not even speak, much less rise from bed.”

 Fiona reached for Jack and he opened his arms, enveloping her in his embrace. He buried his face in her hair, his eyes full of tears. “Fiona. Oh, God, Fiona.” He held her tighter.

 “Ouch!”

 He loosened his hold. “Oh, no! I’m sorry. Is it…is it bad?”

 “No, though it bled copiously.”

 “And…our baby?”

 “He is fine, I think.”

 Joy rushed through Jack, hot and flashing.

 Fiona placed a hand on his cheek, her eyes filled with tears. “I thought I’d never see you again. I couldn’t—”

 He captured her hand and pressed a kiss to the palm, emotion shaking him from head to toe. Then he gathered her to him, holding her ever so gently.

 They stood like that, his face pressed to her chest, his arms about her waist, her cheek resting against his hair, soaking up the feel of each other.

 Oh, God, he’d thought he’d lost her. Thought he’d never again touch her, never again feel or taste her. He could hardly believe she was there, before him.

 She raised her face and brought her mouth to his. His emotions exploded into passion, and he gave himself to the kiss, pouring his heart into every second.

 A hand closed over his shoulder and jerked him back. “Leave off!” Hugh snapped.

 “She is my wife,” Jack growled. “I have the right to embrace her.” He shoved Hugh away and looked directly at Fiona. “I love you, Fiona, with all my heart. I never wish our marriage to end. Not now. Not ever.”

 Her eyes filled with tears.

 Jack sank to one knee before her and pressed her fingers to his lips. “If I had my life to do over, I would marry you yet again. I love you, Fiona.”

 “Oh, Jack,” she whispered, and placed her hands on either side of his face. “I love you, too.”

 “I hate to break this up,” Gregor said, “but if you want our help, we need to know what you require.”

 Jack pressed a final kiss to each of Fiona’s palms, then rose and turned to her brothers. “Gentlemen, it is time to unleash the full MacLean powers. Every bloody one of them.”

 Chapter Twenty-one

 When the sun shines o’er the loch and sparkles on the water like diamond drops, ye know one thing: somewhere there’s a MacLean who is smilin’.

 OLDWOMANNORA OFLOCHLOMOND

TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD NIGHT

 “This is an outrage!” Lucinda snapped, upside down over Gregor’s shoulder.

 “Hsst, you.” Gregor tightened his hold on her. “Kincaid? Where in the hell are you?”

 “In the great hall.” Jack stood with Alexander and Hugh by the fireplace. Fiona sat on the settee nearby. He’d tried to talk her out of coming, but she’d refused.

 Gregor entered and dumped his captive into a chair as if she were a sack of potatoes.

 “Youlout !” Lucinda attempted to straighten herself, shooting dagger glances at everyone.

 “Where’s the other?” Alexander asked.

 Gregor jerked his head toward the door. Moments later, Dougal entered, shoving a beaten and battered Alan Campbell before him.

 Jack’s jaw hardened. “You bloody bastard.”

 “Yes,” Lucinda said, smoothing her hair. “Heis a bastard. I heard what happened, but I am not a part of it.”

 “Lucinda!” Campbell’s face was red.

 She ignored him. “I was just passing through. Campbell had reserved a private room, and he invited me to share it with him.”

 “Ha!” Fiona scoffed.

 Jack had to suppress a grin. She had spirit, his lovely wife. He gestured to the chair beside Lucinda. “Campbell, take a seat.”

 “I wish to sta—”

 Gregor shoved Campbell into the chair with an audible thud.

 Jack walked forward. “Which of you ordered Fiona shot, and why?”

 Lucinda fluttered her hands, smiling appealingly. “Jack, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 Campbell said nothing, his jaw set.

 “One of you shot my wife, or had her shot. Iwill know who.”

 “Ask Campbell,” Lucinda said with a shrug. “He is at fault here, not me.”

 Campbell whirled on Lucinda. “Don’t you dare lie!”

 Fiona stood. “Lucinda, you know exactly what happened to me. Hamish saw your footman in the woods. He also found this.” She held out her hand. In it lay a golden hairpin.

 Lucinda’s hand flew to her hair. “How did—” She caught herself, then shook her head. “That proves nothing. Obviously, someone put that there to implicate me.”

 “Perhaps you would prefer to hear the words from your own man’s lips.” Fiona turned to the door. “Hamish!”

 The door swung wide, and the huge Scotsman entered. A deep purple wound marked him from forehead to ear. He carried a large sack to the center of the room and dropped it with a thud and an audible“Oof!”