Passion and Plaid - Her Highland Hero (Scottish Historical Romance) (13 page)

“See who can go the longest without breaking
rhythm.”

Lynne couldn’t help but breaking into a rumbling
laugh. “I canna wait to see John’s skinny little legs prancin’ about back and
forth. He’s a wonderful dancer, you know.”

“Ach! Dancing! That’s for the lassies. I’ll be
throwing knives, or I suppose shooting a bow. You can have your line dancing.”

“Oh come on then, John,” she said, reaching under
his kilt and giving him a pinch. “Show us how you can move!”

M
ornay’s Cleft

August 18, Early Evening

––––––––

H
aving finished her tour of the estate’s grounds,
and having found nothing of much interest except for a number of very securely locked
and guarded gates, all made of the most sinister wrought iron she’d ever seen,
Kenna made her way back to her quarters for a time, then had a small lunch.

As Rollo had suggested, she thumbed through a few
books before getting by equal measures quite restless and quite nervous. She
ached for Gavin and to see his beautiful eyes and feel his arms around her,
holding her tight and safe.

Not right now though I’ll see him soon,
though the way I feel right now, nothing would be soon enough. I’ll be back
with my Gavin. But for right now, I have work to do
.

Gathering the notes she’d scribbled and the rough
map of the estate she’d drawn during her walk, Kenna compared the map of the
inside of the house to the outside. As far as she could tell, every single way
in or out of the property was barred and protected by an iron gate. Two guards
were stationed at each.

Why would this place be so closely watched?
After all, it’s only a mayor’s house. This isn’t some great cache of treasures.
Unless one’s kept underneath and Willard is actually a dragon in a black long
coat, but somehow I doubt that.

She clicked the end of her pencil against her
teeth. She poured a glass of water from the pitcher that Rollo kept bringing
and filling, and wondered at what point she’d simply burst from all the water
she’d sucked down.

What is this, Kenna? What are you doing?
Exasperated, she dropped the pencil on the inside fold of her notebook, pushed
back from the table and ran her hands through her hair, scratching her head and
then shaking it out.

Kenna stood, swallowed the last of her water, and
went to the door.

Not a soul walked the halls. No servants, no
Rollo, not even a mouse. Left, then right, she looked, searching for any sign
of life in the darkened hallways. A gentle breeze struck her from the open
window and blew her skirt gently around her ankles, sending a chill creeping up
the back of her leg. Some kind of distant sound – maybe a door shutting, but
very faintly and very far away – caught her attention for a moment before she
forgot all about it and lost herself in strange, possibly dangerous thoughts.

She looked back and forth one more time.

And then she ran.

Clutching the notebook against her chest, Kenna ran
down the hallway as fast as she could, retracing the steps she went through
when she joined Rollo for breakfast earlier in the day, but instead of
following the curve of the stairs toward the kitchen, she hopped over the
bannister and made for the front door.

Holding her breath, Kenna grabbed the knob and
twisted it, but when the door remained closed fast, she slammed her shoulder
into it twice and then remembered to check the lock. Sighing heavily, she turned
the latch, heard the catch pop, and, she pushed open the door.

A second after she started to step outside,
something hit the door and shoved it closed.

“Who’s that?” A harsh voice demanded. “Rollo? How
could you be so careless? You made me drop my tea.”

“Wha – I, I’m sorry, I was just going back
out...out to the gardens again, I...”

“Miss Kenna? Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t know
you were there.” Willard opened the door and as soon as he saw Kenna, he
recoiled momentarily. He squinted at her and then his mayor’s hand shot out and
he took one of Kenna’s. “But...why are you here? Rollo said you had agreed to
stay until this evening, no?”

“I...yes, but, well I’ve been shut in that room
for hours now and I just wanted to back out into the gardens and stretch my
legs. I dinna know if...”

“Ah, I do love your nice accent. It’s soft and
warm,” Willard said, drawing slightly closer to Kenna and still holding her
hand with his thumb in her palm, his fingers on the back. He squeezed lightly,
but enough so that she knew he was in control. “You have a way of speaking that
most people don’t. Duggan and your little friend, they both had harsh,
difficult accents. Yours though? It reminds me a bit of my daughter.”

“Your daughter?” Kenna pulled back, taking a step
away, but unable to move her hand. “I did hear about that. I’m terribly sorry.
Canna imagine what it’s like.”

“No, I suppose you couldn’t. You’re young.
Whatever tragedies you’ve seen, whatever sadness, it’s all viewed through the
eyes of someone getting older, growing up and seeing the world as a child does.
A place of wonder instead of a place of terrible agony.”

“Is there...something I might do for you, Councillor?”
She took a breath, hoping he wouldn’t say yes.

“Kenna, what is your surname? I’ve forgotten.”

“M – Moore, sir.”

“Right, Moore. A fine name for a Scot. I assume
your parents are decent people like you, not warlike and savage like so many of
these...
people
here.”

The sudden change in the mayor’s demeanor had
Kenna continually backpedaling and Willard following her, never once letting go
of her hand.

“Why do you say it like that? You say people like
they’re not.”

“Are they? The kindness I showed them. The
leniency on taxes and the...”

“Begging your pardon, Councillor, but you’re
hurting my hand.”

“Ah,” he said, squeezing again before relaxing the
pressure. “I tend to forget. My hands, you see, my fingers, I can’t feel.”

Kenna listened to him talking and furrowed her
brow. “You can’t feel anything with your hands?”

“It’s been this way most of my life. But I – oh,
don’t worry, I’m not leprous. I was injured, you see, when I was a child. I
disobeyed my father and there was an accident...” Willard’s eyes took on a
distant, glazed-over stare as though he was watching something in the far distance.
“Sorry, what was I saying?”

“You were saying something about an accident, but Councillor,
if you dinna wish to talk on it further, I would be remiss to try and pull it
out of you.”

“Not at all,” he said. Still, his gaze was
somewhere past where Kenna stood. He was looking at something, she thought, out
the windows behind where she stood, but when he grabbed her shoulders and held
her tight she couldn’t look at anything but him. “I don’t mind speaking of it.
Not to you, anyway.”

He curled his gloved thumbs against the loose
linen of Kenna’s blouse. His pale, gray eyes dropped and Willard caught her
gaze.

“I was burned as a child. Nasty business that I
wouldn’t want to trouble you with.”

“No, please,” Kenna said as she twisted her
shoulder to try and loosen Willard’s grip. “I don’t mind. But please, you’re
hurting my shoulder.”

Relaxing his fingers, Willard’s pale eyes settled
on Kenna’s. “My father had a hobby of glass blowing. He warned me each and
every day, never to touch any of the tools or devices he used for it, but he
travelled a great deal. The servants never paid much mind to me when he was
gone, as my mother was ill frequently and required attention.”

He narrowed his gaze. Kenna tried to back away.

“One time, he was gone, and I decided to play with
all those wonderful toys he’d never let me touch. Glass, as it happens, gets
very hot.”

“That’s terrible, Councillor, it must have hurt
horribly!”

Instead of responding, Willard simply gave her a
thin-lipped smile.

Kenna moved a little further away from him, managing
to walk so far she felt the stairs against her heel. His eyes grew distant
again and he walked forward, his foot going between hers, and fingers wrapped
around Kenna’s wrist.

“Why do you keep holding me? I’m...you’re scaring
me.”

“I don’t mean to,” he said with a voice as distant
as his eyes. “I can’t feel...”

“Oh! Mayor, Miss Kenna!”

A tremendous rush of relief swept through Kenna
when Rollo appeared at the top of the stairs. Willard was surprised enough that
his grip on her wrist was broken momentarily, and she took two stumbling steps
up the stairs and away from him.

“Very sorry if I interrupted you two – I was just
going to find Miss Kenna and ask after her needs. Are you, er, in need of
anything, ma’am?” Rollo said.

As she retreated further up the steps, Kenna
grabbed his hand and immediately felt his warmth course through her arm.
Nothing she could think of right then had ever been quite so welcome. At the
foot of the steps, Willard remained standing there with his hand outstretched
as though he didn’t quite realize she’d gone. Instead of responding to the
question, Kenna just squeezed the little man’s hand and looked at him. The look
on his face told her he understood.

“Miss Kenna, why not go back to your room for a
few minutes and I’ll be by to take your requests in a moment?”

“Ye – yes, of course, thank you so much Rollo,”
she said. “I’ll go...go wait.”

But by the time she moved past him, Rollo was
already on his way down the stairs to Willard, whose hand he grabbed and shook
the mayor until he seemed to snap back to reality. The last thing Kenna saw,
looking back right before she closed her door, was Rollo holding both of the mayor’s
numb hands, talking to him in a low, calm voice.

––––––––

“P
lease, Rollo, please.” Kenna stood up, paced
along the wall of her chambers, dodged a chair, and wrung her hands. “Why can’t
I leave?”

“That’s not it at all, Miss Kenna,” Rollo said out
loud, as though he was speaking for someone he thought may be listening. He
motioned for her to come closer and then whispered. “I can’t either.”

“You what?” Kenna said, loudly enough that Rollo
flinched and put his hand over her mouth. “Sorry, sorry. Why canna you leave?
Or me?”

“It’s been a year now, perhaps more. Master, he is
increasingly worried about things I can’t exactly explain. He continually talks
of corruption and the loss of decency that what he calls ‘his country’ is going
through. I don’t understand it myself, but...”

“Funny thing for someone who is working with such
a corrupt organization, is it not?”

“The irony is not lost on me, you can be sure of
that. I’ve been master’s helper since two years after he came here on order
from the King. This, though, is all very new. I have the feeling it comes from
his anger with losing his daughter. Terrible business, that.”

Kenna nodded. “But it’s no excuse to keep me
locked in a house and tax the whole village to death, is it? Because that’s
what he’s doing.”

The sound of footsteps coming to a stop outside
the door made both of them freeze in place. Rollo straightened up and loudly
announced that Mayor Willard would be most pleased if Kenna agreed to dine
alone with him later that evening. Using her best and most haughty voice, Kenna
said she would, but only after she both heard and accepted the menu. Satisfied,
whoever had stopped in front of the door continued down the hall.

“Was that him?” She whispered. “Surely he wasn’t
listening at the door. What a vile thing to do.”

“No way to tell,” Rollo said. “The mayor has a
number of servants like myself, but who are much more, shall we say, convinced
of his goodness. Now – don’t get me wrong. I don’t dislike the man, I don’t
wish him ill, but he’s not been right since the business with his daughter. I
can’t stand to see what he’s become.”

For a moment, Kenna pulled on one of her red curls
that had fallen out of her ribbon-bound ponytail. “When he was talking to me
there on the stairs, like you saw, he was holding me. He wouldna let go. At
first it was just uncomfortable, but he kept holding me tighter and tighter
until it hurt. He said something about how he was burned as a child, he told me
I reminded him of his daughter, he said...lots of things.”

“This is what I mean when I say I can’t stand what
he’s becoming. Do you mind if I sit? My back, it-”

“No, of course, make yourself comfortable. Water?”

“You’re too kind, Miss Kenna.”

“And enough of that Miss Kenna business. I’m a
simple person, I’m not a mayor or a noble or a sheriff.” When she said sheriff,
she shivered involuntarily.

“He’s here, you know,” Rollo said. “Speaking of
vile creatures.”

Kenna nodded as she poured a cup of water and
pushed it across the little table to Rollo.

“Did he tell Willard about me and Gavin? If he
did, you must have heard.”

“I knew the story before I heard it from him. You
say you’re a simple person, but many of us, even if we don’t know your faces,
know the deeds you have done. You – well, you and Gavin – are the closest
things to heroes we’ve got.”

Flustered at the compliment, Kenna looked at the
table and blushed. “I dinna know about all that.”

“It’s true, it is. But I can see I’ve made you
uncomfortable, so I’ll stop. But just know that you and Gavin are well known,
even this far away from Edinburgh. And well loved, too. Don’t doubt that for a
moment.”

“Not by everyone.” Kenna laughed and reached
across the table, taking Rollo’s hand. “Thank you for everything you’ve done
for me.”

“It’s nothing.” Rollo drained the last of his
water and replaced the cup on the table and poured himself another. “I wish
this were wine. I’ve not had any good wine since I left Algeria. That’s the one
thing I miss about home.”

“Tell me about it?”

“About what, Algeria?”

“Aye, I’ve read terrible tales about the Barbary
pirates, and I’ve even read a history of Morocco, but as far as anything else,
I fear I’m ignorant.”

“Admirably you admit your ignorance,” he said.
“I’m not sure there’s a terrible amount to tell, unfortunately. The great
cities, Algiers, Tunisia, those places are much like London, or like Edinburgh.
Many people doing many things, coming and going.”