There’s no matchmaking an unruly heart

When a prominent Scottish family faces a major scandal weeks before their daughter’s wedding, they turn in desperation to the enigmatic fixer for the aristocracy, Nichol Bain. Remarkably skilled at making high-profile problems go away, Nichol understands the issue immediately. The family’s raven-haired ward, Maura Darby, has caught the wandering eye—and rather untoward advances—of the groom.

Nichol assuredly escorts Maura toward his proposed solution: an aging bachelor for her to marry. But rebellious Maura has no interest in marrying a stranger, especially when her handsome traveling companion has captivated her so completely. Thankfully, Nichol loves a challenge, but traveling with the bold and brash Maura has him viewing her as far more than somebody’s problem. Which raises a much bigger issue—how can he possibly elude disaster when the heart of the problem is his own?

Also by Julia London

The Cabot Sisters

The Trouble with Honor

The Devil Takes a Bride

The Scoundrel and the Debutante

The Highland Grooms

Wild Wicked Scot

Sinful Scottish Laird

Hard-Hearted Highlander

Devil in Tartan

Tempting the Laird

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Seduced by a Scot

Julia London

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09598-3

SEDUCED BY A SCOT

© 2018 Dinah Dinwiddie

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Praise for New York Times bestselling author Julia London

“Warm, witty and decidedly wicked—great entertainment.”

—#1 New York Times bestselling author Stephanie Laurens on Hard-Hearted Highlander

“Julia London writes vibrant, emotional stories and sexy, richly drawn characters.”

—New York Times bestselling author Madeline Hunter

“An absorbing read from a novelist at the top of her game.”

—Kirkus Reviews, starred review, on Wild Wicked Scot

“Expert storytelling and believable characters make the romance [one that] readers will be sad to leave behind.”

—Publishers Weekly, starred review, on Wild Wicked Scot

“London is at the top of her game in this thrilling tale of political intrigue and second chances.”

—Booklist, starred review, on Wild Wicked Scot

“The fascinating love triangle, set amid the wilds of Scotland, creates a page-turning read that will resonate with fans of Highland romance.”

—Publishers Weekly on Hard-Hearted Highlander

One of the truly wonderful things about the writing profession is meeting so many readers from across the globe. We start off with a shared love of books, and some of these acquaintances become deep friendships. A special thanks to Bridget Costedot from France, and Sandra Schwab from Germany, friends and fellow readers who helped me with the bits of French and German in this book.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Praise

Family Tree

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

EPILOGUE

AUTHOR NOTE

GLOSSARY OF TERMS

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

Stirling, Scotland 1758

CALUM GARBETT WAS not allowed to know happiness. No matter how close he came to it, his wife and daughter would swoop in at the last moment to destroy any chance of it.

The scene playing out in the drawing room was the crowning blow. He could feel all his hard work slipping through his fingers. To think of all the money and time he’d spent bringing Carron Ironworks to life. It had been a Herculean feat to forge a relationship with Thomas Cadell, an Englishman with a successful ironworks of his own, who could teach the Scots the latest techniques. Techniques that would save time and money, that would enable Calum to employ more Scottish men.

He’d positioned himself to become one of the premier industries in Scotland. If that were not true, would the Duke of Montrose be sitting beside him now, willing to invest his own money and influence into the endeavor?

Yes, Calum had bargained his daughter’s hand in marriage as part of the deal, but then again, he’d done her a great service, as her prospects for marriage had not been dazzling. Frankly, his daughter leaned a little to the homely side of things, and when young, randy men of marrying age were presented with the prospect of a potential mate who made them wince when imagining the marriage bed, they tended to shy away altogether.

Well, he’d found someone for his daughter, Sorcha, and now, she would ruin everything with her mother standing firmly beside her, all because the young rooster she was set to marry was enamored with the far fairer, and much more elusive, Maura Darby. Calum’s ward.

Calum had taken Maura under his wing twelve years ago when her father, his oldest friend, had died. The lass was quite alone in this world, and Darby had appealed to Calum’s generosity and sense of decency. Calum had been happy to do it, particularly as the lass had come with a nice bit of money, and her presence would not affect him in any way.

But he’d severely underestimated how slighted his daughter, Sorcha, would feel about it. Or, perhaps more importantly, his wife. She was quite set against the lass from the moment she arrived.

The resentment only grew over the years. As the girls became women, no matter what Calum’s wife did to improve his daughter’s looks, poor Sorcha was destined to live her life with a bulbous nose and slightly crooked eyes, while Maura blossomed into a woman with appealing ink black hair and eyes the same blue as a winter sky. The more alluring Maura became, the more his wife tried to push her aside. As it happened, Sorcha had been the first to receive an offer of marriage—with the help of Mrs. Garbett, who had resorted to all but locking poor Maura away.

The lass had borne it well enough, with little complaint. She’d become accustomed, he supposed, to wearing hand-me-downs, having her things taken and given to Sorcha—a kitten when she was thirteen, a muff a few years later, a fichu that was given to her by a friend on her twentieth birthday. And those were the things Calum knew about.

But what had happened in the last fortnight under this roof had turned Sorcha into an entirely unreasonable wee shrew. This, Calum decided, was a bloody disaster.

As he understood it, a chambermaid witnessed a kiss between Maura and his daughter’s fiancé, Mr. Adam Cadell, and knowing this to be an unpardonable affront to her mistress, had run to the housekeeper, who in turn had run to Calum’s wife, who had then screeched down the stairs and into the study where Calum and Adam’s father, Thomas Cadell, were finalizing their agreement in the presence of the Duke of Montrose.

Mrs. Garbett was followed closely by a wailing Sorcha, whose sobbing had the unfortunate affect of making her nose look even larger. She was followed by the young man’s mother, Mrs. Cadell, who vehemently denied her son had done anything wrong. Last, and certainly least, a sheepish Mr. Adam Cadell, who insisted that the older woman, Maura, who had just turned four and twenty to his twenty years, had thrown herself at him and he had not known what to do.

Bloody randy rooster would have them all believe he was a poor wee lad who had been accosted.

A tribunal of three confused men—Calum, Thomas Cadell and the duke—was quickly assembled in the drawing room. Calum insisted the maid be brought forth to give her account. Maura, the accused, was also ushered in, and stood defiantly against the wall, her arms crossed over her body, her fair blue eyes flashing with defiance at the lot of them.

“I seen Miss Darby with her back to the wall, and Mr. Cadell kissing her,” the maid said with her eyes firmly affixed to the floor.

“I am certain it was the other way around,” Adam said hopefully.

Calum looked at Maura. “Miss Darby?”

“It was precisely as Hannah saw it, sir, aye.”

It didn’t sound to Calum as if she’d thrown herself at Adam, not with her back to the wall, but she’d confessed to the kiss, and he didn’t know precisely what to do. “Well, now,” he said uncertainly. “You must promise you’ll no’ do that again.”

“Mr. Garbett!” his wife shrieked with great hysteria. “Will you no’ defend your daughter’s honor, then?”

Dear God, did she propose that Calum call out the young man? Duel to death in their drive? To think of the scandal, not to mention the mess that would need to be tidied up.

“Pappa!” Sorcha’s shriek was identical to her mother’s. “I will no’ marry him! I hate him! I hate Maura! Why ever did you bring her here?”

Calum felt the weight of this unmitigated disaster bearing down on his chest. Plus, his head itched beneath his peruke, and he longed for a stick or something to shove up in there and scratch so he could bloody well think. If there was no marriage, there would be no deal. His ironworks, destined to be the economic jewel of all of Scotland, would circle the drain. He slowly gained his feet. “Let us not act in haste, darling.”

“Haste?” Sorcha cried. “It is the second time she has kissed my fiancé!”

Oh right. The first time, Maura had said the lad had caught her outside, in the garden where no one could see them, and had kissed her. The lad, unsurprisingly, had flatly denied it. The two families had sided with him.

“I didna kiss him,” Maura said, her voice surprisingly calm given all the female hysteria floating about them like an ether. “He caught me in the hall unawares and kissed me, sir.” She looked at the young fool. “Please tell the truth, Mr. Cadell.”

“How dare you!” Mrs. Cadell cried. “Know your place!” But then she swung around and hit the back of her son’s head with the flat of her hand so hard that he was knocked forward a pair of steps.

“She is a temptress, on my word!” Adam said frantically, looking around him, no doubt hoping to find a sympathetic face. He would find none.

“I donna want her here, aye, Pappa? I donna want her anywhere near me!” Sorcha insisted.

Calum exchanged a look with Thomas, who looked just as befuddled as Calum felt. Calum truly didn’t know what he was supposed to do with Maura. It wasn’t as if he could tuck her away in a trunk and put her in the attic.

“Mr. Garbett!” his wife said. “You must send her away!”

“Aye, all right, all right, I understand that feelings have been hurt,” he snapped, and tried to think. His cousin? He’d not seen David Rumpkin in many years. He lived in what had been his father’s manor near Aberuthen. He was an old charlatan, had never made an honest living, but Calum suspected he would take Maura in for a fee until this debacle blew over.

He glanced at Maura, who steadily returned his gaze, almost as if she was silently daring him to believe that wretched lad and send her away. Her icy stare sent a small shiver down his spine. “I’ll send her to my cousin for the time being, aye?” he said, his gaze on Maura. “In Aberuthen. A tidy manor house near a loch. Do you no’ like the sound of it, then, Maura?”

She did not flinch. She did not say a word. But the injustice radiated off her, heating them all.

“Send her away with all the privileges we have extended to her these many years, then?” his wife said angrily. “She has destroyed my daughter’s happiness, and for that, she should be made to repay the kindness we’ve shown her.”

“Indeed,” Mrs. Cadell sniffed. “She should be made to pay the consequence of using her wiles on an innocent young man.”

Innocent, his arse. “What would you like, madam?” Calum asked his wife. “A pound of her flesh? For she doesna have a farthing to her name.” Technically, she did, but he was not prepared to part with the stipend.

“She has a necklace,” his wife said.

Maura gasped. “No,” she said.

“No?” Calum’s wife repeated, her eyes darkening with rage. “When I think of the gowns and the shoes and meals that have been bestowed on you!”

“The gowns and shoes belonged to Sorcha first, did they no’?” Calum tried, but no one was listening to him.

“That necklace has been in my family for years, aye?” Maura pleaded. “It’s all that I have of them.”

“Thank goodness for it, then, for you may repay your considerable debt.”

“Mrs. Garbett,” Calum said firmly.

“What, Mr. Garbett?” she snapped.

It was no use. His wife was livid, Sorcha was still tearful and Mrs. Cadell was trying to persuade her husband they should return to England. All of this in full view of the Duke of Montrose, who remained completely stoic and silent.

What he must think of them. A lot of bumpkins, that was what. Calum was so mortified by this display that he would do anything to have this over and done rather than prolong it another moment, and looking at his wife, he knew that if she didn’t have her revenge, there would be no end to it. He said to the maid, “Fetch the necklace, aye?”

“No,” Maura cried frantically. “You canna have it!”

But Hannah had already scurried from the room to fetch it.

Calum flinched when he looked again at Maura Darby. The pain this caused her was obvious; for the first time since the trouble with Adam Cadell had begun, unshed tears of helplessness filled her blue eyes.

“It pains me to say it, lass, but you must gather your things. ’Tis best you go away until the wedding is done, aye?”

“There willna be a wedding,” Sorcha tearfully announced, and pushed past Adam as she flounced from the room, her red nose leading the way.

Maura slowly straightened from the wall. She gave Calum a look he was certain would terrify any man as she took her leave.

“Thank the saints,” Mrs. Cadell said when she’d gone. “You shouldn’t have that sort of woman in your house, Mr. Garbett, if you’ll not mind me saying. She’s a temptress.”

The coward Adam nodded.

Calum desperately wanted to defend Maura, but the stakes were too high. When the wedding was done, he’d send for her. He’d put it all to rights with her then, and she would understand.

Maura was dispatched that very afternoon.

Unfortunately, the rift between the Cadells and the Garbetts was not so easily dispatched, because Sorcha and her mother refused to listen to reason or apology.

Two days later, Thomas Cadell and Calum Garbett met with the Duke of Montrose again to advise him as to the status of their joint venture. They were both flummoxed as to what to do. “My wife will have my head if I agree to it,” Thomas said.

“My wife will have my balls if I do,” Calum added glumly.

The Duke of Montrose, who had remained uncomfortably silent through the detailed explanation of their ordeal finally spoke. “There might be a way to salvage it yet, aye?” he said. “I know a man who is very adept at solving problems.”

Calum and Thomas eagerly looked up. “A man? What man?” Calum asked.

“Nichol Bain,” the duke said. “He is a man of incomparable skill in matters such as this.” He picked up a quill, dipped it in ink and jotted down his name and location. He slid that across to Calum. “You may no’ care for his methods, but you will be pleased with the results. Send for him straightaway if you want your ironworks, sir.”

Calum sent a messenger to Nichol Bain at Norwood Park in England that very night.

CHAPTER TWO

MR. NICHOL BAIN was hoping for a bit more of a challenge in his latest engagement. A problem that would require ingenuity and considerable discretion to resolve. A situation with far-ranging consequences, such as the problem he’d solved for the Duke of Montrose a few years ago, when the duke had been rumored to have murdered his wife at a time he was to be named to the House of Lords. Now that was a problem with twists and turns and a bit of meat on the bone.

He’d even settle for the sort of problem he’d solved for the mild-mannered Dunnan Cockburn, the sole heir of a Scottish linen dynasty who had somehow fallen into a gambling ring and had gotten himself on the wrong side of London moneylenders. Dunnan’s estate was entailed, which meant it was not his to sell as he would like, but held for future generations. It had taken a monumental feat of cunning to find a solicitor who could navigate the complicated history of the entail and carve out a wee bit of Dunnan’s land to sell to pay his last debt, which had been an astronomical sum of three thousand pounds.

And then he’d needed a great deal of finesse to strike a deal with the naïve Dunnan and some rather unsavory characters in London.

But the problem Mr. Garbett and Mr. Cadell presented him was none of those things. He’d been summoned from England to the Garbett mansion near Stirling to resolve a young lover’s quarrel. The problem should have been sorted out by the adults in the room, in Nichol’s opinion. Unfortunately, rational people sometimes acted from passionate feelings rather than reasoned thought. Mr. Garbett and Mr. Cadell didn’t need his help—they needed to step away from the turmoil and their wives, and think.

So, Nichol had taken advantage of their weakness and negotiated a very hefty fee to solve this child’s play for the two iron barons. He considered the work a diversion, a bit of a lark. An exercise that would keep the machinery of his mind well oiled before he moved on to his next engagement that involved a wealthy Welsh merchant and a missing ship.

Nichol first met with Miss Sorcha Garbett, who, in his estimation, was as immature as she was plain. He asked her if she would be so kind to explain how her engagement had ended. Hopefully without tears.

Miss Garbett was quite eager to tell him and railed for a half hour about the unfair treatment of her person by one Miss Maura Darby, who had, for all intents and purposes, been banned from the Garbett house, and who, if Miss Garbett was to be believed, had been persecuting her for years. In the entire half hour, Miss Garbett mentioned her fiancé only in passing. She presented him as a rather unsophisticated gentleman who did not understand the wily ways of a woman. But Miss Darby was another matter entirely.

“Your father’s ward sounds like a dangerous enchantress,” he remarked, more for his own amusement.

“She’s no’ so enchanting,” Miss Garbett sniffed. “She’s no’ as clever as she thinks, and neither is she a true beauty.”

Miss Darby’s looks had not been mentioned at all. “I see,” Nichol said, and oh, did he see. “Might I inquire, Miss Garbett—do you love Mr. Cadell?”

She put a handkerchief to her considerable nose and shrugged delicately.

Bain clasped his hands behind his back and pretended to examine a porcelain figurine. “Does the notion of being mistress of a grand house appeal to you, then?”

She slanted her eyes in his direction.

“I have seen the Cadell house in England, and I can say without reservation that it is grander than Kensington Palace.”

She dropped the handkerchief, and her eyes went wide. “Grander than a palace?”

“Aye.”

She bit her lip and glanced at her lap. “But he loves Maura.”

“No,” Nichol said. This was where he did his best work. He squatted down next to the lass, took her hand in his and said carefully, earnestly, “He does no’ love Miss Darby.”

“How can you be certain?” she asked tearfully.

“Because I’m a man, aye? I know how a man thinks in moments of raw desire.” He watched the twin puffs of red bloom in her cheeks. “He was no’ thinking of the rest of his life, you may trust me. When he thinks of you, he thinks of compatibility and the many happy years before him spent in complete conjugal felicity.”

That might have been too much, he thought lazily.

Miss Garbett sniffed again. “I suppose I could give him one more chance, aye? But I’ll no’ give Maura another chance! Never! Donna even ask it of me.”

“I would never,” he assured her.

“But you will,” she said tearfully. “Because my father esteems her verra much. More than me.”

“He could no’ possibly,” Nichol said soothingly. “You must believe me, Miss Garbett—your father likes the ironworks deal far better than Miss Darby. And he loves you much more than that.”

She straightened in her seat and with a weary sigh, she looked to the window. “Is the Cadell house in England really as big as a palace?”

Problem solved. Nichol rose to his feet. “Bigger. Eighteen chimneys in all.”

“Eighteen,” she murmured.

From there, Nichol walked into the small study to speak to Mr. Adam Cadell. Although he was twenty years, he had not quite yet grown into his gangly arms and legs. He eyed Nichol warily.

“Well, then,” Nichol said, and went to the sideboard to help himself to port. He poured one for the lad, too. “You’ve gotten yourself into a bloody fine predicament, aye?”

The young man looked uncertainly at the port, but took it, and downed it with unnecessary determination. “Yes,” he said hoarsely.

“Do you love Miss Darby, then?”

The lad colored. The knot at his throat dipped with his hard swallow. “Of course not.”

Of course you do. Nichol sipped casually at his port, then asked, “What is the size of Miss Garbett’s dowry, by the bye?”

“Why?” the young man asked, and when Nichol didn’t answer, he fidgeted nervously with the hem of his waistcoat. “Quite large,” he said in a manner that seemed to suggest he thought he’d be asked to forfeit it.

“Large enough to build a house in town?”

“London?”

“Aye, London, if you like. Edinburra. Dublin.” He shrugged.

Mr. Cadell’s brows dipped with confusion. “What has that to do with this wedding?”

“I should think it obvious.”

The lad looked at him blankly. Nothing was obvious to him but his raging lust.

“If you were to build or purchase a house in any of those towns...you would undoubtedly meet many pretty debutantes who would be eager to befriend your wife, aye?”

Adam Cadell kept his gaze fixed on Nichol.

“Scads of them,” Nichol added for emphasis.

The young man sank down onto the settee and clasped his hands together before him. Nichol had his full attention. “I donna understand.”

Nichol put aside the port. “What I am suggesting, Mr. Cadell, is that you get your heir, then live your life. She will have the bairn she wants, the house she wants, all the gowns she wants, and you will have...” He made a flourish with his hand. “Society, aye? You will save your father’s important business arrangement and everyone will be made happy once again.”

“Ah,” Adam Cadell said, and slowly nodded. His eyes brightened. And then dulled. “But Sorcha will not have me, not with the ward about.”

So now Miss Darby was merely the ward, was she? “She is no’ here at present,” Nichol pointed out.

“No, but she’ll come back. Mr. Garbett is right fond of her, he is. He’ll not leave her put away. She’ll be part of this family yet.”

Nichol pondered that. “If the ward was put in a circumstance—one that Mr. Garbett would approve, naturally, but one that would keep her from this house for the foreseeable futur—could you see your way to making a proper apology to your fiancée?”

“Yes,” the young man said, nodding enthusiastically. “Of course. Miss Darby will be utterly forgotten.”

“Then leave it to me,” Nichol said, and extended his hand.

Mr. Cadell took it with the grip of a small child and shook it weakly. “Thank you, Mr. Bain.”

The solution, Nichol realized, was one that would solve two problems at once. This was perhaps the easiest thing he’d tackled in fifteen years.

He left the Garbett house with a bounce in his step, and returned to the inn in Stirling where he was residing. There, he penned a letter to Dunnan Cockburn, the former client and someone Nichol might consider a “friend.” Nichol didn’t have friends, really. For one, he never stayed anyplace for long. Two, he had learned at an early age to keep his thoughts to himself so they’d not be used against him. And three, he’d discovered that friendships relied on the ability of one to share feelings. He did not share his, and as a result, he had few friends.

He supposed he might count Lord Norwood as a friend. He’d met the earl in the course of his work for the Duke of Montrose. Norwood was the uncle of the new Lady Montrose, and had been either amused or impressed with Nichol’s handling of her and Montrose’s business. Whatever the reason, he had kept Nichol close and seemed to enjoy his company, although he did frequently dispatch Nichol to help his influential friends.

Nichol counted Dunnan simply because they’d spent so much time in each other’s company. Dunnan was eager to please and possessed a good humor, in spite of his considerable troubles. He resided in a sprawling estate with his widowed mother, and while he’d conquered his gambling problem, he and Nichol had both agreed that he might be less tempted to engage in such behavior if had he a proper wife to comfort and advise him and frankly, to keep an eye on him.

“You’ll find a wife, then, will you?” Nichol had asked the last time he’d seen Dunnan.

“Oh, I will, I will,” Dunnan had assured him. “It is on the very top of my list of things that simply must be done.”

Unfortunately, the last he’d heard, Dunnan hadn’t been successful in his quest. So this seemed the perfect arrangement for all involved—Dunnan needed a wife. The temptress needed a place in this world that was out of sight of the young lovers but one that would meet with Mr. Garbett’s approval. Miss Darby would be well cared for and, Nichol suspected, honored by her husband. Doted upon. Smothered with affection. Dunnan seemed quite eager to have a wife.

Nichol sent off his letter, then spent the next two days awaiting a reply in the company of a bonny little wench who left scratches on his back.

Dunnan’s reply was an exuberant Yes. If you recommend her, Mr. Bain, I will consider myself the recipient of very good fortune and shall open my arms, my heart and my home to her.

Precisely the reception Nichol had expected from a man who was overly enthusiastic about things as mundane as perfectly toasted toast points. In this case, he thought Dunnan might have been a little more circumspect, as he’d not even laid eyes on the lass, and matrimony tended to be for life. But that was not the problem he’d been hired to solve. He’d been hired to solve the problem of the ward, and he was very pleased with himself for having done a fine job of it.

It had gone so well, in fact, that Nichol was considering carving out a bit of time to call on the brother he’d not seen in many years. The distance between them, both literally and figuratively, had been weighing on Nichol of late. He had a soft spot in his heart for Ivan. His brother resided at their family home, not far from Stirling—or he had the last time they’d corresponded. Unfortunately, Nichol’s letters in the last few years had gone unanswered, the messengers sent away.

Nichol wasn’t entirely certain why, but he was entirely certain he would never know if he did not go to his brother himself. It would be a shock to Ivan, as it had been more than a dozen years that Nichol had been gone from home. That was another matter entirely, one that had no easy resolution. But where Ivan was concerned, Nichol would have liked to understand what had happened.

Perhaps now was the time to see him. Perhaps things had fallen into place for that very reason.

But first things first. Nichol said goodbye to the wench, hired a lad to act as his groom, then rode out to explain to Mr. Garbett and Mr. Cadell his plan to mend this rift between families once and for all.

As he suspected, his plan was welcomed by everyone, with the singular exception of Mrs. Garbett, whose thirst for vengeance apparently knew no bounds. She believed that Miss Darby should not be allowed to enjoy the privilege of marrying well, but faced with the prospect of her husband’s ward being returned to them, reluctantly agreed to the scheme.

By week’s end, Nichol and Gavin, his groom, were provisioned for several days of travel and on their way to a manor near Aberuthen to retrieve Miss Darby.

By noon the following day, they’d reached their destination. Fragile flakes of snow were whispering down from the sky, scarcely visible in the light of a weak sun that peaked in from between the clouds. The lad was shivering in his saddle, even though Nichol had tossed him his plaid to drape over his coat. “Still with me, Gavin, are you?” he called over his shoulder.

“Aye, sir.”

“We’ll be there soon enough,” he assured him as they rode out of the small village of Aberuthen, armed with Garbett’s directions to the Rumpkin abode. A half hour later, they arrived.

Nichol had expected the house to be something on par with the Garbett house, but was unpleasantly surprised to find a much smaller house, one that could scarcely be called a manor, and one that looked in serious need of repair. It had a single vine-covered tower at one end, and a house appended to it shaped like a box, as if the builder had struck out to build a castle, and had changed his mind in favor of a smaller house midway through.

A weak trail of smoke rose from only one of four chimneys, and Nichol could see at least four panes of glass had been broken and replaced with wood. He and Gavin came off their mounts and stared up at the house. No one came to greet them. Not even a dog.

Gavin looked at Nichol expectantly.

“Aye,” Nichol said to the lad’s unspoken question. “I’ll see if I can rouse someone, then.” He handed the reins of his mount to Gavin and nodded in the direction of a stable or barn—another dilapidated building. “Feed and water the mounts. There is food in the bag for you, aye? Eat. Warm yourself. We’ll ride out as soon as all is settled here.”

With the leads of the two horses in hand, Gavin trudged off in the direction of the building.

Nichol pulled his greatcoat around him and looked again at the house, taking in the yellowed weeds that grew under the darkened windows. Had it been abandoned? That would be an unwelcome twist to his plan. With a grimace, he started for the door.

On the doorstep, he used the brass knocker three times with no response. He had about decided that the house was indeed empty when he heard the sound of someone fumbling on the other side of the door, which was followed by the door suddenly swinging open. A man, holding a lamp aloft, peered at Nichol. He was wearing a dressing gown over a sleep shirt that was stained with spilled food. The man was obese and stood with his legs braced wide apart, apparently to hold his girth aloft. He had not been shaved, and long scraggly hair floated about his head and shoulders. Even more hair sprouted from his ears.

Nichol had to swallow down his surprise—it was nearly two in the afternoon and the man looked as if he’d been roused in the middle of the night.

“Come for the lass, have you?” he asked gruffly.

Nichol couldn’t say how he’d guessed it. “Aye, I have.”

The man stuck out his hand, palm up. “I’ll have the money first, then.”

Diah, but it would appear that Garbett’s cousin was a boor. “May I come in? It’s rather cold.”

The man grunted. He stepped back and bowed with mock deference as Nichol swept past him into a hall crowded with cloaks and boots and stacks of peat, of all things.

The man closed the door, then shuffled into a room just off the hall.

Nichol followed, but he felt a wee bit as if he was entering at his own peril. The room, a dining room, was disgusting. It reeked of spoiled food and dog feces, which, when Nichol glanced down, were scattered about the floor. Uneaten food had been left to rot in bowls around the table, attracting flies even in the cold. Two dogs lay at the hearth. One of them, a long-legged lanky thing, lazily pushed himself up and wandered over to have a sniff of Nichol before returning to his place at the hearth.

Nichol glanced around him and asked, “Has your housekeeper died, then, Mr. Rumpkin?”

“Amusing,” the man said. “Has my cousin sent you to entertain me, or to compensate me for keeping the bampot?” He held out his hand again.

Nichol withdrew the pouch of coins from his coat and put them in Mr. Rumpkin’s outstretched palm. Mr. Rumpkin, in turn, set aside the lamp, opened the purse and dumped the coins onto the table, quickly counting them, and biting into one to assure himself it was gold. When he was satisfied, he pointed to the stairs across the hall. “She’s up there, she is. Barricaded herself in.”

Nichol could scarcely blame her. “How long?”

“Two days,” he said gruffly. When Nichol didn’t respond due to his surprise, Rumpkin glanced up at him. “Och, donna look at me in that manner! I sent food up to her but she’ll no’ touch it.”

No doubt she’d feared contagion of the plague. Nichol couldn’t believe Mr. Calum Garbett had sent his ward to this hell, of all places. His conscience demanded that he remove the lass from here as quickly as possible. “Which room?”

“The tower,” Rumpkin said grumpily, and heaved himself into a chair at the table, picked up a spoon, and resumed eating whatever was in a bowl there.

Nichol turned away before he gagged. He stepped out into the hall, over a block of peat, then jogged up the stairs and paused on the landing. There was only one door to his left. Sitting outside the door was a tray of food that had been covered with a cloth.

He strode down the hall and knocked firmly on that door. “Miss Darby, please do open the door. I am Mr. Nichol Bain and I’ve been sent by your benefactor, Mr. Garbett.”

Several moments passed before he heard movement. He waited for the door to open, glancing around that dark hall to perhaps identify the source of the odor he smelled up here, and was abruptly startled by the crash of what sounded like glass against the other side of the door. Had the lass just hurled something at the door?

Nichol put his hands to his hips and studied the door, thinking. He stepped forward, knocked a little more softly. “Miss Darby...lass. Mr. Garbett has sent a proposition for you that I am confident you will want to hear. He should like to see you removed from this...place as soon as possible, aye? Open the door. Please.”

Silence.

He braced his hands on either side of the door. He had not anticipated having to convince her to leave. He would think she’d come bounding out of the room, her bags packed, grateful for the opportunity to flee. “On my word, what I have to tell you is better than anything you will find here.”

He heard the scrape of something heavy against the floor and realized she was pushing something that sounded like a heavy piece of furniture against the door.

“I warned you, I did,” came the man’s voice from behind him. Nichol glanced over his shoulder. Mr. Rumpkin had come up the stairs with a bottle in one hand. He put that bottle to his lips and took a long swig before saying, “Bloody heathen, that one.”

Nichol turned back to the door and decided to try authority. “Enough of this, Miss Darby, aye? Your benefactor is quite eager to arrive at a solution for you, and what he proposes will surely satisfy you. But you must open the door to hear it.”

Silence.

Nichol was feeling his patience leak from him, and he never lost his patience. He tried the door, but as he suspected, it was bolted shut. He slammed his hand against it in an uncharacteristic display of frustration. “Miss Darby, I must insist you come out at once!” he said sternly.

He heard something and pressed his ear to the door. Was he imagining it, or did he hear a low laugh from the other side of that door?

He definitely heard another chuckle behind him.

Patience deserted Nichol altogether. He prided himself on his ability to stay completely calm when others were at sixes and sevens—it was necessary to the sort of work that he did. But this annoyed him. He could feel the uptick of his heartbeat, the surge of heat to his neck. He would not be treated in this way by a young woman with nothing to recommend her, with no one to help her but him. He would not accept her bad manners in light of what he meant to do for her. He whirled away from the door.

Mr. Rumpkin was still standing there, still drinking. He dragged his sleeve across his mouth and said, “Told you.”

Nichol squeezed around him, then strode down the stairs.

He had also learned in his many years of solving problems that if one avenue for resolution closed, there was always another. The trick was to find it.

And oh, he would find it.

CHAPTER THREE

MAURA BRACED HER hands against the door and leaned in, pressing her ear against the rough wood, listening to footsteps receding.

When she couldn’t hear them any longer, she pushed away from the door and smiled wryly to herself. How dare Mr. Garbett send someone for her? How dare he not come himself to deliver his apology? Did he truly believe she would simply walk out of this spot of hell with a stranger? Go meekly along after all that had happened? Not without an apology, she would not, and she felt quite determined to never leave this room until she had it.

Except that she was even more determined to leave this wretched place, just as soon as she figured out how. She would not remain one night longer under Mr. David Rumpkin’s roof than was absolutely necessary.

Oh, how she despised that man! At first, she’d tried to make the best of it, and though she could hardly stomach her surroundings, she’d tried to be pleasing and accommodating. Just as she’d tried when she’d been taken in by the Garbetts.

On his deathbed, her father had told her to always be kind, to be grateful to the family that would take her in, to be as accommodating as he knew she could be. He’d reminded her that she had no standing in this world, and her existence depended on the benevolence of a man who was not her father. Maura had tried to be all of the things her father had recommended, but she was not their kin, and Mrs. Garbett had hated her from the moment she’d laid eyes on her. Mr. Garbett had been indifferent to her for the most part, even though from time to time he would defend her. Still, Maura had always believed Mr. Garbett liked her. Now she believed he had been precisely what he’d shown her: indifferent.

Given her experience in Stirling, perhaps she should have known that being grateful and accommodating would not serve her here, either. Rumpkin had shown himself almost at once to be an impossible, slovenly beast with no regard for her or that hapless lass who came from Aberuthen to cook his stews.

Still, she might have born it. She’d even had thoughts of tidying up the house a bit for him, as she was reluctant to sit on any seat. But it was Rumpkin’s drunken pawing of her that had prompted her to barricade herself in the room. She’d been caught completely off guard by it—he’d come up behind her, had put one hand on her arse, another on her breast and his greasy mouth on her neck.

A shudder ran through her as she recalled it.

Maura had found a strength she had not known she possessed in that moment. She had shoved the mountain of a man with all her might, and he’d stumbled backward, falling into his chair. “Donna be a shrew,” he’d slurred, and as he’d tried to lever himself to his feet she had fled to her room at the top of the stairs, had bolted the door shut, then had pushed a bureau in front of it for good measure.

The next day she’d had to remove the bureau to accept the bit of food the lass had brought her and left outside her door. She’d taken the bread, had left the bowl of stringy stew untouched.

Oh right, she’d almost forgotten—she was starving just now.

Maura turned away from the door and looked at her prison. She had a small stack of books that were keeping her occupied, but which she’d soon finish. She was running out of wood for the hearth, her clothes needed washing and she’d lost all manner of decency. The clothes she’d been wearing the night he’d put his hands on her were discarded onto the floor, where they would remain, unless she resorted to burning them for warmth. She hadn’t bothered to dress her hair or don a gown over her stomacher and petticoat in days.

She fell onto the chaise longue at the end of the bed, and stared morosely at the ceiling with its peeling paint. She couldn’t survive in here much longer. Last night, she’d concocted an elaborate plan in her head, whereby she would will herself to make it to spring when the days would be warmer. She could simply walk out of this house once Mr. Rumpkin had fallen into unconsciousness with his fingers wrapped tightly around a bottle. But then she’d grown sullen, for spring was too far away, and there was an entire winter to endure.

She needed to devise another, better plan.

She had only a few coins, some shoes that were worthless for anything other than dancing or strolling around manicured gardens, one decent gown and one serviceable gown. The third gown she’d been allowed to leave Stirling with was the one lying in a heap on the floor.

As she lay there contemplating, she heard a sound that she would have thought was a rat scurrying by had it not come from outside the window. She slowly sat up, staring at the window. It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t, this Mr. Nichol Bain. Maura shot up from the chaise and hurried to the window. She opened it slightly, just enough to see out.

All she could see was an auburn head of hair as the man picked his way up the thick vines that covered the tower.

Bloody bounder. Mr. Garbett must have paid him handsomely to ferry her off to yet some other hell. She closed the window and latched it shut. If he thought she would open it to him, he was a fool. She went back to the chaise and plopped down onto her back, one bare foot on the moldy carpet, one arm slung across her body, waiting for the inevitable moment that he pounded on the window demanding entrance. She hoped he fell and landed on his arse. She hoped his fingers ached so much that it brought a tear to his eye.

She did not expect him to punch his fist through the glass, but that’s what he did, shattering the pane into a rain of chunks. That same fist reached through the opening for the latch and swung the window open. Maura was so stunned by this that she couldn’t move, and watched, dumbfounded, Mr. Nichol Bain’s acrobatic entry into her room. He paused just inside, brushed off his clothes, ran his hand over his bobbed hair, and then leveled a gaze on her that suggested he was quite perturbed at having to make an entry in this manner.

Neither of them said a word. Maura didn’t know what stunned her more—his bold entrance or his fine looks. His eyes were the palest green, his hair the shade of autumn. He stood well over six feet, and broad shoulders that looked even broader in a greatcoat tapered into a trim waist. He was perhaps one of the most handsome men she had ever seen.

But his expression was thunderous as he surveyed her lying there—she was still incapable of movement—and said, in a deeply timbred voice, “Feasgar math.”

He had just wished her a good afternoon in Gaelic. Maura stared at him. Had he come from the Highlands, then?

“Now I see what caused Adam Cadell to lose his mind,” he said, and bowed gallantly.

For the love of Scotland! Men were degenerates, the whole bloody lot of them. Whoever this man was, or whatever he wanted, Maura didn’t care. She had gone well past the point of caring in Stirling and straight into unyielding fury with the world and everyone around her. She did not want to be reminded of Adam Cadell, that bloody coward. She sighed with impatience, cast her arm over her eyes, and silently willed this handsome stranger from her room.

He did not leave her room. No, he was moving about, pausing here and there. When he next spoke, she realized he’d walked the entire breadth of the room to the other window. “Allow me to introduce myself again, aye?” he said coolly. “My name is Mr. Nichol Bain.”

She didn’t care what his name was. Did Mr. Garbett think she would trust anyone at this juncture?

“I understand you must be mistrustful.”

Mistrustful? Aye, sir, mistrustful and furious. She was teeming with raw, unabated fury. She had no wish to discuss what she was or thought and muttered under her breath, “Sortez maintenant, imbécile,” telling the fool to get out of her room.

There was a long pause before he said, “Pas avant que vous n’écoutiez ce que j’ai à dire.”

Not until you’ve heard what I have to say. Surprised, Maura removed her arm and turned her head to look at him.

He had squatted down onto his haunches a couple of feet away from her and was watching her closely like a hawk, his eyes sharp and focused, his movement very still.

Maura pushed herself up on her elbows and glared at him. All right, so he’d been schooled in French, too. He thought himself clever, she could clearly see it in his eyes. “Mir ist es gleich was Sie zu sagen haben.”

She gave him a very pert smile. She’d just told him that she didn’t care what he had to say, and silently thanked her late father for insisting her education include languages.

Mr. Bain’s smile was slow and almost wolfish. “Aye, you have me there, lass. My German is no’ as good as that. Nevertheless... Wollen Sie von hier fortgehen?”

She gasped softly. This man, whoever he was, was a formidable opponent. She sat up, putting both feet on the floor, her hands clutching the edge of the chaise on either side of her knees. She gave him a good look, appraising him, before she answered his question. “Aye, I want to leave here,” she said. “But no’ with you.”

Mr. Bain stood up, clasped his hands behind his back and said calmly, “At present, that would seem your only choice.”

“It is no’ my only choice. I could leap from the window you’ve so graciously opened for me, aye?”

He shrugged. “If you meant to leap from the window, I suspect you would have done so on the day you felt it necessary to barricade yourself in this room.”

Well, then, he was a perceptive man. He should be heralded for it among women—Look here, lassies, all of you, a perceptive gentleman! Come quick, for you’ll no’ see this again!

Maura stood up. She was at least a full head shorter than him; he had to look down. And when he did, he unabashedly looked directly at her bosom before lifting his gaze to her eyes.

She glared at him. “What do you want, then?”

“To take you from these...accommodations, first and foremost.”

She folded her arms across her body. “And then? Where do you mean to take me? To Mr. Garbett? Or am I to have the pleasure of visiting yet another cousin?”

He glanced at her mouth. Maura considered kicking his shin. “To Luncarty,” he said.

“Luncarty. What the devil is a Luncarty?”

“It is a small village and an estate. It is also an opportunity.”

She laughed at him. An opportunity! How naïve did he think she was? “Is it? What sort of opportunity would it be, then, Mr. Bain? Am I to defend myself against the advances of another man I’ve never met?”

“Pardon?” he said, and had the decency to at least look slightly horrified. “Did Rumpkin—”

She clucked her tongue at this fool. All men were fools.

But this fool’s expression turned slightly murderous. “I would no’ put you in a situation that might cause you harm, Miss Darby. There is a house in Luncarty that I think you would verra much like. A big wealthy house.”

“Ah. Someone’s mistress, then.”

He seemed taken aback by her direct manner. “No one’s mistress. You are Mr. Garbett’s ward, aye? He has vowed to do right by you.”

She cast her arms wide. “Does this look right to you, sir? Aye, go on—if I’m no’ to be a mistress, what am I to do at Luncarty?”

“Marry the laird.”

She gasped with shock. And then laughed with sheer delight as she gathered her tangled hair and pulled it over her shoulder. “You must be mad! Or you must believe I am mad.”

“What I am is determined to find a suitable situation for you.”

“Well, that is no’ one!” she said, and laughed again, this time with a twinge of hysteria. “I will no’ marry someone I’ve no’ met!”

“Of course you will meet him before you decide,” Mr. Bain said with the patience of a parent. “The gentleman is an acquaintance of mine. He’s kind, he’s in need of a wife and he will treat you like a princess.”

“I suppose you think that’s all that is required!”

Mr. Bain shrugged. “What more would you like, then?”

“What more? Love? Compatibility?” All the things she was desperate to know, given that she’d spent the last twelve years of her life searching for even the slightest bit of love or compatibility. For the slightest hint of affection. Since her father died, Mr. Garbett was the closest she’d had to knowing any sort of affection, and even that was sporadically applied in the way of a pat to the head or a squeeze of the shoulder.

“Love and compatibility,” he scoffed. “All verra lofty goals for a lass who is locked in a tower with no prospect of anything more than servitude.”

Maura’s breath caught in her throat. Her fury and disbelief dulled and she felt the truth in his words settle like a weighted mantel about her shoulders. She sagged, dropping her arms.

“Will you at least allow me the opportunity to explain?” he asked.

“By all means,” she said dryly. “You’ve gone to the trouble of climbing the wall and smashing the window after all.” She walked away from him, to her wardrobe. She pulled out a shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. The broken window was letting in a north wind and flakes of snow. “You were saying, Mr. Bain?”

“Dunnan Cockburn is heir to Scotland’s largest linen manufacturer. He lives in a grand house with only his widowed mother. He is a good man.”

Maura eyed him with skepticism. “Why has he never married, then?”

“He is no’ particularly adept with the fairer sex.”

What did that mean? Was he hideously ugly? A happy drunkard? “I would guess that you manage the fairer sex with aplomb, aye?” she said. “Perhaps you ought to instruct him.”

One corner of his mouth tipped up. “I am hoping that you will come along and make that task unnecessary, Miss Darby.”

“What if I agree to meet him? When will I leave this wretched place?”

“Tonight.”

That caught her attention—she could leave tonight? A flurry of thoughts began to race through her mind, not the least of which was that she had a way out of this house. That was the first step. She didn’t know what she intended to do once she was freed from this prison, but she did not intend to marry some faceless man.

What she wanted was to get her mother’s necklace back. That necklace was the proverbial straw that had broken the camel’s back. Maura had done everything the Garbetts had ever asked of her, including moving to the small servant’s room at the end of the hall to be “out of the way.” She’d remained at home when she and Sorcha had been invited to parties so that Sorcha could shine. She’d tried to keep to the shadows when company came. She’d said please and thank you, had never asked for anything, had done everything she knew to do to be a grateful, accommodating girl. And for that, they’d accused her, called her a liar and, the ultimate insult, had taken her necklace.

They should not have taken it, and Maura should not have let them. She’d done nothing wrong. It was all she had to her name, and she intended to have it back.

She didn’t have a plan for that, either, but the first step was getting out of the hell Mr. Garbett had sent her to, and Mr. Bain was offering her a way out.

Whatever would come next, Maura couldn’t guess. But it would not include marrying a man in Luncarty who was “not adept with the fairer sex,” whatever that meant. But in order to escape, Mr. Bain had to believe that she would be foolish enough to agree. So she mustered up all the charm she could manage, looked into the pale green eyes of the man standing before her and said, “Aye, all right.”

His brows dipped into a dubious frown. “All right?”

“I’ll go.”

“Just like that?”

“Is that no’ what you wanted? I’ve changed my mind.”

His frown grew even more dubious, but he said, “Have you a bag? Anything to carry your things?”

She nodded.

“Fill it with what you can carry. Clean yourself up and meet me in the drive when you’re ready.”

“Any other commands, your highness?”

“Aye. Dress warmly.” With that, he turned away from her, easily pushed the bureau from the door, unbolted it, and strode out.

Maura’s heart was suddenly beating with excitement. It occurred to her that this opportunity could disappear, and she could be prevented from escape. She had not a minute to spare and ran to her vanity.

CHAPTER FOUR

NICHOL WAS NO stranger to the dithering of young ladies at their wardrobe, and had expected to be kept waiting a good hour or more for Miss Darby. But here she came after only twenty minutes, bundled in a cloak lined with fur, with her hair bound haphazardly at her nape, and her leather bag—stuffed to the gills by the look of it—banging against her leg.

On her heels was Mr. Rumpkin, who had found a pair of trousers and a coat. He had not found the waistcoat or neckcloth, but at least he’d removed the offending soiled nightshirt.

“Is this how you’ll take your leave, then? Without so much as a fare thee well?” he’d shouted at Miss Darby as she strode toward Nichol.

She ignored him. Did not pay him the slightest heed. This woman. Nichol didn’t know if he ought to be appalled by her lack of civility or impressed with her courage to stand up to Rumpkin. And to him, for that matter.

She arrived before him and dropped her bag. He glanced at her shoes. Silk, by the look of it. “Those will no’ do for a long journey, Miss Darby,” he said, nodding in the direction of her feet.

“They will have to do, Mr. Bain. They are all I have. When I was banished from the home I’ve known for a dozen years, I was no’ permitted the luxury of time to consider all that I might need, aye?”

Nichol’s opinion of Garbett was rapidly deteriorating.

“Is this it, then? After feeding you and putting a roof over your fool head?” Mr. Rumpkin demanded.

Miss Darby looked up at the sky, at the dusting of snow that was beginning to fade away. She looked at Nichol, then at the groom. “Where is the carriage?”

“Carriage!” Mr. Rumpkin said with a sputter. “You think too highly of yourself!”

Miss Darby looked at Nichol.

“No carriage,” he said simply.

She studied the horses, then young Gavin in his saddle.

“Where is the maid? Surely I’m no’ to travel without a female companion.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Garbett’s resources did no’ allow for a maid. We’ll be but a day.”

Her eyes widened with alarm. “Where is my mount, then?”

Nichol patted the rump of his horse.

Miss Darby stared at the horse, then at him. Her mouth dropped open. She looked at the groom again, but the lad studiously avoided her gaze. “Do you mean I am to ride with you?” she asked incredulously. “Without chaperone or a lass?”

“Aye.”

“You never said I would ride with you, on the same horse!”

Nichol bowed his head. “Quite right you are. Allow me to correct the oversight—you are to ride with me, on the same horse. Without chaperone or a lass.”

She gasped. “I will no’!”

“Och, I knew she’d no’ go,” Mr. Rumpkin said. “Too lazy, she is. She’s had it easy.”

With that remark, something flashed in Miss Darby’s brilliant blue eyes. She slowly turned and glanced at the offending man over her shoulder, muttered something that sounded French, then picked up her bag. For a moment, Nichol thought she meant to return to her room at the top of the tower, but she suddenly threw the bag at him.

Nichol caught it with one hand. She stomped forward, presenting herself to be seated on the horse. How odd, Nichol thought, that at this moment, he was having to fight a small smile. Her defiant spunk amused him.

“What’s this?” Rumpkin demanded as Nichol lashed her bag onto his horse. “You mean to go with him, then?” he demanded of Miss Darby. “Have you any idea the sort of talk you will cause if people see you riding off as if you were a dead fox draped across his lap?”

Miss Darby looking imploringly at Nichol. “Will you please be quick about it?”

He cupped his hands and bent at the waist to give her a lift. She slammed her foot into his hands, and he vaulted her skyward. She landed lopsidedly on the saddle and cried out with alarm, but managed to catch herself before she slid off the other side and landed on her bottom.

“Go on then, ride out of here like the slut you are, aye?” Mr. Rumpkin shouted.

Nichol turned, walked calmly to where Mr. Rumpkin stood swaying to keep his balance. He caught him by the open neck of his shirt. “You’ve caused enough harm, aye? No’ another word, sir, or I shall put my fist in your mouth and shove it all the way down your gullet to make sure you never utter another word again.” He shoved Rumpkin away, and the man stumbled backward. He was drunk enough that he went down onto his arse with a great thud.

“You’ll no’ treat me in this way!” he screeched, but made no move to pick himself up. “You will compensate me for the broken window, that you will, or I’ll have the proper authorities searching for you ere you leave Aberuthen!”

Nichol walked back to the mounts, put his foot in the stirrup and launched himself onto the horse, directly behind Miss Darby. He hitched the horse about and nodded at Gavin. They trotted out of the drive while Mr. Rumpkin dumbly watched them go.

Miss Darby did not look back once.

“Donna sit so close,” she said, and wiggled, trying to put some space between them. “I donna want to be so familiar with you, aye?”

“Do you want to be difficult?” Nichol asked casually.

She snorted. “You may depend on it, Mr. Bain.”

“Good,” Nichol said, and spurred his horse to canter. “I like a challenge.”

She shot him a look over her shoulder. He arched a single brow and smiled. Her gaze moved quickly over his face, and then she abruptly turned, shifting her body forward so she would not touch him. But the horse was moving too fast, and she would bounce right off. Nichol put his arm around her waist to hold her in place.

“I beg your pardon!” she said angrily. “Is this part of Mr. Garbett’s scheme, too? Did he think I deserved to be carried off like so much luggage?”

An actual response to her question did not seem necessary, particularly when she immediately asked another question.

“Where are we going? It will be dark soon. You canna mean to carry on in the dark.”

His hope was that they would reach Crieff before it was too dark, but before he could answer, she said, “It is apparent that I’ve traded one wretched situation for another, is it no’?” Nichol sensed she had asked her question of the heavens, and not of him. He was right.

“I will be forced to ride like a hostage across all of Scotland and for what? Another man who might abuse my sensibilities?”

“You have my word I will leave your sensibilities verra much untouched,” he said.

She clucked her tongue. “You will pardon me for no’ believing you, Mr. Bain. In my experience, a man’s word is hardly reliable. Mr. Garbett once vowed I would always have a home with him, and yet, here I am, cast out. In the dark,” she added, looking about with a wee bit of nervousness.

Nichol didn’t say anything to that, but it was true that he might know more about being cast out of a home than he was willing to share.

“I know what you think,” she continued. “But on my honor, I didna kiss that man. You canna know how impossible it is to breathe when no one believes you. What motive would I have to lie? Och, but I hardly expect you to understand,” she said with a shake of her head.

Nichol opened his mouth to argue that perhaps he could, but Miss Darby barreled on. “I canna be blamed that, on the rare occasion I was included in a gathering or a call with Sorcha, that gentlemen often looked to me. I never invited it and did my best to avoid it, on my word! But gentlemen believe themselves to be irresistible to the fairer sex and canna possibly believe that a lass would no’ desire his attention, and seek to right that wrong. Even when a lass’s lack of desire is clearly stated, aye? Mr. Cadell was the worst offender! I was quite clear that I didna want his attentions, that he was no’ to touch me, that I would scream if he did, and do you know what he said? He said, ‘You donna mean that,’ and put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me against the wall and bloody well kissed me.”

She paused, cast a quick glance at Nichol over her shoulder. “I beg your pardon for my choice of words,” she added demurely. “I feel passionately that I’ve been wronged, I do.”

“I would—”

“Och, donna give me platitudes, I beg of you. I’ve heard enough of them in the last fortnight, I have. And besides, I can guess easily enough what you think, Mr. Bain—that a man’s desire canna be denied or some such foolishness.”

“That is no’—”

“But what of a woman’s desire, I ask you? Am I to have no say in it? Must I be subjected to him because he canna help himself? I tried to warn Mrs. Garbett and Sorcha about him, on my life I did. I meant it to warn her, to relate something of vital importance that she verra well ought to know, aye? But instead of thanking me for my honesty, Mrs. Garbett accused me of inviting his attentions. You’d no’ believe what they said!”

“You donna—”

“They claimed that I’ve long had a habit of walking and speaking and smiling that serves only to invite male attention, and for that reason, I was often left at home, for I couldna be trusted. I swear to you, Mr. Bain, I swear on my father’s grave, that I walk and I speak and I smile in the only manner I know how, and it is no’ to invite attention, it is to get from one place to the next.”

He silently arched a brow, uncertain if he was allowed yet to speak.

Apparently it was not yet his turn, for Miss Darby sighed, then drew a deep breath to launch once more.

Nichol guessed that she had not had the opportunity to say these things to anyone, and all her feelings about what had happened in Stirling were pouring forth.

“If that were all of it, I would find my peace with it, on my word, I would. But that was no’ all of it, oh no. The Cadells were guests for more than a fortnight, and Mr. Cadell could no’ be avoided. He sought me out at every opportunity, even though he was affianced to Sorcha. Mrs. Garbett said I purposely seduced him. No’ only did she accuse me, they cast me out, and then took the only thing of my family that belonged to me. I would have gladly returned the gowns that were passed down to me and kept with the two muslins Mr. Garbett commissioned for me, but they took my necklace. My necklace, my heritage. Left to me! Can you believe the gall of it? After all these years, after trying so desperately to stay in the shadows for the sake of Sorcha, and they took my necklace!”

Nichol hadn’t heard of any jewelry. “What necklace?”

“My necklace, my necklace!” she said impatiently, as if she’d explained this to him before. “It was a king’s gift to my great-grandmother, handed down to my mother and then to me. It’s quite valuable, but believe me when I say it’s worth canna compare to the sentimental value it holds for me, aye? It is the only thing I’ve left of my family, the only thing that ties me to my name.”

Something shuddered through Nichol. He understood better than this young woman could possibly imagine what it was to want to belong to a name. He understood how deeply unsettling it was to feel the snap of that thin thread. “This is the first I have heard of a necklace, Miss Darby. Had I known, I would have bargained to have it returned to you.”

“Och, but you would have lost that bargain,” she said sullenly. “The depravity there is surely beyond your ability to comprehend, Mr. Bain.”

“On the contrary, I comprehend quite well,” he said, and left it at that. It would be impossible to explain to her how or why he comprehended it as well as he did.

She twisted about so that she could view him fully and with unconcealed skepticism. “Donna tease me, Mr. Bain. You are no’ acquainted with me, and it will no’ be apparent to you that at present, I am in a very foul humor and likely will take offense. I canna even promise that I’ll no’ hit something quite hard.”

She seemed very serious indeed, and Nichol made an effort to keep any sort of smile from his face. “I’ve had an inkling to your state of mind,” he said, thinking that might be obvious, seeing as how she would not answer the door, then tried to keep him out by locking a window. “You’ve made it abundantly clear to all, then. I’d no’ tease you, Miss Darby. Mr. Cadell is a coward and a scoundrel. Desire that is not mutually shared between a gentleman and a lady is pointless and vulgar.”

She blinked, her gaze on his mouth, as if she didn’t believe he’d actually spoken those words.

“Unfortunately, what I believe doesna change your situation. I have endeavored to find a solution that suits you. No’ Mr. Garbett. You.”

She snorted and shook her head, and turned her glittering blue eyes away from him, and Nichol felt a tiny little flicker of regret that she had. “There is nothing that will suit me, Mr. Bain. My patience and accommodating nature are at an end!”

He didn’t think it his place to persuade her otherwise, and even if he’d been so inclined, he would not have the opportunity. Now that Miss Darby had been freed from the wretched conditions in Aberuthen and the Garbett house and, apparently, her silence, she had a long list of complaints.

“They forced me to leave all behind,” she said again. “It was vindictive. It hardly mattered that all these years I endeavored to be pleasing, to stay well in the shadows, to keep to my room. But Sorcha and her mother were determined to lay blame and hardship at my feet, they were. What would be the harm, I ask you, in bringing along my needlework?” she demanded, her voice full of anger once again. “It was only half finished, useless to all of them, aye? Och, I donna care, Mr. Bain, I donna. I will start anew.”

Nichol exchanged a look with Gavin, who seemed unduly wary, as he if he expected her to start anew here and now and somehow involve him in it. Nichol was glad he wasn’t called upon to assure the lad otherwise—she did seem quite determined.

Her list of complaints against the Garbetts went on for a good quarter hour more, at which point, Miss Darby seemed to have aired all her grievances and had lost her thirst for the airing. She seemed spent, taxed by the work of saying it all aloud, to have God and the world know how she’d been wronged.

She said no more until Nichol signaled Gavin that they would stop for the night, having decided they would not reach an inn before dark. He remembered a hollow they’d passed, where they could make camp, sheltered from wind. And it was on the banks of a creek so the horses could drink. He led them there.

It had stopped snowing, but the sky remained a dull slate gray turning to dark blue. Miss Darby did not hesitate to leap from her perch when Nichol reined to a halt, landing awkwardly on all fours, then disappearing into the woods. Gavin looked at Nichol with alarm, but Nichol shook his head. What would she do, run into dark woods with no place to go? She needed a moment of privacy, that was all.

Nichol was pulling the saddle from his horse when she returned to the small clearing. She looked with confusion at the saddle in his hands. “What are you doing, then?” she demanded.

“We’ll bed here for the night.”

“Here?”

“Aye, here,” he said. “It’s too dark to carry on, aye? I’ll no’ risk injury to one of the horses.”

She looked around her. “But we’re in the middle of nowhere!”

“That is no’ entirely accurate. We are between Aberuthen,” he said, pointing to the north, “and Crieff,” he said, pointing to the south. “No’ as much as a day’s ride to Stirling, aye?” he added, pointing in the direction of Stirling. “We are indeed somewhere, Miss Darby, and this is a good place to water and graze the horses.”

She gaped at him. Then at Gavin, who kept his head down and avoided her gaze. “Has my reputation been so irreparably damaged that you give no thought to it, sir? Am I to be humiliated further?”

“I mean to protect you, Miss Darby, no’ harm you. Necessity demands adaptation, and I rather doubt you will be thought of any less for having slept under a night sky than an inn’s roof.” He unfurled a bedroll and laid his plaid on top of it. He bowed, and gestured grandly to the pallet he’d made. “You may avail yourself of this accommodation.”

Miss Darby lifted her chin. She pulled her cloak tightly around her. “This is hardly accommodation,” she muttered.

“I am confident you will weather it.”

“Oh, I shall weather it, Mr. Bain. I have weathered much worse.” With a dramatic swirl of her cloak, she fell onto the pallet and rolled to her side, facing away from him.

Nichol gazed down at her, sprawled on his plaid in a snit. She really was quite beautiful in his eyes. Her hair was inky black, and her eyes the color of a robin’s egg. She had a lush figure that, in any other circumstance, would have caused his mouth to water. He thought she would be quite bonny if she ever felt like smiling again. He would like to see that, personally, but rather doubted he would be afforded the pleasure, given the nature of what would be a very short acquaintance. Her situation was not going to miraculously improve overnight and make her suddenly happy.

Nichol glanced at Gavin. The poor lad’s eyes were nearly bulging out of his head. He looked at Nichol, as if expecting him to explain a woman’s scorn. But that was beyond Nichol’s considerable talents, and he shook his head, then instructed Gavin to gather wood for a fire.

CHAPTER FIVE

MAURA WOKE WITH a start, a swell of panic filling her throat as she frantically tried to sort out where she was or what was happening to her. A moment or two of blinking and sputtering against leaves stuck to her lips brought it all back to her—she was asleep on a forest floor. Her bones ached from cold and one arm tingled with a loss of feeling.

How long had she been asleep?

She recalled the surge of annoyance at this unexpected turn of events, then dropping onto the pallet Mr. Bain had made for her, and then...and then her eyes had felt scratchy, her lids heavy and her body so grateful to be off that horse.

She smelled smoke. Maura rolled onto her back, her gaze landing first on the small ring of fire, and then on Mr. Bain sitting beside her, his back against the trunk of a tree. He had one leg bent at the knee, the other stretched before him. He was holding a book.

Maura blinked. The man was reading by the light of the fire, as if this was a lazy summer evening.

Without looking at her, he held out a linen handkerchief.

She looked at the offering.

“You’ve half a forest pressed to your face,” he said matter-of-factly.

Maura took it, then groped about for his arm to pull herself up. She gave him a good once-over, astonished that he could look so relaxed in the same forest with cold settling in. She wiped the dirt from her mouth. “How it pleases me to find the journey has posed no hardship for you, Mr. Bain, and that you are verra much at your leisure.”

“I assure you, I am no’ at my leisure, but merely attempting to pass the time.” He deliberately turned a page.

Maura’s stomach suddenly growled.

“Awake and hungry, then, are you?”

“Aye, famished,” she said, and tossed the handkerchief onto his leg, annoyed that he should look so comfortable when she was freezing.

She looked around their little campsite. It must be quite late—the lad was asleep on the other side of the fire, his body turned toward the warmth of the flames. She could see the horses near the banks of the creek, blankets draped across their backs. “How will you keep the horses from wandering away, then?” she asked curiously.

“They’re hobbled.”

Maura peered at the horses, and could just make out the belt around their front legs.

Mr. Bain put aside his book and dragged a saddlebag onto his lap and began to rummage inside it. Maura glanced at the book, now lying between them. “‘An Enquiry Concerning the Principle of Morals,’” she read aloud. “How interesting. Perhaps your book will hold the answer as to the principle of morals in this particular situation, eh, Mr. Bain?”

He smiled wryly, and handed her a bundle wrapped in cheesecloth. “I’ve some dried beef and hard biscuits,” he said.

Maura gasped with delight—she’d not expected food. She eagerly took the bundle from him and put it in her lap, brushed the tresses of hair from her eyes that had come undone with all her rolling about on the ground and which were apparently hosting a fair amount of leaves. But she paid no heed to her hair—she untied the cheesecloth and surveyed the food. As she had not eaten properly in days, this was a feast. Her stomach growled again.

She picked up a hunk of bread and bit into it, eating heartily, without regard to manners or attempting to conceal the sounds of pleasure she was making.

As she gnawed at a strip of beef, Mr. Bain nudged her and held up a skin. Whatever was in it, she hardly cared—she took it from him with a small grunt of thanks and drank.

Mr. Bain gave a small chuckle.

Ale. Strong ale at that, but she managed to keep from coughing it up and sighed when the warmth of it slid through her veins. When she had drunk what she could, she gave him the skin and resumed her meal.

Mr. Bain watched her with equal parts awe and amusement. “Am I so amusing?” she asked as she licked her fingers. “You’d be famished, too, that you would, had you been in the company of Mr. David Rumpkin. I’ve been desperately hungry—I dared eat scarcely a thing in that house.”

“I donna blame you,” he agreed. “I’ve no’ seen a more despicable home.”

She swallowed a mouthful of bread, thinking about the nightmare of the last fortnight. It would ruin her meal to describe the filth of that house, but she said, “I donna exaggerate when I say it was wretched, Mr. Bain.” She glanced up, her gaze following a spark that flew up into the night sky. “It’s much better here, really,” she said brightly, having just decided it. She felt more optimistic with a bit of food in her belly. “Aye, quite cold, that it is. But better.” She stuffed the rest of the beef in her mouth, gestured to the empty cheesecloth, and said, “Thank you for the food.”

“You are verra welcome, Miss Darby. I have no’ seen anyone enjoy hardtack and dried beef quite so much.”

All right, then, she’d eaten like a sow, but she didn’t care. She pondered her savior. Or was he her captor? A wee bit of both, she supposed. Either way, he was quite handsome. His hair was the color of autumn leaves, a mix of brown, dark red and gold. His eyes were pale green and when he looked at her, there was a certain sparkle in them.

Aye, he was a handsome man.

Yet she had the sense that there was something curiously distant about this handsome man. Perhaps it was because he knew everything about her, and she knew nothing but his name and that he liked to read books about philosophy, apparently. “Who are you?” she asked curiously.

He arched a brow. “I’ve told you.”

“Aye, you’ve said your name, but who are you really, Mr. Bain?”

He gave her a slight, enigmatic smile. “Does it matter?”

Ooh, a secret then. Maura twisted about so that she was facing him. “Aye, it matters who, exactly, is spiriting me away to marry a man I’ve never laid eyes on. You could be a thief or a marauder for all I know.”

“A marauder?”

“A highwayman?”

“That is no’ an improvement.”

“Well? What is your secret?”

“I’ve no secret.”

“But you are a friend of Mr. Calum Garbett, and yet, I’ve never heard your name.”

“Because I’ve only recently made Mr. Garbett’s acquaintance.”

“Really?” she asked skeptically.

He leaned forward, looked her directly in the eye and said, “Really.”

“Then how...?”

“I’m what one might call an agent, aye? Let’s agree that gentlemen often find themselves in uncomfortable situations, and I put them to rights.”

Maura had never heard of such a thing. What gentlemen? What uncomfortable situations? Were there so many of them that a man might make it his occupation? “I beg your pardon?”

Mr. Bain leaned back against the tree and stretched his legs before him, crossing them at the ankle. “It’s no’ as strange as it sounds.”

“Aye, it is,” she insisted.

He smiled, lazily, indulgently, and it made her feel...warm.

“You are a young woman, Miss Darby. You would have no call to know that there are times in a man’s life that he might need help disposing of a complication. I happen to be adept at that.”

He spoke with such confidence! She was rather envious of that sort of confidence, really, particularly as she never felt entirely confident of anything. Well, except that she was not marrying a stranger in Lumparty, Lunmarty, wherever it was he was taking her. She was entirely confident in that. “What do you mean?” She suddenly had the idea that he meant something quite nefarious. She leaned forward and whispered, “Are you an outlaw, Mr. Bain?”

He blinked. He glanced at the lad as if to assure himself he could not hear, then leaned forward, so that he was only a few inches from her, and whispered, “No.”

She swayed backward. “Then how is it you are adept at disposing of another man’s complications?”

He leaned against the tree again. “I just am. In this particular instance, I was once employed by the Duke of Montrose. He is an acquaintance of Mr. Garbett and put forth my name.”

Maura had seen the duke when she’d been called into Mr. Garbett’s drawing room to account for her alleged crime. She knew of Montrose—everyone knew of him. But there was something more that tickled at her memory. What was it that was said of him? She suddenly recalled and blurted, “That’s the man who murdered his wife!”

“He didna murder his wife, Miss Darby. It is true that the lady is no longer his wife, but she is verra much alive. When I said complications, I didna mean unlawful ones. I meant, simply...uncomfortable situations.”

“Is that what I am, then? An uncomfortable situation?”

“Aye.” He shrugged, as if that were plainly obvious. “If it eases you, you are the sort of uncomfortable situation that is easily put to rights.”

“If it eases me!” she exclaimed. “It offends me that my uncomfortable situation is so easily put to rights! And never you mind, Mr. Bain—you may be adept with someone else, for I’ll put my own uncomfortable situation to rights, thank you.”

“Will you,” he said skeptically, and gave her a hint of a smile that made his eyes shine even more. “And how exactly will you do that, Miss Darby?”

“Never you mind,” she muttered. She had only a vague idea of how she’d go about it. It wasn’t as if she’d ever been allowed to chart her own path. Until a month or so ago, she had been quietly biding her time until Sorcha married. Once, she’d inquired of Mr. Garbett if he might find her a position in a good house as a governess, or even a tutor. But Mrs. Garbett had seen her request as yet another example of how Maura meant to take attention from Sorcha. On the contrary, Maura had meant it to be helpful. She’d assumed Mrs. Garbett would want her gone.

Everything in the Garbett house depended on Sorcha making a proper match. Nothing else mattered. Maura had assumed that when Sorcha married, then she might be allowed to pursue a marriage of her own, or a position in a house that at least gave her something to do. Some place she might go where she felt wanted. And safe. She hadn’t broached it again with Mr. Garbett, not with Sorcha’s trials in attracting a suitor. She’d told herself to be patient, to stay in the shadows, to give Sorcha all the room she needed to accomplish this family goal. And then Adam Cadell had come along, the bloody bounder.

Maura had never imagined anything as ignominious as this. It mad her feel stupid to have waited so patiently for her turn, to have trusted the people who had sworn to look after her, only to have her turn upended into something as wretched as the circumstance she found herself in today.

No. She would think of something.

She looked across the fire to the lad. “Is he your son, then?”

“No. He’s a hired hand.”

“Have you a son?” she asked.

“No.”

“A daughter?” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

He shook his head.

Her back was beginning to ache, sitting like she was, and Maura looked at the tree that held him up. The trunk was big enough for the two of them, so she scooted herself up and sat next to him. “A wife, then?”

He chuckled softly. “No.”

“Have you anyone, Mr. Bain? Anyone at all to miss you?”

“I donna need anyone to miss me.”

“Anyone who claims no’ to need someone to miss them is a person that needs someone to miss them the most. I’ve no one to miss me, either, but I need someone to miss me.” She punctuated that with a sniff of superior understanding of the ways of the world. Didn’t need someone to miss him, indeed!

He gave her a discerning look, and Maura imagined how it must feel to be on the receiving end of his esteem. A tiny unwelcome shiver ran down her spine.

“You’re verra unusual for a well-bred miss. You’ve more than a wee bit of pluck. You remind me of another woman I know, a woman from the Highlands.”

“Then perhaps it is no’ so unusual at all to have a wee bit of pluck, if you are acquainted with two,” she pointed out, and turned her head.

She didn’t like the insinuation that there was something wrong with pluck. He would have it, too, had he no authority over his own life. Maura was desperate, she was hurt and above all, she was furious that she had no say in what was to become of her. None at all! Her father had once told her she could be quite stubborn when she was of a mind. Well, she was of a mind. She had already decided that she would retrieve her necklace if it were the last thing on this earth she would do. They could pry it out of her cold, dead hand if they liked, but they would not take it from her while she had a breath in her lung.

Maura suddenly realized what she had to do. There was nothing to be done for it. Turning the idea over in her mind made her quake with fear, but it didn’t matter—she would not have another opportunity and she would not let this one pass.

She suddenly stood, brushed out her gown and drew her cloak tightly about her. Mr. Bain did not object. “There is a place to wash where the river pools, just there,” he said, nodding with his chin. He picked up his book.

He thought her helpless. The Garbetts thought her helpless. Adam Cadell thought her helpless. She was naïve, that she was. But she was not helpless. Mr. Bain had no fear of her wandering about in the forest because he believed she was too frightened to stray far. Well, she was, but that wouldn’t stop her. Fury did funny things to a woman.

She walked on, past the horses, pausing to have a look at their hobbles. And then down to the pool to wash as best she could.

When she returned to the fireside, she noted that he had smoothed the pallet and had put more wood on the fire. He was reading again, engrossed in his principles of morals, she supposed. She took her place on the pallet. “I’m tired,” she announced.

“Good night, Miss Darby,” he said, as if he were sending a child off to bed. She lay down on the pallet, on her side, her back to him. She felt him get up and move away. A few minutes later he returned and stirred the fire, put more fuel to it. It wasn’t enough heat, unfortunately. She could hardly feel her fingers or toes—the cold was beginning to sink into her bones. Maura pulled her cloak more tightly about her, but she was shivering.

A moment later, Mr. Bain lay down right beside her. So close that her heart began to race. She didn’t trust him—she didn’t trust any man—and a very primal fear began to ratchet in her.

That fear soared when he said, “You’re shivering, lass. Come here, then.”

“No,” she said, but her tongue was thick, and her protest sounded garbled. She gasped with fright when he grabbed her hand and tugged her toward him. Maura cried out, expecting to be kissed, or a hand to grope her where it ought not to—but as she rolled, so did he, and she rolled into his back, her arm tight around his waist. “What are you doing, then?”

“Keeping you warm, aye? I’ll no’ have you freeze to death.”

She tried to free her arm, but he held tight.

“I’ll no’ accost you, Miss Darby, you have my word. I mean only to keep you warm. Go to sleep.”

“You’re mad if you think I can sleep like this!” she exclaimed.

“Suit yourself,” he said.

He could sleep like this, quite obviously, for his breathing began to slow until he seemed to be asleep.

It took some doing, but Maura began to relax. There was something to be said for the strength of a man’s body, all hard planes and scents of leather and cardamom. And warmth. For the love of Scotland, his body gave off the heat of a brazier. And, admittedly, she felt a wee bit safer beside him in the middle of this forest. So she snuggled closer to him, seeking more of his warmth. He grunted, laced his fingers with her hand and held her close.

She imagined that this was what marriage must feel like when there was a healthy esteem between two people. Sleeping beside a warm man each night. Feeling safe and warm. And wanted? She would like that, to feel safe and warm and wanted. Perhaps one day she would.

Maura closed her eyes. She was tempted to sleep, but she dared not. She had too much to think about, too much to plan, too much to accomplish that could not be done while he was awake and unbalancing her with his very calm and matter-of-fact demeanor.

CHAPTER SIX

IT WAS TRULY maddening that a man could be in complete control of his deeds, of his desires, of his thoughts, with no more than a wee bit of effort. But lie next to a beautiful woman and it took every ounce of willpower Nichol could summon not to touch her.

He was a lad again, fighting against his urge to taste the cake the cook had made. He was a greenhorn, desperate to catch the scent of a woman. He was a man who had denied himself the pleasure of flesh for an eternity.

None of these things were true, but nevertheless, he felt as if they were, and he thought he’d never sleep. He couldn’t quiet his mind, couldn’t stop feeling her presence at his back, all soft and warm and pressed against him, her breath tickling the back of his neck. He couldn’t stop imagining her without a stitch of clothing, of covering her beneath the blankets on this starry night, his body in hers, his eyes on her clear blue eyes.

But sleep he obviously did, for when the sun made its first appearance over the tops of the trees, he roused himself from the unsettled rest, and into his conscience crept the realization that his back was cold.

Nichol rolled over. She was not there, bundled in her cloak, her hair spilling about her. A jolt to his heart sat him up, and he looked about, trying to make sense of it.

She was gone. And she’d bloody well taken his plaid.

Nichol sprang to his feet with a roar, startling the lad, who sputtered awake. “Have you seen her?” Nichol demanded as Gavin tried to disentangle himself from his bedding.

“Who?” the lad asked stupidly.

Perhaps she’d gone to the creek. Nichol whirled about, but what he saw there made his heart sink even deeper. One of the horses was missing. Bloody hell, why had he not remained awake? Why had he been so damnably complacent? He let forth a string of swearing that made Gavin’s face turn four shades of red, but Nichol was livid. He didn’t like surprises—he was the one to control the circumstances. If there was one thing he detested, it was when a client did not behave properly. He was furious with himself for assuming that a young miss would not have the sense or the courage to make a muck of his carefully laid plans. And he was absolutely irate because it was entirely possible she’d gotten herself killed by now.

And maybe he was grudgingly impressed, too, because he’d never known a woman who would run off in the middle of the forest in the middle of the night. He doubted he would have had the guts to do it, without anything to protect himself, without provisions. Could she even ride? How did she put herself on a horse that was at least two hands taller than her? How far did the wench think she would get before she was lost, or fell or was set upon by thieves?

“Aaaiiieee,” he roared, and kicked a log with all his might.

“What’s happened to her, then?” Gavin asked timidly, his dark hair sticking up in several directions.

“She’s gone off, that’s what.”

“By herself?”

“Aye, by herself,” Nichol bit out.

Gavin’s eyes rounded.

Nichol stomped down to the brook, thinking. He looked around, for any sign of where she might have gone. There was the horse’s hobble lying on the ground. But the saddle was precisely where he’d left it. He shook his head at her audacity.

He knew where she was heading, if she could manage to determine the direction. He knew because she had done quite a lot of talking yesterday. She was so angry, and she wanted to give Miss Garbett a piece of her mind. Had she not said so more than once? Nichol didn’t pretend to understand how a woman’s mind worked, but he’d been with enough of them to know that a woman scorned was like a dog with a bone.

He was entirely confident that Miss Darby was on her way to Stirling just now.

There was no question that he had to go and fetch her. He couldn’t have her appear in Stirling on the back of a horse with nothing but her fury—his reputation would be ruined! Not to mention he would lose his fee. Bloody stupid lass. Stubborn wench.

He squatted down and splashed water on his face. She would have kept to the roads. He could ride through the forest and catch her before she reached Stirling. But he couldn’t catch her if he was riding with the lad.

He stood up, hands on hips, and stared at the rising sun.

What was he to do with the lad? He couldn’t send him back to Aberuthen—the inn there was too bleak. There was no question that he could not return to Rumpkin’s house of horrors. Nor could he send the lad on to Luncarty, as that was too far away—Nichol didn’t trust him to make it there on his own without a horse.

There was one other option, unthinkable until this moment—Cheverock, the home where he was born. A half-day’s ride from here at most.

Nichol had been toying with the idea of paying a call to his boyhood home, but to appear at Cheverock in this way after all these years was not what he wanted. Ivan would not understand a lad showing up and claiming to have been sent by Nichol. The last Nichol had seen Ivan, he’d not quite reached his majority. What would he think? And why had Ivan grown silent? Had he forgotten Nichol?

He hoped it was no more than that.

But he sensed it was much more than that. All the messengers had been turned away.

Never mind that now—this sudden development would force the issue for Nichol. He had no other viable choice so it would seem at long last, he was going home.

Gavin could walk there and arrive by nightfall if he set out now.

Nichol glanced over his shoulder—Gavin was watching him anxiously, twisting the corner of his plaid that he’d draped around his shoulders. What was he, fourteen years? Fifteen? Too young for this, that much was apparent.

Nichol turned around, and the lad blinked. He clearly suspected the news for him would not be good.

Well, then, there was nothing to be done for it—Nichol was in a corner. He trudged back to the campsite, stood with his legs braced apart, his arms folded across his chest, and eyed the lad. After a moment, he said, “I must go after the lady, aye?”

“Where’s she gone?” Gavin asked.

“I canna say for certain, but I’ve a good idea where,” Nichol bit out. “She’s got a good head start on me, aye? I need move with haste.”

Gavin nodded. “I’ll gather our things.”

Nichol stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. “Gavin, lad, I canna catch her with two of us on the horse.”

Gavin’s brown-eyed gaze filled with uncertainty.

“I mean to send you off to a place where you may wait for me.”

Gavin’s lips parted. “Where?” he asked, his voice faintly tremulous.

“The seat of the Baron MacBain.” Perhaps Nichol was imagining things, but Gavin looked suddenly very pale. “I grew up there,” he explained. “You will speak to my brother, Ivan, and he will see that you are looked after until I come for you, aye?” At least he prayed that was the case.

“Should I no’ go to Stirling?” Gavin pleaded.

“It’s too far to reach on foot, aye? Do you know how to shoot, lad?”

Gavin shook his head. He was beginning to breathe heavily, almost in a pant. Diah, but Nichol wanted to shoot something just then. He would not like to be without his pistol, but he would not rest knowing the lad had nothing with which to defend himself. So he withdrew his pistol from his waist and held it out to him. “Watch me closely, then. We’ve no’ much time.”

He showed Gavin how to load it, to cock it, to fire it. He made him do it three times until he was satisfied that he’d at least not shoot his own foot. “You’ll no’ need it, but you ought to have it. Now off with you, straight up the road. By day’s end you will come to an old castle ruin. The road forks there—turn east. You’ll be two miles from Comrie. Cheverock is about two miles more.”

“What if I get lost?” Gavin asked, his voice shaking now.

“You’ll no’ be lost. Look at me, Gavin,” he said, and went down on one knee before him. “You canna get lost if you follow the road. Walk until you reach the old castle ruin, then take the eastern fork,” he said, pointing east. “Tell Ivan I’ve sent you and I’ll come for you by week’s end, aye?”

Gavin was trying very hard not to cry. He nodded and looked at the gun in his hand.

“Look here,” Nichol said softly. “You’re a brave lad and a clever one, you are. You have everything you need inside of you, Gavin. Everything is there,” he said, tapping his chest. “You donna need me, no’ really.”

“What if they donna believe me, then?” he asked through a sniffle.

It was a fair point. Nichol suddenly stood and went to his satchel. He looked inside, in a pocket there, and withdrew a ring. It was an insignia ring, one that had belonged to his grandfather, a man he remembered with fondness. He turned back to Gavin and pressed the ring into his palm. “Give my brother this. Tell him I’d no’ ask for his help if it were no’ imperative. He’ll believe you.”

Gavin looked at the ring, then slowly put it in his pocket.

“There’s a good lad,” Nichol said. He patted him awkwardly on the shoulder, then handed him the bags. “There is food and ale. Put your pistol here, aye? If you see anyone on the road, hide in the forest until they’ve passed. You’ve nothing to fear, Gavin.”

He hoped to God above that was true. Nichol didn’t know what the lad might expect when he reached Cheverock, as the estrangement between him and his father, and perhaps his brother, made it impossible to know. But he believed Ivan to be a decent man. He would not turn the lad out.

Gavin looked up, and Nichol would have kicked himself squarely in the arse if he were able. He had no desire to send Gavin off into the deep of Scotland all alone, any more than he desired to ride like a thief across Scotland to catch Miss Darby before she ruined everything for him. “I must go—I canna risk losing the wench, aye? Go as quickly as you can. You’ll reach Cheverock by nightfall if you donna tarry.”

He turned away from the lad whose eyes were as big as moons, grabbed up his things and stuffed them into his satchel and strode to where the lone horse stood. In minutes, he was saddled. He glanced back at Gavin, who had at least gathered his bedroll and the bag. Nichol threw himself on the back of the horse and reined him around. “God’s speed,” he said to Gavin, and set the horse to a trot, which he would turn to a run as soon as he reached the road.

Miss Darby, that wee half-wit, would sorely rue the moment she stole his horse and escaped. Aye, he would make damn certain of it.

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