How to Abduct a Highland Lord

  “It is a pleasure to meet you,” Fiona said. “I am looking for his lordship. Do you know where he might be?”

  Mrs. Tarlington sniffed but didn’t say anything more.

  Fiona gave the plump housekeeper a stern look before turning back to the butler. “His lordship went out last night shortly after we arrived. I thought he would be home before now, but he is not. Unless he is taking breakfast?”

  The butler cleared his throat. “His lordship doesn’t take breakfast. At least, not before noon, and only if he arrives home in time, which he didn’t.”

  “I see,” Fiona said.

  “Yes, my lady. It is not unusual for his lordship to stay out all night.”

  That would have to change; she could not imagine that such behavior was healthy.

  She frowned, catching sight of herself in one of the large mirrors that flanked the hallway. Her gown was hideously wrinkled, her hair barely contained with her few pins, her face flushed. It dawned on her that the gown she wore was the only one she possessed.

  She turned her gaze to the butler. “Before he left, did his lordship make any arrangements for me?”

  “No, my lady. He just called for his carriage and left.” The butler gave her an apologetic look. “Usually when his lordship has a guest, he will tell us she is not to be disturbed and to see to it that she arrives home safely. He did not make such a request in your case.”

  “Mrs. Tarlington, please send a bath to my chambers and have someone come help me with my hair and gown. I was forced to leave my home in a hurry and did not bring anything else with me, so I shall need to have this gown cleaned and pressed.”

  The housekeeper’s lips thinned, but Fiona turned to the butler. “Devonsgate, please send a tray to my room. Just tea and toast will do.”

  “Yes, madam. Will there be anything else?”

  “Yes. I wish to send a note to his lordship. Do you know where he might be?”

  The butler’s expression froze. “I might be able to locate him,” he said cautiously.

  “Excellent. Pray send him this message. Tell Lord Kincaid that his wife wishes him to come home, and if he does not make an effort to do so soon, she will come and fetch him.”

  Devonsgate paled, but for the first time, Mrs. Tarlington’s wide mouth split in a reluctant grin.

  Fiona turned back to the stairs. “I shall expect the bath and the maid immediately. Breakfast can wait until after that.” She paused, one foot on the bottom step. “Actually, make that breakfast for two. I am certain his lordship will waste no time in returning home.”

  That should set a precedent of no small order. Feeling better, Fiona walked briskly up the steps.

  Mrs. Tarlington said, “Well, I’ll be! His lordship has a wife!”

  Devonsgate stared up the stairway after Fiona, his mouth agape.

  Chapter Eight

  Don’t think the MacLean was not affected as well. He was. He took one look at the White Witch, and he tumbled head over heels. MacLeans are like that, ye know. They only love once, but och! What a love that is!

  OLD WOMAN NORA OF LOCH LOMOND

  TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD NIGHT

  “My lord?”

  Jack looked up at a footman who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. “Yes?”

  “My lord, I have a message for you.” The footman glanced about the table, then back to Jack. “An important message.”

  Jack blinked blearily around the room, noting with faint surprise that the company had greatly thinned.

  “What time is it?” he asked.

  “It is almost ten o’clock, sir.”

  Jack squinted at him again and recognized the livery. “You’re one of my fellows?”

  The footman gave a sigh of relief. “Yes, my lord.”

  “Well, then, what’s the message?”

  The footman again glanced at the other gentlemen, then bent near Jack’s ear. “It’s a private message, my lord.”

  “Ah!” said the duke of Devonshire, filling his and Jack’s brandy snifters again. “A private message, is it? Then by all means, tell it!”

  The footman looked pleadingly at Jack. “Perhaps we could retire to the hall?”

  “Hell, no,” Jack said. “I’m winning!”

  The duke nodded. “He’s right. He is winning.”

  Lord Kennelsworth shook his head. “Aye. He can’t leave with all of our money.”

  “And my new jeweled buckle,” the duke said.

  “Sir, please,” the footman said in Jack’s ear, his expression growing desperate. “We should leave.”

  “I can’t,” Jack said. “I’ll get wet.”

  The footman blinked. “But…the sun is shining.”

  “As if that bloody matters!” Jack snarled. “Just give me the message and be done with it.”

  The footman bit his lip. “But my lord…this is not a message you’d like repeated aloud.”

  “Oh-ho!” Lord Kennelsworth looked up from his cards. “You’d best be ready, Kincaid—here it comes!”

  Jack eyed Kennelsworth blearily. “Here what comes?”

  “You have a new wife, don’t you?”

  Jack nodded.

  “And you left her at home,” Devonshire interjected. “Now here is your man, telling you he has a private message for you.”

  “So?”

  Lord Kennelsworth shook his head. “You don’t see it, do you? Poor bugger! Do we have to spell it out for you?”

  Jack knew he was missing some great truth, but his mind would not focus. “Spell it out.”

  “Good God, Kincaid!” the duke said. “It’s obvious your lovely wife wants you home. Now. So she’s sent this young fellow to fetch you.”

  Kennelsworth tossed his cards to the table. “I’m done here, anyway.”

  “Poor Jack.” Devonshire shook his head sadly, throwing his own cards down as well.

  Jack pushed his cards across the table, then pulled his winnings forward. “You are all mistaken. Fiona would never call me home.”

  Kennelsworth pocketed the coins on the table. “I think you’re wrong, Kincaid. Ask your man for the message.”

  Jack looked at the footman. “Very well. Tell us your message.”

  The footman took a deep breath. “The message is from the woman you left at the house. She says she is your wife—”

  “Aha!” Kennelsworth said, grinning broadly.

  “I knew it.” Devonshire chortled.

  “And her ladyship requests that you come home as soon as poss—”

  “Ha!” Kennelsworth banged his hand on the table, sending brandy sloshing onto the felt cover. “I should have asked you to wager on it, too! Come, Devonshire. Shall we go to White’s and have a bit of breakfast?”

  The duke nodded, clambering to his feet, and the two men wove their way out the door, arms around each other for support.

  “My lord? Should I call for the carriage?”

  Jack scowled. His damned damp carriage. “No. I think I’ll walk home.”

  He rose, stuffing wads of notes into his pockets. “You may accompany me if you wish.”

  “Yes, sir,” the footman said, looking none too happy.

  Half an hour later, they reached the house. Jack staggered as his boot hit a loose cobblestone at the curb.

  The footman immediately rushed forward, but Jack waved him off. “I can walk by myself, thank you.”

  The footman bowed. “Yes, my lord.” He stepped out of the way, but not so far back that he couldn’t catch Jack’s arm if he stumbled again.

  Jack noted that but decided to be magnanimous. It wasn’t the footman’s fault that he didn’t understand Jack’s superior ability to drink and remain unaffected.

  He took a deep breath, straightened his coat, which had somehow come askew, and made his way to the front steps. He stumbled only once more, catching the railing when he did so. The footman, who’d made a grab toward him, stepped back into place and pretended he hadn’t noticed a thing.


  “I didn’t fall,” Jack said, carefully watching the footman.

  “No, my lord,” the footman said immediately. “You did not.”

  Jack grinned, absurdly pleased. “You are a good man…ah…Charles?”

  “I am Peter, my lord. Charles was here before me.”

  “Ah, yes. A shorter fellow with dark hair.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Fiona thought he was callous and hard-hearted because he did not take the time to know his servants. Well, he’d show her. He’d find out what had happened to Charles and amaze her with his knowledge.

  Really, Kennelsworth and Devonshire had it all wrong—this marriage thing wasn’t such a difficult proposition. All he had to do was modify his behavior in a few small ways but make a big deal over those changes. That would temper her ladyship’s annoying propensity to think the worst of him.

  Jack turned to the footman. “So, ah…Peter, why did Charles leave my employ?”

  The footman blinked. “Because he wished to marry Jane, my lord. She is the upstairs maid to Sir Broughton.”

  “Ah. And when is the happy day?”

  “The…the happy day, my lord?”

  Jack took a deep breath and enunciated each word with great care. “The marriage. When is it?”

  The footman gulped a bit. “M-my lord, Charles left three years ago. He and Jane have a child now. She just turned two years of age.”

  Jack blinked. “Then…you’ve worked for me since?”

  “No, my lord.”

  Jack relaxed a bit. “How long have you worked for me?”

  “Twelve years, my lord.”

  Jack blinked. “Twelve? You said you’d only recently become a footman!”

  “Yes, my lord. Before that, I worked under your head groom, Mr. Lachney.”

  “There you go!” Jack said, feeling vindicated. “That is why I do not recognize you. I daresay I rarely saw you if you worked in the stables.”

  “Actually, my lord,” Peter said, looking miserable, “I saw you every day. I was your outrider since I was twelve.”

  Jack stared. “How old are you now?”

  “Twenty-four, my lord.”

  Good God. The man had been his outrider for nine years and then his footman for three, and Jack could not remember a bit of it. Maybe—just maybe—Fiona was right, and he did ignore his servants.

  God, he needed another drink. He could not think this through now. “Thank you, Peter.”

  The footman managed a bow.

  Jack looked across the portico to the front door. It would be opened by yet another footman, and working with that footman would be others, all of whom had names that he did not know.

  “Bloody hell, I’ll need a bloody list to remember them all!” He rubbed his forehead and wished he hadn’t had that last snifter of brandy; he was rather foxed. Well, it would serve his cheeky wife well—that’s what she got for being so damned seductive and for sending a rain storm after him.

  He needed something to eat. A man could only take so much witchery on an empty stomach.

  Jack paused at the top of the steps, one hand on the banister. He’d have to let go of the banister to reach the door, and he wasn’t certain that was a wise idea.

  He was contemplating his options when a deep voice rich with a Scottish brogue said, “Och, now, what have we here?”

  Another voice, even deeper, answered, “’Tis none other than black-hearted Jack Kincaid, the drunken scalawag who stole away our sister.”

  Jack sighed and glanced up at the sky. Was God angry? Was that why he kept sending these tests?

  “Aye,” replied yet another voice, “that’s who ’tis. Now kill him. I’m famished and there are warm pasties at the inn.”

  “Aye, hurry things along,” said another. There was a distinctive sound, as if someone had cracked his knuckles menacingly.

  Jack turned, one hand still clutched the railing. Fiona’s brothers, all four of them, were standing on his walkway, and here he was, ape-drunk.

  He closed his eyes and said a short, fervent prayer. When he opened his eyes, they were still there, all four of them obviously angry.

  There was nothing for it but to face them, the jackasses. Jack put his foot back on the steps and made his way down, holding on to the railing and hoping they wouldn’t notice the world was slowly slanting to the left.

  The morning sun outlined Fiona’s brothers with rays of gold, as if they were Gabriel and his archangels come to enact vengeance.

  But if there was one thing Jack knew about the MacLeans, it was that the only angel in the family was now residing in his bed.

  The thought made him grin. They may be furious with him, but it didn’t change things. Fiona was his. They’d not do anything to dishonor their sister or cause her embarrassment.

  The thought gave him courage. Jack squinted in the light, then cursed and moved to the other side of the stairs so the sun did not shine in his eyes.

  Tall did not begin to describe Fiona’s brothers. They were massively built, with bulging muscles and thick necks. All were dark-haired like Fiona except Dougal, which Jack found amusing, as the name Dougal meant “dark stranger.” Unlike Fiona, whose green eyes showed her every emotion, her brothers’ eyes were so dark they appeared black. And every one of them glared at Jack.

  “What a pleasant surprise.” Jack leaned against the railing, tipping his hat down to shade his eyes a bit more. “The lost brothers of Fiona MacLean. Oh. Wait. Fiona Kincaid.”

  “Do not push us, fool,” Dougal growled. “We came to be certain our sister is well.”

  “Aye,” agreed Hugh. Older than Dougal by a year, he appeared much older because of the streak of white that touched his brow. He eyed Jack icily. “And if our sister’s not well—” He smacked his huge fist into his palm.

  Jack decided he didn’t particularly care for Fiona’s brothers. “There’s no need for any of you to be here. Your sister is in my care now. Not yours.”

  His words sent a wave of displeasure through his audience. Alexander, the oldest, glowered, while Gregor, Hugh, and Dougal sent dagger glances.

  “She’s our sister and our charge, marriage or no,” Dougal said.

  “Not according to Father MacCanney,” Jack said, his mind clearing by the moment. “Fiona is mine now—mind, soul, and body.” Jack let his tongue linger on the last word, fueled by a combination of drink and anger.

  Dougal started forward, fists clenched, but Alexander placed his huge hand against Dougal’s chest. “No!” Alexander rumbled. “That is not the way.”

  Dougal grabbed his brother by the wrist, and for a tense moment, Jack thought Dougal might attempt to fight Alexander. It would not have lasted long, for the oldest MacLean was half a head taller than his brother.

  Finally, Dougal dropped his hand from his brother’s wrist.

  Alexander slapped his brother on the back. “Easy, lad. There are other ways.”

  A distant rumble of thunder met this, and Jack glanced uneasily at the sky. It had been glaringly bright before, but now a thick line of black clouds marred the distant horizon. “Bloody hell, not again.”

  Alexander sent a glance at Jack from beneath a thick slash of brows. “You are a disgrace to us all.”

  “From what I’ve heard, you were planning to disgrace yourselves without any help from me.”

  Alexander eyed him for a moment. “Fiona told you.”

  Jack didn’t answer.

  “Don’t push us, Kincaid,” Gregor snarled. The thin scar that ran down his face, marring him from brow to chin, gleamed white as he clenched his jaw.

  Jack had heard women say that had it not been for that scar, Gregor would have been too beautiful to behold. Jack couldn’t see it, but then he didn’t have a woman’s fanciful eye.

  Alexander glowered at his brothers. “We cannot all speak. So hold your tongues, the lot of you.”

  They nodded, the thunder rumbling closer.

  Alexander turned back to Jack. “We want your
word that you will not harm our sister.”

  Jack shrugged. “Of course. You have my word.”

  Alexander’s gaze remained on Jack. “We will accept that. For now.”

  Jack gritted his teeth to keep from saying something reprehensible. Fiona was waiting for him, yet here he stood, wasting time with these barbarians. “Are we done now? I am anxious to return to bed.”

  He emphasized the last word a bit, delighted to note how every one of them grew red.

  Alexander moved forward now, his gaze hard. “We cannot do anything about this sham of a marriage without embarrassing our sister. But we will be watching. If Fiona even looks unhappy, we will blame you.”

  “Fiona and I are married,” Jack said grimly. “That’s that. If I could set it aside, I would.”

  “You bloody bastard!” Gregor burst out. “How can you say that when she’s carrying your child?”

  Damn—he’d forgotten about that. Jack thought about telling them the truth, but the furious gazes locked on him convinced him of the stupidity of such a move. “I merely meant that I wished to marry under other circumstances.”

  “We all wish that.” Alexander crossed his arms over his massive chest. “I have to say, I have my suspicions about Fiona’s condition. She hasn’t been near you in fifteen years.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I do. I spoke to Hamish.”

  “Hamish doesn’t know everything,” Jack said without hesitation.

  “I think ’tis all a sham,” Hugh said.

  “Then why are you not inside the house, speaking with Fiona?” Jack asked abruptly.

  Alexander and Hugh exchanged uneasy glances, and finally, Alexander spoke. “It is our fault this happened, that she was forced to such desperate lengths as to marry a man she did not love.”

  Dougal nodded grimly. “We were all mad with grief over Callum. Fiona tried to talk to us, but we would not listen, so she made up this wild plan. Now we must find a way for her to get out of it without destroying her honor.”

  “Her honor will come to no harm at my hands,” Jack said.

  “’Tis not her honor but her tender heart that I worry about,” Alexander said.

  “She’s a delicate lass,” Hugh added.