“And the lass there?”
Lachlan glanced down at the dark golden head tucked carefully under his chin, his expression softening. “Lady Kimberly has been an angel, trying tae patch me up. But I’m thinking I may have disturbed her sleep a wee bit last night, since she couldna stay awake long enough tae finish wi’ me.”
“She wasna able to tell ye what this was all about, then?” Gilleonan questioned.
“I didna get around tae asking her ’afore she fell asleep on me.”
That wasn’t true at all. He’d asked her a number of times what she knew of the duke’s visit, but each time she’d put him off with a “Be still,” or “Shhh,” or “How can I tend you if you don’t keep your mouth shut?” So he’d stopped asking, figuring he’d get answers soon enough. But she’d fallen asleep instead. And his pleasure in holding her was far greater than his curiosity, so he’d had no thought to waking her for any more questioning.
But Gilleonan didn’t need to know any of that. Lachlan suggested, “Since you dinna appear to be under suspicion wi’ me—at least no’ yet, see what you can find out.”
“Aye, I’ll fetch Ranald and we’ll nose about the stables till we have the whole of it. ’Tis probably no more’n some guest wanderin’ off in the dark wi’ the wrong horse, and he hasna realized it yet.”
“Aye, no doubt.”
But Lachlan didn’t really think so. St. James wouldn’t go berserk over something like that. He’d require something in the way of proof, but for the life of him, Lachlan couldn’t imagine what that might be.
Gilleonan had turned back toward the door, but stopped to suggest, “Ye ought tae carry the lass tae her room so ye can get some rest yerself.”
“I’m in no condition tae be doing that.”
“I could—”
“Nay,” Lachlan cut in a bit too quickly. “She’s no’ bothering me.”
Gilleonan raised a brow at that, but when he got no further response, he shrugged and left. Lachlan sighed as the door closed again.
Kimberly might not be bothering him in the sense he had implied, but with her soft body pressed against his side she was definitely bothering him in another sense. And as miserable as he felt, with aches noticeable in just about every part of his body, he found it rather incredible that he could want her right now, and want her badly. Particularly when he couldn’t do a damn thing about it at the moment, even if she were awake and agreeable.
He should have let his cousin take her out of there, or at least, he ought to nudge her awake long enough to get her moving back to her own room. But he was loath to let go of her, even to relieve the state she had put him in. What was one more discomfort, after all, when he had so many? And besides, he liked having her right where she was.
So he turned his mind to other thoughts, and foremost in those thoughts was the Duke of Wrothston and the beating he’d received at his hands.
The man might have felt justified, for whatever mistaken reason, to administer such a thorough trouncing. That Lachlan hadn’t been sober enough to protect himself even a little was a moot point.
Actually, one lucky punch in the beginning that had been intended for his eye, but had slammed into his forehead instead when Lachlan attempted to duck, had pretty much decided the outcome. From then on Lachlan was too dazed to even know he was being pounded on. But he would wager the beating wouldn’t have been quite so vicious if St. James didn’t feel he had past grudges to settle as well.
He’d have to wait and see what the duke had to say for himself. On the one hand, he felt St. James was justified in getting a few licks in, whether he knew it or not, and not for any past grudge, or this current thing, but because of Megan. It was permissible to love another man’s wife as long as you did so from afar, no one else knew about it, and there was no active pursuit involved. But he’d lost his head a wee bit when he’d found the bonny Megan again. He’d tried to lure the man’s wife away from him, and at the moment he wasn’t feeling too proud about that.
On the other hand, he’d already taken a beating for that past grudge, and wasn’t willing to accept another for it. Nor was he willing to take the blame and beating for something he didn’t do. Steal some of the primest stock in England that would be so easy to find simply because they were such outstanding specimens? He’d have to be utterly crazy.
But he wasn’t going to react, one way or another, until he’d heard all the facts. So all he could do now was wait and see what St. James had to say for himself.
27
“Well, shall we see what the blackguard has to say for himself?” Devlin said.
Beside him, Megan frowned, and not for the first time that day. “I still don’t think you’ve calmed down enough. This could wait until morning, after you’ve had a chance to sleep on it.”
Devlin shook his head emphatically. “You’ve held me off the entire day, and even managed to get me to sit through a bloody uncomfortable dinner, with Lady Kimberly glowering at me the whole while, though I can’t imagine why she should find fault with me.”
Megan restrained the urge to snort, just. “Perhaps because she thinks you’ve been a bit unfair in your dealing with the Highlander thus far? He really wasn’t in any condition to face your wrath this morning. Actually, with you as angry as you were, I don’t think perfect health would have helped the Scot a’tall, though Kimberly might think otherwise.”
That merely produced another glower. “Not another minute will this be delayed.”
That said, he gave his wife no further opportunity for protest. He opened the door and marched into the Scot’s room. She followed on his heels, as did the three burly servants who’d been brought along to cart MacGregor off to the magistrate after Devlin finished with him. Of course, with as big a man as Lachlan was, it might have taken more than three if he hadn’t already suffered a beating.
The room was dark and quite chilly. The fire that had been lit at some time during the day had completely burned out, and the guards at the door had probably scared the maids away. But from what little light filtered in from the hall, MacGregor was located in his bed, and once again was apparently asleep.
Megan tsked. The man’s condition supported her contention that this interrogation really should be delayed until morning. But Devlin was already giving orders to the three servants to get the fire going and light the lamps about the room, and in his obvious sour mood, they were quick to obey. So she didn’t suggest again that this ought to wait. Further aggravating him at this point wouldn’t benefit the Highlander. Not that she wanted to benefit him.
Lady Kimberly might have raised a few doubts that morning, but Megan still tended to agree with her husband. She just felt—well, rather sorry for Lachlan, all things considered. And she dreaded having to tell Margaret what he’d done. So far, the matter had been kept under wraps, so to speak, but soon enough it would become common knowledge. And Margaret was going to be terribly upset. Not only that, but she would undoubtedly hold herself responsible as well, for having invited him here, nephew or not.
“That’s enough light,” she heard Devlin say now. “Fetch that basin of water over there. I want to be certain he’s completely awake—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Megan interrupted and marched over to the bed, ordering loudly on the way, “Get up, MacGregor, and go splash some water on your face—before it’s done…for you…”
Her words trailed off and her step halted as she got a good look at the man in the bed, who had opened his eyes and was even attempting to sit up, though with some very obvious difficulty. His cheeks were bruised, the left side of his head was also swollen, his lips were puffy and scabbed, and there was a knotty lump on his forehead that the lock of hair that had fallen there couldn’t quite conceal.
The only undamaged area of his face appeared to be his eyes. Devlin had missed them completely. But Lachlan, or someone, had removed his shirt to sleep, and with the covers now dropped to his waist, the damage to his chest and stomach area was also
revealed. With that mass of dark bruises, he could count himself very lucky indeed if he didn’t have a few cracked ribs.
“If the look of him distresses you, m’dear, you need only leave the room,” Devlin said behind her. “There’s no reason for you to be here—”
“Not a’tall,” Megan cut in, steeling herself to continue briskly, “Are you awake enough to answer to the charges you’ve been accused of, MacGregor?”
“Nay, I’ll be partaking of that cold water, if you dinna mind giving me a moment—”
“You haven’t…begun yet…have you?” Kimberly huffed from the doorway.
She was completely out of breath. As soon as she realized the duke and duchess had disappeared from the gathering below, she had raced all the way upstairs. She took a deep breath now before continuing, “You were supposed to inform me when you were ready to question him, Your Grace. I believe I told you I wished to be present.”
Devlin sighed. “Lady Kimberly, there is absolutely no reason for you to be present—”
“Nonetheless, I must insist. After the treatment I witnessed him receiving this morning, someone should be here who is impartial.”
“Your defense can hardly be considered impartial,” Devlin replied.
Kimberly gasped at that. “I am not defending him. I merely pointed out—”
“Enough!”
It was Lachlan who interrupted, and so loudly, even he winced at his tone. But he’d stood up beside the bed, and looked quite furious, and that fury was directed straight at the Duke of Wrothston.
“Oh, God,” said Kimberly.
“You’ve roused me from my sleep twice now,” he continued more moderately in tone, if just as angrily, “beat me senseless, and left me locked in this room wi’out sustenance the whole day long. So I’m thinking you’ll be answering my questions, St. James, and you’ll be starting wi’ what the blasted hell I’m being accused of.”
“That has already been—” Devlin began.
“Repeat it, mon,” Lachlan interrupted again, a stony glint in his light green eyes. “I wouldna be asking if I had the memory of it, would I now?”
Devlin scowled for a moment, but then nodded, if curtly. “Very well, I have three very valuable missing horses, and a groom who heard your voice in the stable just prior to being rendered unconscious.”
“My voice?”
“Now just a minute,” Kimberly inserted. “The duchess said it was merely a Scots brogue that had been heard, and that hardly—”
“Lady Kimberly, I appreciate your concern for justice,” Lachlan said. “But if you please, would you be letting me do the questioning?”
Put so gently, it would be churlish of her to refuse. She nodded, without meeting his eyes. She was, in fact, still mortified over her own behavior that morning. To have fallen asleep on him, literally on him…
Lachlan noted her pink cheeks and guessed the cause. When she had finally awakened in his arms, she had been so embarrassed that she had fled the room with a few mumbled excuses that he hadn’t caught. He had seriously thought about going after her, until he remembered the guards at the door. So he’d gone back to sleep himself, and, apparently, slept the day through.
But he was finally going to have this bizarre incident explained to his satisfaction. He addressed the duke again, asking, “What the lady just said, is that true?”
“That was the young man’s accounting when he first recovered this morning and was still somewhat muddled from the blow he received, and that was sufficient evidence for me,” Devlin replied. “However, he has since been requestioned thoroughly about it and has put a name to the voice he heard—yours, MacGregor.”
“Och, now, I’ve ne’er met the mon,” Lachlan said, “but he knows me so well he can recognize my voice, is that what you’re telling me?”
“He doesn’t claim to have met you either, MacGregor, but he knows you by sight. You’re bloody well hard to miss. And he’s heard you speak before.”
“Now that’s interesting,” Lachlan pointed out. “When I’m no’ in the habit of talking tae the grooms, at least your English ones, since I can barely understand them and their local dialects.”
Kimberly, apparently, was the only one who found that amusing, considering Lachlan’s own Scots brogue. She had to actually struggle to keep the serious look that everyone else was wearing.
But Lachlan hadn’t finished his remarks. “So let me see if I have this right, St. James. You’re accusing me of bludgeoning your stableman and making off with three of your prize stock?”
“Exactly.”
“And I suppose I am tae have hid them nearby, since here I am wi’out them? Or perhaps sent them on tae the Highlands, where no one would take note of them on the road, common animals that they are?”
“Your sarcasm isn’t called for,” Devlin said. “There are any number of ways that you could have planned for their transport, including a covered wagon that would keep them hidden.”
“Och, so now this was a well-planned crime, was it? No’ just some spur o’ the moment plan that my drunken mind concocted? Yet I decide tae go through wi’ it, when I’m so drunk I can barely stand on me own feet?”
“Were you really foxed, MacGregor, or only pretending to be?”
“Well now, I believe you’ve a tavern nearby that can answer that for you, and in some detail, I’m sure. I vaguely recall they kicked me out o’ it at one time during the day, or was that night already? I’m no’ too clear about that. I had tae sleep off a bit o’ the drink ‘afore they’d let me back in, which I did in their stable—I think. I’m no’ tae sure about that either—except I did get back in, though they werena tae happy tae see me again.”
“That will, of course, be checked out, though it hardly matters. You were still overheard in the stable just moments before my groom was attacked.”
“And who was I supposed tae have been talking tae, that your groom overheard me? One of my two kinsmen here wi’ me? As it happens, neither of my cousins joined me yesterday in my folly, that being my drinking, mind you, not my supposed horse stealing. And knowing my cousins as I do, they each—begging your pardon, ladies—likely had company throughout the night, of the fair kind, which can be easily verified or no’ by asking them. But then—when am I supposed tae have committed this crime? In the day, when anyone could have seen me? Or late in the night?”
Devlin snorted. “An hour before dawn, as if you didn’t know.”
Lachlan’s eyes narrowed. “I was in my bed at that particular time.”
“So you say. Or perhaps, like your cousins, you weren’t alone and can prove it?”
Kimberly’s cheeks started to heat up. She imagined Lachlan’s eyes on her, though it was probably her guilty conscience that made her think so. All she had to do was speak up at that point and admit that she was with him all those late hours of the night—and ruin her reputation for good.
“Nay, there was no one lying ’aside me that I recall,” Lachlan finally stated. Kimberly’s cheeks still bloomed with color. He had worded his denial in an entirely truthful manner. She’d been sitting beside him all night, not lying beside him.
But glancing around the room, she saw that no one was noticing her hot cheeks; all eyes were still on Lachlan. The duke now said somewhat triumphantly, “Then as I thought, you can’t prove that you were in your bed.”
“I dinna have too many memories o’ last night, but getting tae my room a wee bit after midnight is one o’ them—among a few others. ’Twas no’ a pleasant night. I was sick a goodly part o’ it.”
“So now you’re going to say you simply don’t recall the theft?”
“’Tis true I drank too much; however, I wouldna do something in that sotted condition that I wouldna do when sober, and I’m telling you, St. James, I wouldna steal your blasted horses.”
Devlin all but sneered. “If that’s the best you have to say in your defense, MacGregor, then I’m wasting my time here.”
“I’m telling you I didna
do it, and you’ll be giving me a chance tae prove it.”
“You mean a chance to escape?”
“Escape tae where, St. James? You know where tae find me. Or do you think I’d be giving up my home for your horses, ne’er to return tae the Highlands?”
Even Devlin must have realized that wasn’t likely, because instead of addressing that point, he demanded, “Then how do you mean to prove it?”
“By finding your horses and the real thief,” Lachlan said simply.
“I’ll find my horses, and I’ve already got the thief. You.”
“Nay, you dinna. Or are you afraid you’ll have tae be apologizing tae me for being wrong?”
There was a long moment of silence before Devlin growled, “Very well, I’ll give you a week. And then you’ll be eating those words.”
Lachlan grinned slowly, or at least, what he thought passed for a grin. “Or you’ll be feeling my own fists—my way of accepting your apology.”
To that, Devlin merely snorted before he stalked out of the room. Kimberly, still standing in the doorway, quickly moved out of his way. But she didn’t realize Megan would leave so abruptly behind him, herding the burly servants with her. She was, in fact, suddenly alone with Lachlan again, and acutely aware of it.
Embarrassed again, she still felt compelled to tell Lachlan, “Thank you.”
His brow quirked up. It actually still worked correctly, when most of his other facial features refused to do his exact bidding.
“For what, darlin’?”
“For not asking me to verify that you were telling the truth.”
“Would you have?” he asked softly.
She wished he wouldn’t use that tone. It made her feel all mushy inside. But as for his question, she couldn’t admit that yes, she wouldn’t have let them cart him off to the magistrate, if it came to that. He might get the wrong impression, that she cared about him, when she didn’t, she really didn’t.