Hunter Of My Heart

Chapter One

Scotland, September 1830

“Shabby reporting! The Times said you’d be here! Why aren’t you?” As Sabrina’s words faded into the wind, she looked up and saw no lights in the second-story windows, or the third, either.

Keir Castle’s four towers rose above the mist, a billowing white gauze that occasionally dipped and caressed the ground. Moss and shadows painted the stone structure. A seagull flew overhead. Slowly Sabrina “Beaumont” dropped her gaze. Interrupting this solitude was the light coming from the kitchen windows, the only evidence of life stirring on the massive estate.

The kind housekeeper, a lone servant, had answered the door but didn’t know when her master would arrive. Slapping the stone wall, Sabrina willed Lord Kenilworth to appear.

“Everyone is speaking about his return from Barbados. Rumor says he distrusts strangers,” Marga Beaumont said.

Turning to her aunt, Sabrina made a face.

“Do you think we have committed a faux pas by not sending word? Maybe he instructed the housekeeper to turn away visitors.”

“She looked honest. Faux pas or not, we’ve waited months to collect the debt. The Times portrayed him as fair and honest. Surely he’ll understand our lack of propriety. The man the newspapers described wouldn’t allow us to go to the poorhouse.” Despite her hopeful words, his absence weighted her heart. The Times was quickly losing credibility.

“Possibly he is with a paramour, non?”

“Paramours.” Sabrina scowled to hide her emotions from Marga, a petite lady of thirty-eight years who still managed to look fashionable despite their dire financial circumstances. Her moss-green traveling gown accented her hazel eyes and chestnut hair, coifed in artful curls above her ears. Marga always took pride in her grooming. Her fashion sense and creativity had made the partnership in their dress shop possible.

Marga cleared her throat. “The on dit on him varies. Some say he is unlike his father. The newspaper says he’s been in Barbados. At least monseigneur supported the paramours during his absence. I feel certain he will pay us.”

Caring little for gossip, Sabrina jabbed a finger to her chest. “We supported his mistresses! He owes us money for their gowns!”

Marga sighed. “Quaintly put, but true.”

With her emotions running rampant, Sabrina leaned against the structure and ignored the stones pressing into her back. “I apologize for raising my voice. Yes, I do believe he’ll pay us once he realizes a debt exists. I’m just worried about the twins.” She paused, thinking about her four-year-old siblings. “Do you think they’re all right?”

“Ha! Christine never lets her brother out of sight, and you know how mad Alec gets when we pamper him. He is weak in body but strong in spirit. They will be fine with Thomas for another few days.” Marga squeezed Sabrina’s hand.

She managed a smile. “Father was lucky to have Thomas as a friend. He’s gone beyond friendship to watch them. But we’ve never left them alone for so long. What if...”

“Ah! You are thinking about more than just the little one’s health. Oui? That wretched man, your grandpapa, worries you. Rest assured, Sabrina, no one will discover our secret.”

“I can’t help it. He’s probably furious that I didn’t meet with him three days ago.” Instead, she’d burned his missive and fled to Scotland.

“Oui. He is probably searching for you all over London.”

“There! You see? What if he followed us? And, you’re not the one he wants for a brooding mare.” She groaned, knowing she was his last chance for a male heir. With political reform stirring, he loathed the idea that upon his death, the Crown would sell his title. God forbid that a wealthy commoner might buy it. Her only solution was to reveal Alec.

She refused to do that for fear he would separate the twins. Christine would be of no use to him. By alienating Alec from the only family he knew, the duke would harm him emotionally. Christina, too. Her sister was healthy though, whereas Alec, in a fit of anger or tears, could easily provoke an asthma attack. He could die.

After giving Sabrina a thoughtful look, Marga wandered to the nearby herb garden. “The world believes Alec and Christine are mine. Our purpose is to shield them. You are old enough to give your grandpapa a good fight. The twins are not.”

Guilt accompanied Marga’s mild scolding. Her aunt had agreed to the deceit when Sabrina conceived the idea. “My apologies. Yes, you’re right. In a few months, I’ll reach my majority. He’ll have no control over me. Won’t that be a joy?”

The thought brought a measure of relief, but fear lay coiled in her stomach. Sabrina had lived in dread that her grandfather would discover her whereabouts. Now he had.

“If we do not meet again, you must do everything possible to insure the twins’ safety,” her mother had pleaded.

Sabrina’s throat thickened at the recollection and of her vow. After learning from her parents what her grandfather had done to them, she never wanted to meet or claim him as kin.

“Marga? Aren’t you afraid he’ll discover you worked for Queen Josephine, too? What would I do without you if he...”

“Accused me of being a French spy like he did your mother?” Marga let out a wry chuckle. “The war was fresh in people’s minds then. Too much time has passed. I was just the queen’s couturiere, an assistant. What can the authorities do now? Browbeat me until I reveal the queen’s measurements?”

“How can you jest? He could accuse you of instigating the deception. Of kidnapping his heir! I can’t bear the thought of you in jail, or God forbid, hung. Or the nightmares the children will suffer if he rips them from the only mother they know.”

Marga’s olive skin paled but she raised her chin. “I considered all those things before I agreed, but I had to take the chance. ff we remain mum, he will not learn anything.”

“Mother was innocent, too. Yet he caused enough ruckus to make the authorities believe she was a spy.” Sabrina breathed deeply. “We’ll get our money and then take the twins someplace safe.”

The duke had somehow found her, and that brought him one step closer to Alec. Lord. She wished her brother’s health was better. Living in the shadows had left her stomach permanently knotted.

Every Sunday for the past four years, the Times last page had contained a small paragraph, one with nothing to identify the advertisement’s owner. Three facts identified her and she had discounted coincidence long ago. Still searching for Derek’s daughter Sabrina, now twenty. She guessed the notice would no longer appear now that he’d found her.

Drawing a cleansing breath, Sabrina smelled the ripeness of the herbs intensified by the sea air. Tears threatened and she summoned the same courage she had relied on since her parents’ death four years earlier. She buried the dark thoughts and focused on the immediate problem. Opening her reticule, she pulled out her father’s pocket watch. Four-thirty.

“It looks like rain. We’ll wait several more minutes to see if Kenilworth arrives.”

Marga smiled, kindness warming her eyes. “Patience, ma chérie. In a few days, we will return to the little ones. This business, fini! Thomas will give us shelter until we make other plans. He need not know the truth about the debt or why we closed the shop.”

Sabrina latched onto Marga’s optimistic words. For months, Kenilworth was just a name, but a week past, the Times featured an article on him. The newspaper described him as a man intent on helping the populace and reforming the government. Surely, the Times couldn’t be wrong about everything.

A neighing horse and rumbling of a wagon jarred her thoughts. She spun toward the sound. In the distance, the Scottish mist obstructed her view as it meandered over a browning heather field. A breeze divided the fog and revealed a rider beside the loaded wagon. “That must be Lord Kenilworth!” Her heart drummed with expectation.

From atop his black stallion, the man spoke to the wagon’s driver and then sang a Scottish ballad of a lad marrying a lass. Laughing, the driver turned the conveyance toward the castle. The man and horse disappeared inside the stable.

Sabrina glanced at the horizon, now frosted with thunderclouds, and back to the stable. Turning, she handed Marga a small valise. “Watch for the mail coach. Ask the driver if he’ll wait for us. I must learn if that man who just arrived is Lord Kenilworth.”

Marga fumbled with their baggage. “Mon Dieu! Alone? How do you know if either is his lordship?”

“I don’t, but he looked aristocratic by the way he sat in the saddle. He looked confident! In good humor!”

Her aunt frowned. “I should accompany you.”

“I’ll be cautious. We can’t be in two places at once.”

Without waiting for a reply, Sabrina lifted the skirt of her gray wool gown and ran down the garden path. The pebbles jabbed her feet through the soles of her half boots. As the wind parted Sabrina’s cloak, the clasp dug into her throat and the brisk air stung her cheeks—but those little irritants paled to her rising hope.

After bursting into the stable, Sabrina took a steadying breath and smelled the pungent odor of moldy hay. The man’s tune drowned out her entry, and though she couldn’t see him, she followed the rich, baritone voice. Suddenly the tune stopped.

“What the devil?” Surprise laced his words.

Taking small steps, she edged closer to a stall. A pair of black-gloved hands broke her line of vision as they helped a filly stand. Sabrina craned her neck. He sat on the straw-hewn floor and stroked the black animal still wet from birth. When the foal’s hind legs wobbled, he steadied and guided her to the mare.

“You’re a surprise. What shall we call you? The marking on your head says that stallion of mine is a lusty one.” Turning, the filly tried to suckle the riding crop tucked under his arm. He laughed, a deep rumble coming from his chest. “Oh, no. You’ll get no nourishment from this thing. You want this.” Placing the crop on the floor, he gently guided the filly to the mare’s udder.