Claimed by the Laird

They were afraid she would save him.

He felt as close to her as though he could read her thoughts, closer, as though he shared the sensations and emotions that drove her.

He had never felt like this before. He hated the intimacy of the feeling and he hated that he did not understand why he felt it. Most of all he hated his own powerlessness.

“Begging your pardon, ma’am.” One of the men sounded abashed, like a naughty schoolboy, but there was rebellion beneath his brusque apology. “We caught him on the track above the bothy. He was following us—”

“Spying,” one of the others put in.

“We need to get rid of him.” There was a rumble of agreement.

“Over the cliff,” the first man said. “Now.”

“Is that so?” Unlike the men, her voice held no trace of a Scots accent. It was low and smooth, as rich and soothing as honey. She truly was a lady born and bred.

“Stand back.” There was a rustle of skirts as she shifted beside him. Lucas could not rise as he was once again pinned by the large boot of one of the men, which was lodged in his aching ribs. The boot pressed harder and he sucked in his breath on another wave of pain.

“If you could restrain your tendency toward violence, please.” She sounded weary now but the boot eased its pressure a little.

Her hand was beneath Lucas’s chin. He imagined she was turning his face to the light. She wore no gloves; her skin was soft and her fingers felt gentle against the roughness of his stubble. For a moment they brushed his cheek in a sweet caress. Lucas felt a shiver down his spine of something that was not fear. He fought it back angrily. His life was on the line and all he could think about was her touch.

Get hold of yourself, Lucas.

“What sort of a spy would be caught so easily?” There was mockery in her voice.

“A bad one,” one of the men said dourly.

“Or an innocent traveler,” the woman said. Her tone was sharp. Her hand fell. Lucas sensed she was sitting back on her heels.

“Innocent or not, the sea is the place for him,” the man growled. He seemed to be the spokesman. The others were content to let him talk. “It’s the only thing to do, ma’am.”

“Nonsense.” She sounded angry now. “Our quarrel is not with the likes of him and you know it.”

“And you know he’s a danger to us.” The man was curt. “We’ve no choice.” He was standing his ground and the others supported him. Lucas could smell their stubbornness and their fear. It was in the air and on their unwashed bodies as they pressed closer. They wanted him dead.

He knew the woman could feel it, too. One false step and they would both be in trouble. It was extraordinary to sense with absolute certainty that she was on his side.

“No one will know,” the man said. “Who’s to miss him?”

“Only he can tell us that.” Her voice betrayed no feelings, nothing of the quick, careful calculation Lucas could sense behind the words. “Perhaps it’s time to learn a little more about him.” Her hand touched Lucas’s arm, conveying a warning even as her tone warmed into mockery again. “What’s your name, handsome?”

“Lucas,” he said. He was aware that as repartee went it was far from sparkling.

One of the men laughed. “We could spoil his pretty face. That would teach him a lesson.”

“Don’t you dare,” the woman said. Her voice was light. “I need something nice to look at around here.” Her words were dismissive, as though he counted for nothing. Lucas hated being treated so casually, but he could see how clever she was. She made him seem unimportant, no threat.

“What’s your other name?” she said.

Lucas cleared his throat. “Lucas Ross, ma’am,” he said. “At your service.” It was only half a lie.

“Your speech is as pretty as your looks.” Her voice was cool. “What are you doing in Kilmory, Lucas Ross?”

“I’m after a job,” Lucas said. “At the castle. Footman. I’ve come from Edinburgh.”

“Fancy city manners,” one of the smugglers said, and it was not a compliment.

“I want to be a butler one day,” Lucas said.

“Let us hope you live long enough to achieve your ambition.” The lady sounded dry. “Where are you staying?”

“At the inn in the village,” Lucas said. “I booked a room and ordered supper. The landlord will notice if I don’t return.”

“Tom McArdle won’t give us any trouble.” Another of the smugglers spoke this time. “Very likely he’ll dispose of your belongings for us. Where do you think he gets his whisky from, laddie?”

The others gave a low rumble of laughter. They were closing in again now, going for the kill. Lucas knew he had not made a strong enough case to be allowed to live. There would be no loving wife to miss him, no parents and no siblings. He should have invented a few and told an affecting story of how they depended on him. His lips twisted into a bitter parody of a smile.

“We’re wasting time.” One of the men hauled him to his feet.

“Wait.” The woman spoke again, the sharpness of authority back in her voice. “You are too hasty, my friend. Another body around here will bring the gaugers back down on us faster than a sniff of the peat-reek, and the dragoons with them. Have you forgotten that it is only a six-month since the last time?”

Another body...

Lucas felt his blood run cold. She was speaking of Peter.

The silence prickled with tension. Lucas waited, all his muscles wound up tight. He heard the shift and mutter of the men all around him.

“That was nothing to do with us.” The leader sounded defiant. “We know nothing of it.”

“Whether it was your doing or not,” the woman said patiently, “two bodies draw unwanted attention. Do you understand me? Besides, if Mr. Ross here has applied to work at the castle, too many people will know who he is. We cannot take the risk.”

“Be damned to it.” The man’s patience was exhausted. “I say he dies and the others stand with me. We can get rid of the body so they’ll never find it.”

“Enough!” Lucas heard her move, heard the unmistakable click of a pistol being cocked, heard the intake of breath as the men froze into immobility. He felt a shiver of fear, for her, not for himself. Absurd, extraordinary, but the bond between them seemed tighter still.

“You are dangerous fools,” she said. She still spoke quietly, but with an undertone of iron. “Do you really want to take this risk? Do you want to throw away all your profits because of some poor benighted city boy who gets lost in the Highlands? Think again, my friends, before it is too late.”

Once again Lucas found himself holding his breath. Violence bred violence, and she was taking a terrible risk to save his life. There were at least four of them. They could overpower her easily enough. One bullet was all she had to stand between him and death.

Time spun out. He felt each second pass.

Then everything changed. Lucas felt it first in the uneasy shift and shuffle of the smugglers’ feet, then in the muttered words he could not catch, then finally in the easing of the tension. It was the money, he thought, as much as the show of force, that had changed their minds.

“She’s right.” One of the men spoke grudgingly. “Think how much we made on the last few barrels. We don’t want the gaugers sniffing around again...”

There was a mutter of agreement, surly, resigned. Someone sighed as though the denial of his right to mete out a violent death was particularly disappointing.

Relief whipped through Lucas; his legs shook. If they made him walk now, he would not need to pretend to weakness. He felt the lady’s relief, too, though she masked it well.