Chapter Twenty-Four

Ian hated working in the bog. It was messy, stinking, backbreaking work, but he never asked his men to do something he wouldn’t do himself. Today had been especially bad because the muck wasn’t quite dry enough and had sucked at his boots with every shovelful unturned.

Now he perched on the edge of the horse trough in the bailey and pulled off his mud-laden boots. Maggie would skin him alive if he even attempted to track through the kitchen in them. He was tempted to roll back and drop himself into the trough to wash the dirt off, too, but the horses wouldn’t appreciate it. Besides, the temptation of a hot bath was more than enough incentive to pick himself up.

He took the servants’ stairs up to his chamber, knowing Hamish would have seen him in the yard and sent some lads up with hot water. Since it was only the middle of the afternoon—he’d finally yielded to the bog—he allowed himself to linger in the copper tub until the water turned cool. Besides being practically a sinful luxury, it gave him some quiet time to reflect on Emily.

He could still feel how perfectly she fit against his side as she’d fallen asleep in the carriage. How warm and soft she’d been and the delicate scent from her hair. How she’d burrowed her head into his shoulder with a satisfied moan… A moan he’d like very, very much to make her do while she was awake and lying beneath him in the throes of passion.

And he had no doubt Emily Woodhaven was a passionate woman. She might appear quiet and calm and quite sensible, but the kiss they’d shared—the one that she’d asked to prolong after Devon had interrupted them, said otherwise. So did her bold invitation to go into the darkened hallway at Kilchurn. If only Devon had not been called out… Ian sighed. His brother did turn up at the most inconvenient times.

Stepping out of the now cold tub, he dried off quickly, donned some clean clothes, and went down to the Great Hall. While it was still too early for the evening meal, the workers were enjoying well-earned kegs of ale. Many were already refilling empty tankards as he entered. None of the women were in sight, but he saw Carr near the dais and walked over to him.

“Did Alasdair get off all right?”

His brother nodded. “Hamish said he left for Glasgow shortly after we went to the bog.”

“If he catches the tide right, he’ll be in Ireland tomorrow then.” Ian looked around the room. “’Twill be a pity he willna be here when Lord Mount Stuart presents the bill.”

“Ye are that sure it will pass?”

“It has to.”

Carr raised a brow. “Have MacGregors nae been saying that for the past two hundred years?”

“Aye,” Ian said, “but this time we have a former prime minister to lend his support to it.”

“Ye have that much faith in him?” Carr asked. “Did he tell ye so?”

“He seemed to be most favorable when I spoke to him,” Ian replied.

“Favorable is nae a definite.”

“True, but Argyll was with him when we spoke.” Ian grinned. “But ’twas Emily who told me about their conversation. He will support us.”

“So the countess is on our side then?”

“Aye.” Ian paused. When Emily had told him that Lord Bute would back the restoration, she had sounded a bit constrained, but then she’d smiled and said he had nothing to worry about. “I trust her.”

“I do, too, although I canna speak for our brothers,” Carr replied.

Ian looked around the hall again. “Where are they, by the way?”

“Rory heard that some of the mares had gotten out of the pasture this morning so he went to check with Jamie.” Carr shrugged. “I doona ken where Devon went.”

“Hmmm. I wonder where the women are?” He’d no more than finished the sentence when he saw Fiona enter with Lorelei and Juliana. He frowned when he didn’t see Emily and then the hair on his nape began to rise as all three of them hurried over to him.

“Where is Emily?” he asked as soon as they reached him.

“We doona ken,” Fiona said, a little breathless like she’d been running. “I thought she was still at the distillery—”

“But her horse just came back,” Juliana cut in. “Without her.”

“What?” Ian didn’t wait for an answer and raced down the length of the hall, leaving his men to stare at him, some of them with tankards half raised. He paid no heed to their calls. Carr could handle it.

He nearly collided with Devon coming up the stairs to the front door. In his arms, Emily hung limply.

“I found her on the road to the distillery,” he said, handing her over.

Ian cradled her, making sure her head didn’t loll. Thank God she was breathing. He had a horrible feeling of déjà vu. “Fetch the physician and Gwendolyn,” he ordered as he strode swiftly to her chamber, her sisters and Fiona on his heels.

He kicked open the door and went to lay Emily on her bed—just like last time. Maggie bustled in behind him and he found himself shoved out the door—just like the last time—while the women took over.

Only this time, as he waited, something was different. This time he realized that Emily was the most important thing in his life. More important than reclaiming Strae Castle—or even their land—if she weren’t here to share it. Without her, what else mattered?

He needed to find out who was trying to kill her before they succeeded.

He stared at the door, then at the empty hallway, cursing the time it took to wait before he could see her. When Devon returned, he’d find out what had happened. It seemed for once Devon had turned up at a convenient time.

Ian paused. Or had he? Why had he been on that road?

Ian closed the door to the library several hours later and sighed. It seemed he was spending more time in this room than in his own bedchamber lately. Which might be just as well—if it weren’t for the reason he was in here—because he was harboring more and more lustful thoughts about Emily joining him in his bed, along with all the things they could do besides sleep.

He looked at his assembled brothers, sister, and uncles. Their expressions, with the exception of Fiona, were resigned. They all knew why they had been summoned to this room. Again.

“The physician did say she was going to be all right,” Carr said.

“And Old Gwendolyn is staying with her this time,” Fiona added.

“I ken that.” He studied each of the men. “But these attacks need to stop.”

“We doona ken this…accident…was an attack,” Broderick said. “Jamie said the girth strap was frayed and caused the saddle to slip.”

Ian grimaced. Once Emily regained consciousness, she’d told them she felt it loosen before she fell. He’d gone straight to the stables to look at the saddle himself. The leather strap that pulled the cinch tight was intact, but the cloth part that went under the filly’s belly had torn apart. It didn’t look like it had been cut because, as his uncle said, the threads were frayed and the girth looked like it had worn through. He asked Jamie why he hadn’t inspected Muirne’s saddle first and found out he’d been out rounding up the mares that had gotten loose. A stable lad had actually saddled the horse. When he’d turned his questions on him, the lad trembled so much Ian feared he’d soak his breeches.

“I’ve nae proof, but it seems too much of a coincidence.” He held up his hand and began ticking each finger. “First, there was a loose board on the steps that caused her to fall and could have killed her—”

“Didna ye say she got the sheets tangled?” Donovan asked. “The board could have come loose when she pulled at the sheets.”

“I didna find any nails on the floor.”

“They could have gotten caught in the sheets.”

“They were nae found.” He continued. “Second, alcohol was put in the tea and made her fall asleep when she should have been kept awake—”

“Which is why Gwendolyn is with her now,” Carr said.

“Aye.” Ian was taking no chances this time.

“And whoever put it in there might have meant well.” Rory glanced around. “Have we nae all added a dram to tea now and then?”

“Mayhap, but what about the wine? Someone put hemlock in it.”

There was silence after that remark.

“Poison is a woman’s weapon. Glenda might have done it.” Broderick shrugged when everyone looked at him. “We all ken she has taken a liking to Ian.”

“Something I have tried to discourage,” Ian replied.

Broderick studied him for a moment. “Women doona always ken what’s best for them, do they? They doona listen—”

“Glenda might be willful, but to attempt murder?” Ian frowned. “I canna believe she would do such a thing.”

“I canna, either,” Fiona said.

“Even if Glenda did such a foolish thing, she willna have the chance to do it again,” Carr said. “She kens we all eat off the same platters and drink from the same flagons as she does.”

“So she tries something else then.”

“Ye think she had something to do with what just happened?” Carr asked. “I doona think Glenda even kens how to saddle a horse. She doesna like them.”

“I agree,” Fiona said. “We should just be thankful Devon found Emily when he did.”

“Aye. ’Tis.” Ian turned his attention to his brother and took care to keep his tone casual. “How did ye happen to be on that road?”

Devon stared at him, his eyes growing dark. “Are ye accusing me of something?”

“Nae.” Ian closed his eyes briefly, wishing his brother wasn’t so quick to anger. “I am just asking a question.”

A muscle twitched in Devon’s jaw. “Since we couldna work in the bog any longer, I decided to ride over to the distillery.”

“Why?” Broderick asked.

“To check with ye on the barley.” He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Mayhap I thought to make amends with Lady Woodhaven and escort her home if she were still there.”

Complete silence met that remark. Devon looked around, his eyes narrowing as he shoved back his chair so hard it fell over. “But why should any of ye believe me? Ye probably think I did something to the saddle and wanted to make sure my plan had worked.”

“Devon…” Fiona started to say, but it was no use.

Their brother had already left, slamming the door behind him.

…

Emily looked up at the sound of a rap on her door, but before she could call to enter, it opened and Ian poked his head around.

“Are ye feeling well enough for a visit?”

“Of course!” Emily pushed herself a little higher against the headboard. “It seems I find myself near helpless once again.”

“Not helpless. More like a victim.”

“Again,” she said softly.

“Aye.” He turned to Gwendolyn. “Ye may go. I will make sure the lady stays awake.”

Emily wasn’t sure, but she thought there might be a glint of mirth in the healer’s eyes.

She nodded as she gathered her basket and shawl. “’Tis nae else to be done other than she needs rest.”

The last was said in a more authoritative tone, as if she were warning him. He grinned at her. “Ye have my word.”

Emily didn’t know exactly what he meant by that, either, but in another moment the door closed and they were alone in her bedchamber. It suddenly seemed much smaller with his presence. He sat down on the edge of the bed, not touching her, but the room also became instantly warmer. Much warmer.

“Did someone sabotage the saddle?” she asked bluntly. It was something she had to know.

“I canna say. The girth was frayed, nae cut.”

“It could have been worn then?”

“’Tis possible.”

She studied him. “But you do not think it was an accident.”

“If it had been worn so thin that it was a danger, Jamie would have replaced it.” He was quiet for a moment. “The only people who were aware ye would be riding this morning were my…my kin.”

His eyes were sorrowful and his mouth drawn as he uttered the words. Emily reached out to touch his cheek. “Do ye really think someone in your family capable of murdering me?”

Ian caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingertips. “I doona want to think that. Devon—”

“No.” Emily shook her head. “I know your brother hates the English. He has good reason after what he went through. And I have been told that I look like Isobel—”

“Ye are nothing like her!”

“That is my point. Although Devon stays angry much of the time, I do not think him mad. He knows I am not like his stepmother. And,” she added, “I do not think him capable of killing a woman.”

“I hope ye are right.”

“I think I am. Remember, there were servants in our dining room last night. Any one of them might have mentioned my intent to ride this morning.” She smiled. “Servants, regardless if they are part of the clan, love to gossip. Sharing private information about what the laird and his family are up to moves them up a notch in the hierarchy, so to speak. Besides,” she added, “everyone here knows I like to ride. If the girth strap was truly compromised, someone could have done it earlier and just waited for the next time I rode out.”

“Ye seem to be taking this new accident verra well. Are ye nae afraid?”

“I have been thinking,” Emily replied. “Lord Bute explained to me that when your name is restored—”

“It could be if.”

“When,” she said, “your name is restored, there is a real possibility that you will be able to reclaim your land, or some of it anyhow.”

“If that happens, I will nae toss ye out.” Ian’s brow furrowed and then cleared. “Aye! I should have thought of it myself! If we marry, the problem is solved!”

“What?” Emily stared at him, not sure she’d heard correctly. “That is not a solution.”

“Nae?” He looked puzzled. “Ye will be totally under my protection if ye are my wife. ’Tis settled.”

“No.”

He tilted his head to look at her as though she were some strange creature he’d never encountered and she supposed, maybe she was. There were probably a dozen women—certainly Breena—who would leap at the chance to marry Ian, for whatever reason, but she wasn’t one of them.

He’d never understand how much she valued her freedom. She held the title to Castle Strae. How many women could own land in their own right? She would have enough discretionary income—her own income from additional profits at the distillery—that no man could tell her how to spend. She could give Lorelei her Season in London and Juliana, too, if she wanted it.

“No one would dare harm ye, if ye were my wife.”

Emily chewed her lip. “I thank you for the offer, but I cannot accept.” She’d married out of necessity once and she was not going to travel that road again. Certainly, Ian was nothing like her late husband. Ian would never hurt her, she instinctively knew that. And he would protect her. She knew that, too. But it wasn’t enough. Her parents had loved each other and if she couldn’t have that, she would not marry again. And he had said nothing about love. His proposal was simply a solution to a problem. She laid her hand on his arm. “Please understand. It is not that I do not desire you—”

“Ye desire me?”

“Yes…” She didn’t get to finish the sentence because his lips were on hers.

Ian edged closer and gathered her to him. She sighed and relaxed in his embrace, her arms going around his neck as she parted her lips to allow him entrance. His tongue swept in, hot and firm, claiming her mouth, demanding she yield to him. His arms wrapped tight around her, crushing her breasts against him as he angled his head to better capture the kiss.

And then he pulled back, his hands sliding up her arms to push her back gently. “What am I thinking? Ye just had a hard knock on your head—”

“Which has not altered my thinking.” She slid her fingers down his chest. “I do not want to stop.”

He took a shuddering breath and laid his forehead against her. “Neither do I, lass, neither do I. But this is nae the time nor the place.”

“But…” A knock at the door interrupted her argument. Ian stood quickly as it opened and Maggie stuck her head around.

“Jamie is asking to talk to ye,” she said to Ian.

“I will be right there.” He turned to Emily and winked. “We will continue this…discussion…later.”

She smiled as he left. “I look forward to it.”