Chapter Twenty-Five
“He’ll never forgive me,” Ainsley said. “Not this time.”
She plunked her reticule down on the park bench. The dratted thing was heavy, since it concealed a small pistol she’d acquired before leaving England. Royal would have a heart spasm if he ever discovered she sometimes carried a weapon, but experience had taught her to be prepared for the worst.
“Och, don’t be daft,” Angus scoffed. “Ye just caught him by surprise, and in front of the Sassenach
prick, too. Royal was a wee bit embarrassed, that’s all.”
She stared gloomily at the children playing on the other side of the garden square. “He barely spoke two words at dinner last night, and then he and Logan went off together for hours. I’m not sure when he even went to bed.”
Actually, she was quite sure, although she would choke before admitting that she’d waited up for him. If he would have given her the chance, Ainsley could have adequately explained the reasons for her secretive behavior and how much she regretted it. Unfortunately, her hopes in that regard had gone unanswered, as Royal’s firm tread had passed by her bedroom door last night without hesitation.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to work up the nerve to go after him. He’d obviously reached his own conclusions and needed no explanations from her.
“The lads are workin’ on a plan to deal with the legalities,” Angus said. “It’s tricky, ye ken. But they’ll figure it out, especially once Nick arrives in town. He’ll deal with Lord Fathead, never ye fear.”
“Angus, Lord Fat—er, Lord Cringlewood is anything but stupid. Ruthless, conniving, and without principle, but certainly far from stupid.”
“He’s a jolter-head if he thinks he can take on the Kendricks and come away with his skin intact. Everythin’ will be as right as a trivet in no time. I promise.”
“I very much doubt that.”
“Here, stop bein’ such a gloomy guts and take hold of Tira. I can tell she’s wantin’ her mamma.”
Ainsley arched her eyebrows at that bit of nonsense. Tira was thoroughly swaddled in a soft cashmere shawl, happily snoring away in her grandfather’s arms. Still, the gesture was a measure of the old fellow’s concern for her, and Ainsley was touched.
She gently pulled the shawl back from her daughter’s face. Tira’s cheeks were sweetly flushed with sleep. Her mouth was a rosebud oval, emitting snores so adorable that Ainsley could hardly breathe. The possibility that she might lose her again wrapped a horrid vise around her chest.
“I don’t want to wake her,” she whispered.
Angus rolled his eyes and plopped Tira onto her lap. “Ye could run the Kiplingcotes Derby through this bloody square with no fear. Tira’s a grand sleeper, now that she’s gotten used to ye.”
Ainsley settled the comforting bundle within her arms. Her daughter snuffled a bit against the ruffles of her pelisse, then nestled closer with a little yawn. Her eyelids fluttered for only a moment before the baby snores resumed.
“Told ye,” Angus said. “She kens who ye are now, like I said she would.”
“You never said that. You called me utterly hopeless on more than one occasion.”
“Aye. I can be wrong—on the rare occasion.”
“I must engrave this moment in my memory. Angus MacDonald admits he was wrong about me.”
“I wasn’t wrong about the Ainsley ye was. I was wrong about the Ainsley ye are.”
“That’s a rather murky distinction.”
“Makes perfect sense to me. Now, just sit ye quietly and let the lads worry about Lord Sneaksby. We’ll kill the bloody Sassenach
bastard before we let him hurt ye or Tira.”
Since she’d nursed murderous thoughts herself, she couldn’t scold Angus for actually voicing them.
“The marquess is an influential man, even given his current money problems. He could make our lives exceedingly hellish.”
“We’re used to the English tryin’ to get the best of us, lass. The Kendricks can handle one poncy marquess.”
“Yes, but—”
He put a firm hand on her arm. “Ainsley, I ken yer worried, but ye’d best let Royal take care of this. It’s his job to protect ye and Tira.”
“But I want to protect him, too.” She was terrified of Cringlewood’s vengeful nature, and dreaded what he could do to Royal.
“Ye’ve got the rest of yer life to protect him. For now, just let Royal and the lads do what they do.”
The fact that she had little standing under the law, and was almost entirely dependent on Royal and the family to protect her, was a frustrating state of affairs.
“If you say so, Grandda. But it’s hard to sit and do nothing.”
“Ye be takin’ Tira and yer old grandda for a spot of fresh air—and trustin’ Royal. I know it goes against the grain, but he won’t fail ye.”
She carefully shifted Tira and turned to smile at him. “I know, and thank you for spending time with me. I know it’s mostly about Tira, but I still appreciate it.”
“Fah. Did ye not just call me Grandda?”
Ainsley mentally blinked. “I believe I did.”
“There ye go, then. Now, just sit and enjoy the fine day while ye have the chance. The weather will be turnin’ soon enough.”
“That’s a happy thought.”
“Yer the one who married a Highlander and moved to Scotland.”
“What was I thinking?” she joked.
They sat in companionable silence until they heard raised voices behind them. Angus looked around.
“Who’s young Will talkin’ to?” he asked.
Hoisting Tira onto her shoulder, Ainsley stood and peered toward the street that fronted Kendrick House. Royal had made it clear that she was not to venture outside without an escort, not even for Tira’s daily airing in the little square. Ainsley had felt rather silly about the whole thing, with an undoubtedly armed Angus by her side, and the brawny William only yards away. The whole staff of Kendrick House was close by too.
Still, it was good to be prudent, ergo the pistol in her reticule.
“I’m not sure.” She studied William and the man in a greatcoat. “There’s a carriage right there. Maybe the man is asking for directions.”
“Doesna look like a polite conversation to me.”
When Angus unbuttoned his coat, Ainsley caught a glimpse of the pistol shoved into the waistband of his breeches.
“You and the wee lassie wait here.”
“Maybe we should just go back to the house instead.”
“Nae, that carriage is too close for my comfort. Stay here.”
“Angus . . . oh, blast,” she muttered.
With his usual spryness, the old fellow hurried across the lawn to confront the man. “Here now,” he called out. “What is it ye be needin’ from—”
Without hesitation, the greatcoated man spun around and drilled Angus in the chin. Ainsley let out a strangled shriek as the old man dropped to his knees. William leapt forward to attack, but another stranger appeared from behind the coach. He smashed the butt of a flintlock into William’s skull. The footman collapsed onto the grass like he’d been shot.
Horrified, Ainsley backed away, clutching Tira to her chest. The attackers were between her and Kendrick House, and she couldn’t depend on any of the servants looking out the window and rushing to help. She could scream, but even then it was unlikely that aid would arrive in time.
She pivoted and scurried toward the opposite side of the park. If she could make one of the other streets, she could slip into one of the back alleys running behind the houses and—
Ainsley skidded to a halt when another
man in a greatcoat dashed toward her across the lawn. Where had he
come from?
Tira, finally jolted awake, let out a wail. Ainsley hoisted her higher on her shoulder and turned back toward Kendrick House. But when she tried to dart around the men who’d attacked Angus and William, her leather boots slipped on the grass. Tira, her cries rising in volume, shot up a hand and grabbed the edge of Ainsley’s poke bonnet, yanking it down over her eyes.
“Give it up, missus,” came a low growl. “There ain’t no way you’re getting away from us.”
Ainsley pushed her bonnet from her eyes to see the man who’d cut off her escape to the side streets. Despite his rough speech, he was dressed in a well-tailored greatcoat and a beaver hat. He looked more like a prosperous shopkeeper than a thug, except for the pistol that was half-concealed by his coat.
“What do you want?” she demanded. Her daughter squirmed, and it was all Ainsley could do to keep hold of her.
“Lord Cringlewood sent us to fetch the brat.” The man grinned, revealing a mouthful of broken teeth. “Looks like you can’t manage her anyway, missus, so you might as well hand her over.”
Ainsley took a step back. “I’ll kill you if you touch my daughter.”
The man scoffed. “We ain’t gonna hurt the kid, but we have our orders. We’re to bring her, no matter what.”
She cast a wild glance around. The other two men, both hulking brutes, stood only a few feet away and blocked her path. William was still flat-out on the grass, while Angus was struggling to get up.
Think.
“Hand her over, missus,” snapped the man with the gun. “We ain’t got all day.”
Ainsley squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, praying for strength. Then she met the man’s gaze with her own challenge. “You’re taking her to his lordship now?”
“Aye.”
“Then I’m coming too.”
He nodded. “Cringlewood thought you might say that. Come along with you, then.”
When the man reached to take her arm, she jerked away. “Don’t touch me.”
He shrugged, briefly flashing his pistol. “Suit yourself. But get a move on it, if you know what’s good for you.”
They started off toward the carriage, which had moved toward them.
“My husband will go to the magistrate. You won’t get away with this,” she said.
“His lordship ain’t worried about that. She’s his kid, isn’t she?”
“But you’re kidnapping me.”
“I ain’t. You’re comin’ of your own free will. Now shut your damn mouth, else I’ll shut it for you.”
Ainsley clamped her lips shut and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Tira cuddled against her, now quietly sobbing into the lace trim of her pelisse.
“Hush, darling,” she whispered. “Mamma won’t leave you, no matter what. No one will ever take you away from me again.”
At this point, that was all that mattered.
They’d almost reached the carriage when Angus finally managed to stagger toward them. “Stop, ye bastards,” he shouted.
“He ain’t no threat,” said one of the men. “We got his pistol.”
The brute beside her cocked his own pistol, even though the old man was unarmed.
“Angus, stop,” she called out. “Think of Tira. She might get hurt.”
He stumbled to a halt, his bloodied features pulled tight with anguish.
“They’re going to take her either way,” she said to him. “So I’m going with her.”
“Lass, you canna do this,” he choked out. “Ye’ll make it harder for Royal to get the wee one back.”
“I’m sorry, Angus. But I will not be separated from her ever again.”
Her captor jabbed her in the shoulder. “Get in the bloody coach.”
She looked Angus straight in the eye. The old man was in tears. “Tell Royal I love him.”
“Lass—”
“Angus, go home, now.”
She turned and climbed into the carriage that would take her to the man about to ruin her life.
Again.
* * *
“It’s my fault.” Royal braced himself as the town coach swung hard around a corner. “I never should have left the house.”
“The marquess would have gotten his hands on Tira sooner or later,” Logan said from the opposite bench. “The law would have seen to that.”
Angus, seated next to Logan, scowled. “To hell with the law. We’ll take care of the English bastards ourselves.”
In the dim light of the carriage lamps, the old fellow’s bruised and swollen features looked gruesome.
“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Royal asked.
The side of his grandfather’s mouth that wasn’t swollen lifted in an attempt at a ferocious smile. “Dinna fash yerself, lad. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You were almost—” He clamped his mouth shut against the rage and fear that threatened to swamp him.
Angus divined his thoughts. “That Sassenach
codpiece has no reason to hurt our lasses. He’s got what he wants. For now.”
“He doesn’t give a hang about Tira, but he will
punish Ainsley.” It was driving him mad just thinking about it.
“It’s been less than two hours,” Logan said. “Your wife is a smart, capable woman. She can take care of herself and Tira until we rescue them.”
Royal would lay waste to Cringlewood’s entire life and kill him, if necessary. But without Ainsley and Tira, his
life would be a hollow shell. No matter what he had to do, he would get them back.
“Logan’s right,” Angus said. “Your lady is a canny one. And she’ll know we’re coming for her.”
Royal hoped so, but her last words to Angus had suggested exactly the opposite. He wouldn’t blame her for doubting his loyalty. Yesterday, he’d been angry and critical when he should have been reassuring her. Ainsley knew Cringlewood better than anyone, and she knew what he was capable of doing. Every action she took—even the lies she told—was to protect herself and Tira.
But Royal’s pride had been wounded by what he saw as her lack of faith in him. So he’d cut her off, leaving her alone and vulnerable when she needed him the most.
As usual, Logan also deduced what he was thinking. “Stop beating yourself up. We’ll get them back, and then we’ll get you all out of town. We have a plan, so let’s just stick to it and get the job done.”
Royal managed a smile. “Have I told you lately how happy I am that you’re back in Scotland?”
“We’re Clan Kendrick, lad,” Angus said. “We dinna give up on each other, and we never back down from a fight.”
“True, Grandda,” Logan said, “but I share Royal’s concerns about you. You got quite the knock on the head.”
“Och, I’ve had worse. And I want my own piece of that bastard.”
“Cringlewood is mine,” Royal said. “No one touches him but me.”
Angus bristled before Logan shut him down. “Grandda, from what you told us, there will be plenty of heads to knock about. Just do what Royal tells you, all right?”
The old man harrumphed. “I dinna ken about this plan of yers. Seems a mite risky.”
“You’re not the one taking the risk,” Royal said.
“Exactly my point,” Angus said. “That leg of yers isn’t up to it.”
“I just need to buy us the time for Logan and the other men to get into the house. It shouldn’t take long, if everything goes well.”
“And everything always goes so well in this family, ye ken,” Angus retorted.
“We don’t have a choice,” Royal said. “If Cringlewood gets them out of Scotland, it’ll be almost impossible to get Tira back.”
And that meant he would never get Ainsley back. She would never leave her daughter again.
“I’d feel better if Nick were here,” Angus said. “His bloody lordship would have to pay heed to the Earl of Arnprior.”
“We’d all feel better if Nick were here,” Royal said. “But he should be in town tomorrow, so he can take care of the cleanup.”
Logan peered out the window. “We’re close enough, I think. Best signal the coachman.”
After Royal thumped on the roof of the carriage, it slowed to a stop. Logan opened the door and jumped down to the side of the deserted road. Royal followed more carefully—he couldn’t afford to aggravate his bad leg, with everything that was at stake.
“Angus isn’t wrong,” Logan quietly said. “That leg of yours could be our undoing.”
“I’ll manage. I have to. They’d never let me keep a pistol, for one thing. And we also need a gambit that gives you enough time to get into the house and take control.”
His older brother sighed. “Aye, well, I suppose a half-baked plan is better than no plan at all, given the lack of time.”
When Royal and Logan returned from their offices, they’d found the household in chaos. William was barely conscious and Angus was staggering about, raging and bloody. The several minutes it had taken to get a clear measure of the situation had been the longest of Royal’s life. If not for Logan holding him back, he would have charged out of the house like a maniac, tearing Glasgow apart in a fruitless effort to find Ainsley and Tira.
Fortunately, Henderson had recalled that Ainsley’s mother had stayed with a cousin, Lady Montgomery, in her manor house just on the outskirts of town. Logan had saddled a horse and ridden there, sneaking through the gardens and peering into windows until he spotted Ainsley in one of the drawing rooms. She appeared unharmed. As Cringlewood and two of his men were also present, Logan had little choice but to return to Kendrick House with the news.
That delay, as nerve-racking as it was, had given Royal the time needed to put a plan in place.
Henderson hurried over from the second carriage, now pulled up behind them. The butler had been included in their foray because he was friendly with Lady Montgomery’s butler and housekeeper. Royal thought his presence—along with four well-armed Kendrick footmen and grooms—should be enough to give Logan the support he needed in both convincing Lady Montgomery’s servants to stand down and neutralizing Cringlewood’s hired thugs.
“All right, let’s do this,” Logan said as he extracted a pistol from his greatcoat pocket. He pulled Royal into a brief hug. “Good luck, lad. Be careful, and be safe.”
“You too,” Royal gruffly replied.
The small band of men climbed over the short wall between the manor house gardens and the road, then disappeared into the evening gloom. With a nod to the coachman, Royal climbed back in and braced himself as the vehicle rattled forward. The second carriage would remain where it was, out of sight but close enough for a nimble retreat.
A few minutes later, the coach turned into a gravel drive and wheeled up to the front portico of the manor house.
“Ready, laddie?” Angus asked.
Royal leaned forward and gripped his shoulder. “Thank you, Grandda. Whatever happens, I know I can depend on you to keep Ainsley and Tira safe.”
“Ye’ll be doin’ that, son. Never fear.”
“I know, but if anything happens to me, I want you to take care of them. Ainsley will be . . . vulnerable without me.”
A flash of anxiety darted across his grandfather’s face. “Then don’t let anything happen to ye, or I’ll paddle yer bum. Yer not too old for me to do that, ye ken.”
Royal smiled. “All right, Grandda. Just follow my lead and don’t do anything stupid.”
“Now, when do I ever do anything stupid?”
Royal was spared the need to reply when the door opened. He stepped down, Angus right behind him.
They gazed up at the imposing mansion, where many of the windows were dark. Royal had suspected that Lady Montgomery was currently not in residence. Cringlewood’s cousin was a respectable, well-regarded woman who would never participate in something as heinous as a kidnapping. Her absence meant that the household would likely be running a skeleton staff.
Of course, it also meant there was no voice of reason to serve as a check on Cringlewood’s obsessive behavior. He would no doubt be bordering on the irrational by now, and would respond aggressively to any attempts to take Ainsley away from him.
Royal was counting on that.
The black double doors swung open before they knocked.
“May I ask who ye be callin’ for?” a footman cautiously asked.
“Royal and Angus Kendrick, here to see Lord Cringlewood,” Royal said.
“Aye, sir. I’ll just—”
“Let them in, you barmy fool,” barked a rough voice.
The footman gave Royal a slight, apologetic grimace as he stepped aside. He was a local man, obviously, and a possible ally.
They stepped into a tiled reception hall, decorated with elegant plasterwork in shades of blue and cream. A spiral staircase with elaborate ironwork curled up from the right side of the hall to the upper floors.
“Is her ladyship at home?” Royal murmured as he handed the footman his hat.
“That she is not, sir,” the young man grimly replied.
“Stop your jawin’ and get over here,” ordered a massively built man at the bottom of the staircase.
The fellow had a smashed-in nose and a pugilist’s ears, a former boxer—most likely. But despite his rough appearance, he carried himself well and dressed with a certain amount of style. He was obviously not a common street thug.
Another man stood next to him, however, looking very much like a street thug. He held a flintlock pistol, which did nothing to dispel that impression.
“His lordship is expectin’ you,” said the well-tailored man.
“Told ye the bastard would want to see ye,” Angus murmured. “He wants to rub it in yer face.”
Royal moved to the staircase, his grandfather close on his heels.
“Who are you?” he asked.
The man obviously in charge sneered at Royal, revealing an execrable set of teeth. “Don’t matter who I am, but you can call me Mr. Smith.”
“How original,” Royal said.
“Ain’t it just. Now, open your coats. Both of you.”
Royal complied, as did Angus.
Smith’s eyebrows shot up when he saw what Royal had strapped to his waist. “A short sword? What the hell do you think you’re gonna do with that?”
“Kill your master.”
Smith shook his head. “Bloody Highlanders, stupid as the day is long. No wonder we beat your arses at Culloden.”
“Ye won’t be beatin’ us this time, ye Sassenach
scrub,” Angus said.
“Hand it over.” Smith jerked his head at his compatriot. “Search them for other weapons.”
Royal unstrapped the blade, and then submitted to an exceedingly rough search, which certainly didn’t help the pain radiating down his leg. The thug then did the same to Angus, removing the pistol from the waistband of the old man’s breeches.
“Yer the bully boy who gave me the topper, aren’t ye?” Angus asked in a conversational tone.
“And a good one, from the looks of your ugly mug,” the brute smirked.
“Then I’ll be blowin’ your brains out before the night is over, I ken,” Angus said, rubbing his hands as if anticipating a treat.
Grandda did tend to overplay things, but the thug actually looked a little disconcerted by the cheerful threat.
Smith led the way up the staircase, with the other man following behind, his pistol leveled at their backs. Royal strained to hear sounds from other parts of the house but heard nothing but their own footsteps. He couldn’t decide whether that was a good or bad thing.
As they followed Smith down a corridor, Royal sized him up. The man truly was massive, as was his companion. Royal wasn’t worried about handling Cringlewood, and he could probably take on Smith, too. But if the other thug stayed in the room, he and Angus would have their hands full. If Logan was delayed, events could swiftly go south.
They stopped outside a door and Smith shot Royal a warning glance. “Try anything funny, and your missus will suffer for it. I’ll see to that myself, if his lordship don’t.”
Royal’s fury, barely under control, flared to life. “Touch my wife and you’re a dead man.”
“If not for my orders, I’d be doin’ more than touchin’ her.”
“She’s a prime article, that one,” said the other man with obvious regret.
Royal was torn between a burning desire to rip their heads off and relief that Ainsley was unharmed.
Angus shook his head. “Yer both dead now, lads. Best start saying yer prayers.”
“Shut up, you old fool,” Smith growled. He rapped on the door, then opened it and shoved them through.
“Remember what I said,” he warned.
Royal cast a swift glance around. When he saw Ainsley, huddled in an armchair by the fireplace, clutching her reticule, his heartbeat stuttered. She was still clad in her pelisse and gloves, but her bonnet had disappeared. Her hair had tumbled down from its pins, as if someone had manhandled her.
She dropped her reticule and shot out of her chair with a startled cry. “Royal, my God!”
They met halfway across the room. He swept her into a tight embrace, half lifting her off the floor. She threw her arms around his neck and burrowed close, clinging to him like moss to a tree.
“Royal, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” she choked out.
As relief flooded through his body, his muscles relaxed and his mind started to fully clear, now that he knew she was safe.
He checked her broken litany of apologies. “Hush, love. No more apologies, remember?”
She half swallowed a sob and nodded. But she maintained a deathlike grip on his shoulders.
“He didn’t hurt you?” he asked.
“I’m fine, and so is Tira.”
“Where is she?”
“Upstairs with a maid. And a guard.”
“That’s enough, Ainsley,” came a haughty voice from behind them. “Not another word. And step away from Kendrick immediately.”
Royal turned, still holding Ainsley in a loose embrace. The soldier in him was already taking over, walling off his emotions and helping him to focus on the enemy and the battle ahead.
The marquess stood on the other side of the formally appointed drawing room, looking as if he’d just dropped in for afternoon tea. He gently swung a quizzing glass in one hand. His demeanor was almost languid, as if bored by the scene playing out in front of him.
But his expression gave the lie to that. It was frozen in lines of utter hatred.
“I said, step away, Ainsley,” he repeated. “I allowed your good-byes to your erstwhile husband, but that’s over now. Do not make the mistake of disobeying me.”
She responded with a suggestion that turned Cringlewood’s face a bright red. It had Royal mentally blinking that she knew such language.
“Not a particularly helpful suggestion, love,” he murmured.
“Sorry,” she whispered, “but I’ve been holding that back for the last two hours. It simply had to come out.”
God, he loved her.
The marquess took a hasty step forward. “Ainsley, I order you—”
“You’re a bloody idiot, Cringlewood,” Royal interrupted. “You kidnapped my wife and my daughter. Step away from this now, or face the consequences.”
“Really? What might those be?”
“My brother, Lord Arnprior, will be taking legal action against both you and your men. You attacked my grandfather and abducted a woman and her child at gunpoint. You can’t possibly hope to get away with that.”
“Nonsense. Tira is my daughter, and her mother voluntarily chose to come rather than be separated from her child. Nothing illegal about any of that.”
“You coerced me,” Ainsley said. “You left me with no choice.”
“You came of your own free will, which I expect you to make clear to Kendrick and then we’ll be done with it. My intention is to leave for England tomorrow, taking my daughter with me. If I do so, however, you will never see Tira again. The choice is up to you.”
“You’ll never separate me from her,” Ainsley exclaimed. “No matter what.”
Cringlewood flashed a malicious smile. “Then the choice is made. In that case, we will remain in residence here for the obligatory six weeks, and then you can sue your husband for divorce. So, say good-bye to him now, Ainsley. It’s the last you’ll see of him for some time—possibly forever.”
She turned a white, anguished face up to Royal. “Can he really do that? Can he really keep me away from Tira if I don’t do what he wants? I can’t bear to lose her, not again.”
“No one will take her away from us, I promise,” Royal replied.
“Kendrick, you are as big a fool as I thought.” The marquess glanced at Smith. “Get them out of here, and make sure it hurts.”
“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” Royal said. “The Kendricks have friends in high places. Lady Arnprior, in particular, has a great deal of influence.”
The flicker in Cringlewood’s gaze told Royal he’d scored a hit. The marquess obviously knew of Victoria’s close connection to the royal family.
A moment later, however, he shrugged it off. “I also have connections in high places, Kendrick. And, in case you’ve forgotten, the law is on my side. Tira is my daughter, not yours.”
Ainsley breathed out a tiny, heartbreaking whimper.
“There’s another way to handle this,” Royal said. “One that doesn’t involve dragging in various members of the royal family, which I’m sure would be unpleasant for everyone.”
Cringlewood’s mouth twitched with displeasure. “I’m losing my patience, Kendrick.”
“I challenge you to a duel, right now.”
The man’s eyebrows shot up. “Pistols? You must be joking.”
“No, swords.”
“He brung this along.” The thug held up Royal’s short sword.
The marquess stared at it for a moment, then laughed. “Madness, even for a Scotsman. Why would I bother dueling with you when I have everything I want?”
Royal let go of Ainsley and stepped in front of her. “Because if you don’t, I’ll hound you to the ends of the earth and destroy your life. My family will destroy your family, and by the time we’re through, there will be nothing left of your ridiculous name but bitterness and ashes. And,” he said, taking another step forward, “you will never lay hands on my wife again. My wife, never yours.”
The marquess glared at him, his complexion mottled with rage as he wavered in silence.
“Ah, you’re a coward,” Royal said. “But we already know that.”
“What do ye expect from a Sassenach
?” Angus said with a dramatic sigh.
“Give Kendrick back his sword,” Cringlewood snapped to Smith’s henchman. “And go fetch mine from my luggage. My valet will know where it is.”
“What are you doing?” Ainsley hissed, yanking on Royal’s sleeve. “Cringlewood is an accomplished fencer, and he doesn’t have a bad leg.”
“I’m better, even with the limp,” he whispered back.
“But he trained with the best Italian masters. He’s incredibly good.”
“I trained on the battlefield. I’m better.”
“But—”
He turned and dropped a quick kiss to the tip of her nose, as he always did when he wished to comfort her. “Love, I know what I’m doing. Please trust me.”
She breathed out a funny little growl. “I do, you impossible man. Do you trust me?”
“With my life.”
“You should listen to her, Kendrick,” the marquess said as he struggled out of his tight-fitting tailcoat. “She knows I’m lethal with the blade.”
“You’re a braggart, too, I see,” Royal said.
He glanced at Angus, who stood near the door under Smith’s guard. The old man gave a tiny shake of the head. Royal mentally cursed, since his grandfather had yet to hear any indication from downstairs of their impending rescue.
They waited in fraught silence until the thug returned, carrying a highly ornamented scabbard.
“I suggest you prepare,” Cringlewood said as he rolled back his ridiculously frilled cuffs.
Royal turned to his wife. “Please return to your chair, love.”
She grimaced. “But I have—”
“Now, Ainsley.”
She muttered another earthy curse and stomped back to her chair. She grabbed her reticule and plopped down on the seat, glaring at him.
“That’s my girl,” Royal said, unable to repress a smile.
The lethal hum of a blade swishing through air had him turning around. Predictably, Cringlewood was warming up with a series of extravagant flourishes and parries, no doubt hoping to frighten him. Royal thought he looked like a bloody ponce, but there was no doubt the man was skilled. The duel would be far from a stroll in the park.
Royal stripped off his coat and rolled up his sleeves.
After Smith directed the other thug to push the chaise and a few chairs out of the way, the combatants moved to the center of the room.
“Good luck, lad,” Angus called.
“You’ll need it, with that leg of yours,” Cringlewood said with a sneer.
Royal brought up his sword. “En garde.”
They engaged with a hiss of Sheff ield steel, blade sliding on blade. Royal immediately lunged, using the strength in his arm and wrist to push hard, forcing the marquess to fall back. The man recovered with a skillful parry, holding his own against Royal’s risky, full-on attack.
His leg wouldn’t hold up for long. He had to take Cringlewood out quickly or hope Logan would appear in time to save them.
Even though Royal kept up a fierce pace, Cringlewood was as skilled as he’d boasted. He parried with dexterity, escaping the lethal slide of Royal’s blade again and again as their boots alternately pounded with a lunge or slid when they disengaged.
The minutes stretched in a dangerous and swift thrust and parry of steel. Royal’s focus narrowed to the tip of the blades and the reach of Cringlewood’s arm. The chance of death didn’t matter. All that mattered was saving his wife and daughter. If he had to die, so be it.
He blinked sweat from his eyes and saw an opening. Disengaging, he passed his blade under Cringlewood’s point and slashed through the man’s right sleeve. The marquess cursed and fell back, allowing Royal a few precious moments to catch his breath.
Smith leveled his pistol at Royal, obviously preparing to defend his master if necessary.
“Here, now,” barked Angus, turning on the man. “Ye’ll not be—”
A thundering crash and a shout from somewhere in the house froze them all in their tracks.
“What the hell was that?” the other thug yelped.
Royal wiped his brow on his sleeve. “You’ll see. Best give it up now, Cringlewood.”
“One of you, go see what’s going on,” the marquess ordered.
Smith jerked his head at his henchman, who lumbered out the door. Angus smiled at Royal and casually reached for the top of his boot.
“It’s done, Cringlewood,” Royal said. “Those are my men. They’ll be up here momentarily.”
“Too late for you, unfortunately,” the marquess snarled.
Cringlewood lunged, and the point of his blade flashed dangerously close to Royal’s shoulder, forcing him to twist violently to the side. His thigh muscles cramped, and blazing pain shot up his leg. He stumbled, falling heavily against the chaise.
The marquess let out a breathless laugh and pressed forward, his eyes blazing with triumph. Royal dragged his blade up, trying to block him, but he was exposed. He was . . .
Boom.
Gunshot echoed off the walls.
The marquess jerked, and dropped his blade. He swayed as a red stain bloomed in his shoulder, spreading rapidly.
With a snarl, Smith turned and pointed his weapon at Ainsley. “You bitch!”
But a moment later, Smith let out a startled yell. He staggered forward a few steps before crashing heavily to the floor. The handle of a knife stuck out from his back at a wicked angle, having been neatly slid under his ribs. Smith gurgled and thrashed for a few moments, then lay still.
“You killed him,” Cringlewood gasped.
“Aye, looks like it.” Angus stooped to retrieve his blade.
Cringlewood’s gaze filmed over with shock and astonishment. The color drained from his face as the bloodstain spread from his shoulder down to his chest.
“I suggest you sit down,” Royal said as he kicked Cringlewood’s sword out of the way.
The marquess staggered around to stare at Ainsley, who was standing by her chair.
“You . . . you shot me,” he croaked.
She finally lowered the small pistol. “And I would do it again,” she said in a voice that barely trembled at all. “No one hurts the man I love.”
“Good for ye, lass,” Angus said. “That’s a nice little popper ye have there. Where did ye find it?”
“I had it stowed in my reticule. They never thought to search it.”
“You goddamn whore,” Cringlewood choked out.
Royal grabbed the marquess by the back of his shirt. “That’s enough out of you,” he said, shoving him onto the chaise.
Cringlewood yelped and collapsed into a half swoon.
Ainsley rushed across the room and threw herself into Royal’s arms. “Are you all right?”
He held on as tightly as he could, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair. “I’m fine, my love, thanks to you. You truly saved the damn day.”
“As usual.” Then she pulled back to anxiously inspect him, and a sob caught in her throat. “I thought he was going to kill you.”
“Nay, lass, Royal would have gotten the better of him in the end,” Angus said. “Although yer intervention was most timely,” he added when Royal stared at him with disbelief.
“Tira’s upstairs under guard,” Ainsley said. “We need to get up there.”
“I’ve got her,” said Logan, striding through the door with a cashmere-swaddled bundle. “All is well.”
With a cry, Ainsley hurried over to him, and Logan carefully placed Tira in her arms.
“She slept through the whole thing,” he said, “even when I tossed the guard into the wall. The wee lass is a grand sleeper, she is.”
“What took you so long?” Royal asked his brother.
“Sorry. Just a spot of trouble in the kitchen with one of the guards, but it’s all sorted now.”
Ainsley nestled the baby against her chest. “Can we go now, please?” she asked Royal.
“Yes.” He nudged Cringlewood with his boot. “Wake up, you idiot.”
The marquess roused long enough to glare up at him. “I’ll see you hang for this, Kendrick.”
“If you ever come near my wife or daughter again, I will slit your throat. I’d gladly hang to protect them, Cringlewood. Don’t forget that.”
“Royal, time to get a move on,” Logan said.
As he passed Smith’s body, Royal threw Angus a glance. “Good work, but it’s unfortunate you had to kill him.”
His grandfather shrugged. “Didn’t want to take any chances with the bastard.”
“True, but it’s thrown a spanner in the works,” Logan said as he led them down the hall. “It’ll be harder to hush this up with a dead body lying about.”
“Och, Nick will handle it,” Angus said, not sounding particularly bothered.
When Royal put an arm around Ainsley to guide her down the stairs, she gave him a worried glance. “What’s going to happen now? The marquess is sure to send for the magistrate and anyone else he can think of.”
“Just watch your step, sweetheart. We didn’t go through all this trouble to see you pitch headfirst down the stairs.”
“Wretch,” she said with a reluctant smile. “You’re
the one who needs to be careful. You hurt your leg, didn’t you?”
“It doesn’t feel particularly good at the moment, but I’ll recover.”
“Don’t ever
scare me like that again, Mr. Kendrick.”
“I might say the same to you, Mrs. Kendrick.”
Henderson was standing by the front door, next to Lady Montgomery’s footman.
“Everything all right, Henderson?” Logan asked.
“Yes, sir. The rest of the villains are tied up and locked in the pantry, and I’ve explained the situation to the butler and the housekeeper. Needless to say, they are extremely perturbed by Lord Cringlewood’s gross abuse of Lady Montgomery’s hospitality.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Logan said wryly.
Royal nodded to the footman. “Lord Cringlewood will need a surgeon, and with some urgency. You might want to inform her ladyship’s butler.”
“But not too quickly,” Angus added.
“We don’t need another dead body on our hands, Grandda,” Royal said.
“I’ll take care of it, sir,” the footman weakly responded.
Royal escorted Ainsley out to the waiting carriage. Angus climbed in first, then turned to take the baby.
“Henderson can go with you,” Logan said. “I’ll round up the others and meet you back at the house.”
Ainsley put a hand on Logan’s arm. “Thank you, sir. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
He briefly enfolded her in his massive embrace. “Just make that brother of mine happy. That’ll be thanks enough.”
“I’ll do my best,” she said with a teary little sniff. “Although I’m clearly a terrible wife.”
“Don’t be daft.” Royal picked her up by the waist and plopped her onto the carriage step. “In with you, now.”
Once she was inside, he hauled himself up and settled next to her with a quiet groan.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked, twisting to get a good look at him.
His leg was killing him, but he didn’t give a tinker’s damn. “I’ve never been better.”
“You’re lying,” she fussed. “We need to get you to a doctor.”
He put an arm around her shoulder. “Hush, love. I’ve got you and Tira back, and that’s all that matters. Everything else can wait.”
Angus, who’d drawn back Tira’s shawl for a quick inspection, gave a satisfied nod. “Aye, and ye both seem fine, thank the good Lord.” Then he sniffed. “Although I’m thinkin’ the wee one might need a change. She’s smellin’ a bit ripe.”
Ainsley let out a watery laugh. “I didn’t have a chance to change her, what with the kidnapping and dueling and such.”
“God, Ainsley,” Royal said, hugging her close. “I’m so sorry I put you through that. Can you ever forgive me?”
“I’m the one who should be apologizing,” she said, her voice muffled against his coat. “I should have told you the truth long ago.”
“You did nothing wrong. You were trying to protect your daughter and yourself in the best way you knew how. I was simply too pigheaded to see it.”
“Maybe just a little bit,” she said. “But I didn’t wish to criticize.”
“He gets that trait from the Kendrick side of the family,” Angus said with a twinkle. “Thick as planks, the lot of them.”
“Thank you, Grandda,” Royal said dryly.
Then he tipped up Ainsley’s chin, drinking in the love he saw in her beautiful violet gaze. “But despite how thick I am, I want you to know that you never have to be afraid again. I will always put you and Tira first, and I will always protect you.”
She blinked a few times before leveling him with her dazzling smile, one that lit up every corner of his world.
“My loyal Royal,” she whispered. “And I will always protect you, I promise.”
“I’m counting on it, lass,” he whispered back.
Angus elbowed Henderson, who was pretending to be deaf in his best butler fashion. “Best avert yer eyes, man. The canoodlin’ is about to commence.”