Chapter 14

Jeb sat in his father’s study with Mariah nearby. Her face bore worry as prettily as it bore a smile, but still he wished he could erase it.

He’d tried twice to send her to bed. And twice she’d refused. It was well past midnight, and none of them had found it possible to rest.

His father kept them company. He was clearly as concerned as Jeb was that MacFarlane would take them by surprise. Ford, Hugh, and Caleb kept watch at various locations, hoping to disarm MacFarlane before he could enter the house. Jeb knew, though, that their plan wasn’t foolproof. Which was why he and his father both had weapons that they could reach quickly if they needed to.

“Do you see anything?” Jeb asked.

Jeb’s father stood at the window that looked out onto the street at the front of the house. The lamplighter had dowsed the street lamps hours earlier, stepping like a ghost through the streets now shrouded in fog. A person could pass by just yards away and not be seen.

“No,” he said on a sigh. This was the second night they’d kept watch. The second night they’d done nothing but wait for Mariah’s father to appear.

“Perhaps you should sit down, Father. You know what they say about the watched pot.”

“That’s an old saying that doesn’t hold water. Water will boil whether you’re watching it or—” Lord Stafford stopped. “Did you hear that?” he asked, turning to look at Jeb and Mariah.

Jeb rose. “Come here, Mariah,” he said, taking Mariah to the back stairwell that led to the servants’ quarters on the third floor. “Stay there, and don’t come down. We’ll do everything we can to dissuade your father.”

“But—”

Jeb stopped her words with a kiss. He wanted to reassure her that she would be safe. He wanted to leave her with a reminder of how deeply he cared for her.

He lifted his mouth and ended their kiss. “Tell the armed valets to stay at their posts. You remain there, too, and stay quiet,” he said, then closed the door behind her and left her to climb to the third floor.

Jeb hurried back to his father’s study just as the butler stumbled in, MacFarlane’s gun pointed at his head.

“Announce me,” the laird growled.

“D-d-dafid MacFarlane, L-laird of Langholm, to s-see you, my lord.”

The room fairly crackled with tension. Jeb’s father looked momentarily stunned but immediately recovered his diplomatic demeanor. The friendship of his youth had led him to believe there would be a degree of civility in their conversation. But MacFarlane clearly had other plans.

“Show him in, Franklin,” he said, playing along.

Their butler stepped aside, and MacFarlane strode past.

“MacFarlane,” Lord Stafford said, rising to greet his guest. “What a pleasant surprise. My son said you were most hospitable to him when he was in Scotland.”

“I was, Stafford.” The shadows shifted as MacFarlane moved farther into the room. “And did your son also tell you that he repaid my hospitality by stealing a fortune in jewels from my home?”

Mariah’s father turned his heated glare in Jeb’s direction, and Jeb felt confirmation that this was not going to end peacefully. The demented look in MacFarlane’s eyes matched the furious expression on his face.

“Yes, my son explained that he returned with some jewels, though according to his account, the jewels weren’t yours but were stolen from England some years ago.” The Earl of Stafford held out his hands in a placating manner. “He had every right to act in behalf of our Qu—”

“They were Scotland’s!” MacFarlane bellowed. “They belonged to us!”

“Please, Mac. Come in. Sit down. I’ll pour us a—”

“I want nothing from you except the jewels. And my daughter!”

“Then perhaps we can—”

Before Jeb’s father could finish his sentence, MacFarlane raised his pistol and fired. The bullet was intended to hit Jeb, but Jeb moved, and the bullet went into the wall above him.

Before Jeb could react a second time, the door burst open behind MacFarlane, and six armed Scots entered the room. From the other side of the room Ford, Hugh, and Caleb charged in and struck defensive poses. They had their weapons drawn and pointed at MacFarlane and his men.

“It seems as if we’re at an impasse, Stafford. You hand over the jewels and my daughter, and I’ll let your son live. The choice is yours to make.”

“He doesn’t have the jewels, Father.”

Mariah stepped out of the butler’s alley, her voice calm but firm. “I have the jewels. I’m the only one who knows where they are.”

Jeb’s heart lurched. She must have seen the narrow hallway that connected to the study and hid there instead of going upstairs to safety.

MacFarlane glared at his daughter. The bitterness in his expression turned more vile. If the man felt any remorse drawing his daughter into the fray, he hid it well. “Then you will hand them over or I will kill everyone in the room. Starting with him.” MacFarlane aimed directly at Jeb.

Mariah shook her head, then raised her arm and aimed the pistol she held. It did not waver the smallest bit as she pointed it at her father’s chest. “No you won’t, Father. If you harm one person in this room, you won’t live long enough to see the jewels again, let alone use them for your ruinous purposes.”

MacFarlane was silent long enough to consider whether Mariah was serious or not. His steely gaze would have made some men weak in the knees, but Mariah did not flinch.

“You were never like your mother, Mariah. Never,” he said, his words scorching the very air between them. “You were mine. Always mine. You won’t kill me.”

“You left me to die! Why didn’t you come to find me?” Tears rained down Mariah’s cheeks. “You may be my laird but you are not my father. Not since the day you refused to leave the warm castle to save me.”

MacFarlane drew a hand across his brow. Jeb saw the slightest tremble and regripped his pistol that had never wavered from its target.

“I told you not to take that horse! But you . . .” he pointed a shaky finger at her. “You were too bloody stubborn!”

“You blame me for my mother’s death,” she cried, “but it was you who made her go out into the storm. You who were too stubborn to—”

“Nooooo! It should have been you! I wish it was you had died instead of her!”

Mariah swept a hand across her cheek and stumbled further into the room until she was only a few feet from her father. “When will you forgive me, Father? When will you forgive me because I didn’t die!”

“Never!” He waved his pistol sharply in the air.

Jeb saw the last thread of reason fade from the man’s eyes, and readied his revolver for a shot. The cold click of metal against metal sounded as he pulled the hammer back.

MacFarlane swung his pistol toward the sound and Mariah screamed.

“Mariah, no!” Jeb shouted. But she was already lunging forward.

Two shots went off at the same time. A dark circle spread across MacFarlane’s chest, and he looked down in shock. Horror replaced the anger that had been fixed upon his face.

He staggered once, his eyes flooded with grief as he watched his daughter collapse. He tried to lift his arm, to reach out to her, but several more shots went off, and MacFarlane fell backward.

“Mariah!” Jeb shouted again, but it was too late. He fell to his knees where Mariah lay on the floor. A spot darkened the front of her gown, and Jeb pressed his hand to her breast to stop the bleeding.

MacFarlane’s men lowered their weapons. “We’ll not shoot,” one man said. “You won’t get any trouble from us,” said another.

“Then get on your horses and ride back to Scotland. And take him with you,” Ford said, pointing to MacFarlane whose chest still struggled to rise and fall. “He’ll not die in this house.”

The earl stepped forward. “You have five minutes to get your laird off the premises.”

The man nodded, then motioned for two men to carry Laird Langholm. It took only a moment before the house was empty of any reminder of MacFarlane or his men.

Except for the blood that seeped from Mariah’s wound.

“Is she—” Caleb knelt beside Jeb.

“It’s bad, Cal,” Jeb said past the lump in his throat. “Real bad.”

Ford handed him scraps of cloth, and he pressed them against the wound.

“A doctor’s on his way,” Hugh said, rushing back into the room. “Here, let me carry her upstairs. Someone will bring water and bandages. We’ll take care of her, Jeb.”

“No!” Jeb swiped a hand across his face. “I’ll carry her.”

Jeb let Hugh help him lift Mariah from the floor. It was the best way not to hurt her more. But when he reached the stairs, he forged ahead by himself, watching her eyes the whole way as he struggled up the steps praying that at any moment they’d open. But somehow, suddenly, he was at the bedroom door. And Mariah lay still as death in his arms.

Hugh threw back the covers on the bed and stepped aside.

“Hang on, Mariah. Don’t you dare leave me. Don’t you dare,” Jeb whispered on a harsh breath.

Jeb tore her gown gently to get a look at the wound. If only she hadn’t been standing so close to her father. If only she hadn’t been trying to protect him. But she was close enough that the bullet went clear through, leaving a wicked exit wound near her spine. Too near.

Jeb had the wounds cleaned by the time the doctor arrived.

“What do we have here?” the white-haired man said when he entered the room. He had a kindly expression on his face and a gentle manner. But his expression turned dire when he saw how seriously Mariah was injured.

“Please,” Jeb whispered through the wetness that filled his eyes. “Don’t let her die.”