The thought was daunting. “Wait for me,” she cried. She was fully dressed and had only to pull on her shoes and throw a scarlet wrap over her shoulders, and she was ready to go wherever he commanded.
“Good girl!” he exclaimed as he ushered her through the door.
The door to Will’s rooms was at the side of the building, and Gavin used the key that the solicitor had given him to unlock it. He left Kate sitting on the bottom step while he went upstairs to light the lamps. That done, he got their small traveling bags and led the way to Will’s bedroom and ushered her inside.
“Get changed. Go to bed. And don’t try to leave.”
Satisfied that she was too exhausted to cause him trouble, he made his way to Will’s office. His friend had been sometimes careless about his appearance, but where his clinic was concerned, whether in the care of his patients or their records, he was meticulous. Gavin wasn’t sure what he hoped to find. A former patient who held a grudge? It soon became clear, however, that it would take him hours if not days to read through all the files. The telephone call with Alex had keyed him for action. Now he felt deflated. It was only Alex’s reminder of his granny’s prophecy that made him persevere. He tried another tack and flipped through the folders, looking for anything that struck him as odd or familiar. His fingers froze when he came to a file with the name Macbeth scrawled across the top. He didn’t recognize the script, but he knew it wasn’t Will’s.
He knew before he opened the file that it would be empty, just as in a card game, he knew who held which cards.
He gazed into space as he tried to recall the moment his granny had given him the prophecy that would bring Kate Cameron into his life. His brother and cousin were there, too, at Granny’s deathbed, skeptics all three of them, and wanting only to please their granny before she drew her last breath.
The frail rasp of her voice echoed inside his head.
“Look to Macbeth
.
That’s where your fate lies
.
You stand on the brink, Gavin
.
Fail Macbeth, and you will regret it to your dying day.”
Fail Macbeth? Fail Kate? Kate and Macbeth. What was the connection there, apart from the obvious one of the clinic?
Alex had told him that the more he used his gifts, the more powerful his gifts would become. He had already experienced the truth of that. He’d had a vision of Kate running from her would-be killer. But that was a response to moments of extreme danger. He didn’t know if he could call on his gift at will.
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” he said under his breath. He placed the empty folder on the flat of the desk and spread his fingers over its surface.
“Focus,”
Alex had told him.
“Don’t think
.
Don’t talk
.
Let your senses be your guide.”
He closed his eyes.
It came to him faintly at first, then more strongly as he inhaled the sweet scent of heather and lavender: Kate’s scent.
Heaving a sigh, he opened his eyes. So Kate had been here before him. There had been something in that file that she didn’t want anyone to know about. It was possible that she had found the file empty, too, but if that were the case, he would have sensed another presence. There was only Kate’s.
He went through the same process of focusing and opening his senses, and he noted something else. As Kate’s scent faded, the folder gave off a musty smell. It was an old folder. So when had Kate purloined its contents? And what, he wondered, was so revealing that she would go to such lengths? He considered asking her point-blank but decided against it. It might put her on her guard. There were other ways of discovering what he wanted to know.
He put the file back where he had found it and returned to Will’s bedroom. No one answered when he knocked on the door, so he pushed it open gently. The outfit she’d worn that day was carefully draped over the back of a chair. One corner of his mouth turned up. He was thinking that he’d never met a woman who was so particular about her clothes. He’d seen more emotion from her over her sister’s ruined frock than he’d seen over her close escape from the hands of a murderer.
There was another chair in the room. He pulled it close to the bed and folded himself into it. His gaze fixed on Kate’s face. She was resourceful, obviously. She’d managed, somehow, to get into Will’s office and steal the file, no mean feat when the door from Will’s rooms to the clinic was always locked from the inside. The trouble was, he had difficulty catching her likeness, as though she had moved when he was taking her photograph. Everything with Kate was blurred at the edges.
He searched his brain, trying to remember what he had heard of her before they had met. Juliet had never mentioned her friend in his hearing. What did she think he would do, pounce on Kate and carry her off? Mrs. Cardno had been more forthcoming, but he hadn’t really been listening. He certainly hadn’t expected lightning to strike him when Kate’s eyes met his. And what had he done? He’d pounced on her and carried her off against her will. The corners of his lips twitched.
It was her eyes that fascinated him, her eyes that told him far more than her words. When they weren’t shooting sparks at him, they were . . . fragile, sad, soft eyes that made him wonder who or what had put that look in them.
There was another side to her, one that irked him excessively. She took the most appalling risks. He frowned when he recalled her account of her race across the moor. She shouldn’t have left the hotel at all. His frown intensified when he remembered his shock when she’d turned up at the clinic and set about performing the most menial tasks—washing vomit from drunken dockworkers, emptying bedpans, and God only knew what all. He pressed his hand to his eyes, recalling those few moments of panic when she had thrown herself between the giant and his wife.
She wasn’t fascinating; she was frightening. In some ways, she was not unlike Alice. How was he supposed to keep her safe when she defied him at every turn?
He shook his head, remembering Alex’s laughter at his expense. If he ran true to form, Alex said, his mission to keep the girl safe would turn into a lifelong commitment. “Look what happened to James and me,” Alex said. “Ha-ha!”
He let out a sigh. Who was he trying to fool? She did fascinate him. And though she frightened the hell out of him, he couldn’t deny that he admired her, too. If it were only that, but she appealed to him on another level. He remembered the delicate brush of her hands on his neck and shoulders and how her brown eyes had darkened with desire. Where he had found the will to resist what his body clamored for was a mystery to him.
Focus
. He would never do anything to harm her, just the opposite. Her welfare had become the most important thing in his life.
He brooded on that thought for a long time.
Thirteen
The stealthy creak of a stair on the landing brought Gavin out of a restless sleep. He was fully dressed on top of the bed, and Kate was curled against his back like a trusting child. During the night, his cramped muscles had made him seek something softer than the confines of the chair. He reached for his revolver on the floor by the bed. His hand had just grasped his gun when the door burst back on its hinges.
The gas lamp on the wall was turned to low, but with the stirring of dawn filtering a soft glow through the window, he counted two assailants. He held himself immobile, then suddenly launched himself at the man in front. The man howled and kicked out, the second man spewed out a string of oaths, then he lurched forward, and Kate shot out of bed.
“Stop!” she shouted.
No one listened. Gavin crouched in attack position. They were too close to chance a shot, so he put down his revolver on the bed and kicked out, his foot catching the man advancing on him in the groin. The stranger gasped and keeled over, moaning in pain.
“Get my gun, Kate,” Gavin yelled. “Guard him!”
He could hear Kate babbling, but his mind was so focused on taking down anyone who threatened her that he couldn’t hear her words. A murderous rage possessed him. All he wanted in that moment was to tear her assailants to shreds so that they would never threaten her again.
A low growl erupted through his clenched teeth as he closed with the man who was still standing. He was built like an oak, solid and unyielding. Strength would not work here, only guile. As the man charged, Gavin twisted away and chopped him with a blow to the back of his neck. Then he fell on him, and they both sprawled on the floor. A split second later, Gavin was on top with a knee pressed against the man’s chest. He raised his fist to punch him in the throat when a howling virago launched herself at him and dragged his arm back.
“Are you deaf?” Kate yelled. “I know these men. They are my cousins. They won’t harm us.”
It took a moment for the murderous rage to ease its grip on Gavin, and another moment for him to take stock of the situation. One man was groaning. The man beneath him wasn’t moving, and Kate was mewling apologies as she helped the groaner to his feet.
“Your cousins?” Gavin said woodenly.
“My Fraser cousins, Hamish and Rory.”
He rolled off the man he’d been willing to disable permanently a moment before and turned up the gas lamp to get a better look at these Fraser cousins. The one who was built like an oak had risen to his feet; the other was slighter, but both were little more than boys, nineteen, twenty, or so. They looked like any well-turned-out bucks one might meet in the streets of London and bore no resemblance to his preconceived notions—no tartan, no kilts, no tweed, and no red hair or freckles. They were dark-haired, blue-eyed Celts like himself.
He was considerably relaxed and willing to shake hands and make up when Kate suddenly darted in front of him, arms stretched out in a protective gesture, facing the two young men.
“Now you listen to me, you . . . you heathens.” Her voice was low and fierce. “This is the man I’m going to marry. Touch one hair of his head, and I’ll blow your heads off. Gavin, get the gun.”
Gavin was amused, then he was touched, but his softer feelings evaporated when he remembered how she’d tried to face down Giant. Reckless was too tepid a word to describe this woman. Reckless, but quick-thinking. At least she had remembered to stick to their story.
“He has offered to marry you,” said the oak tree, beaming. “D’you hear that, Rory? Katie is getting married.” Looking at Gavin over Kate’s shoulder, he went on, “I’m Hamish Fraser, by the way, and this is my brother Rory.”
He held out his hand.
Kate had not budged, so Gavin put his hands on her waist and, over her protests, lifted her to the side. He turned with a smile on his face. “I’m Gavin Hepburn,” he began, then doubled over in agony when the oak tree’s fist connected with the softest part of his gut in an almighty wallop.
Kate had the gun. “Touch him again, and I’ll pull the trigger,” she screamed.
The brothers paid no attention to her threat but hauled Gavin to his feet and, linking their arms through his, tightened their grip.
Hamish said, “Now, Katie, you know he deserves a worse beating than that. You should thank us. We’ll make damn sure he marries you. Now get your things.”
Gavin was getting his wind back. “How did you find us?”
Rory answered the question this time. “We visited all her friends first, but Kate’s mother was sure that she’d turn up at the clinic eventually. So here we are.”
“But—”
He stopped when a disembodied voice reached them from the staircase. “Hallo? I know you’re up there, and you should know that I’ve sent for the police.”
“Alistair,” Kate said. “He’s one of the medical students. He must have heard the racket you made.”
Hamish chuckled. In an ear-splitting roar, he yelled back, “We
are
the police, so mind you keep out of our way.” Then to the others, “Let’s go.”
“Where are you taking us?” Kate demanded.
“To your parents. They’re here in Aberdeen. Oh, Katie, you have no idea of the trouble you’re in.”
That silenced her. In an undertone to Gavin, she said, “Don’t worry, Gavin. My parents are reasonable people. They’re not like these hotheaded imbeciles.” Her voice rose on the last word, then she went on softly, “I’ll see that no harm comes to you.”
The cousins laughed. Gavin chuckled. He was sorely tempted to show the buffoons who were hustling him down the stairs that it was unwise to tangle with an opponent whose wrestling partner was a hardened secret service agent. He could have disabled them very easily. What stopped him was Kate’s obvious affection for her cousins in spite of her violent words. And the same could be said of Hamish and Rory. They had Kate’s best interests at heart. He couldn’t fault them there.
Besides, he was basking in a novel experience. Granny and his mother excepted, he had never known a woman who had his best interests at heart. He was their quarry, either as a husband or a conquest.
There was no sign of Alistair or the police when they exited the building, only a horse and buggy tied to a hitching ring.
“Well, what did you expect?” Hamish was grinning. “This is Sunday. No God-fearing person would dream of going anywhere but church. No customers, no cabs.”