How to Abduct a Highland Lord (4 page)

 She did not look away, though her lips whitened. “Let me go, Kincaid.”

 “No.”

 She struggled, kicking back against the wall. “Let me go, now!”

 “No. Not until you—”

 The door to the room slammed open and Hamish stalked in. Red-haired and red-eyed, he looked like a fiery angel seeking vengeance.

 “Bloody hell,” Jack muttered. He released Fiona and turned to stand before her. “Hamish. What a pleasant surprise.”

 Hamish’s red brows lowered as he glanced from Jack to Fiona, then back. “What’s goin’ on here?”

 “Nothing that concerns you,” Jack said.

 “I am pledged to watch the mistress. If ye lift a hand to her again, I’ll end yer miserable life.”

 “Did you have anything to do with this damned marriage?” Jack felt his head, wincing when his fingers brushed a sore knot. “I’ve a feeling you assisted her far more than was necessary.”

 “I wish I’d given ye that knob, but I didn’t. Ye fell from yer horse and smacked yer head.” Hamish flexed his hand, the size of a large rock. “Had it been me, ye wouldn’t be awake now.”

 “Hamish.” Fiona stepped around Jack. “There was no need for you to intrude.”

 “I heard ye call out.”

 “I fell against the wall.”

 “Baldercock,” Jack said rudely. “I pushed you.”

 Hamish’s huge hands balled into fists. He started forward, but Jack was ready. He lifted a foot and sent the lone chair flying directly in the path of the big Scotsman.

 Hamish grabbed the chair and threw it to one side, where it smashed against the wall and splintered into a dozen pieces.

 Jack raised his fists and—

 Fiona shoved him back, the edge of the bed catching him behind the knees and sending him thudding to the mattress. The distant rumble of thunder echoed.

 “That is enough!” Fiona snapped, her eyes sparkling with anger. “Hamish, leave us! Kincaid and I must speak.”

 “I’m not leavin’ ye with the likes of Black Jack Kincaid!”

 “If I need you, I will call,” Fiona said firmly.

 The Scotsman didn’t look convinced. “I don’t—”

 “Hamish,” she said in a quiet tone. “Go.”

 Jack raised his brows, distracted from his own irritation by the strength of the rebuke in her voice.

 Hamish must have heard it as well, for he flushed a deep red, then turned to the door. “I will be in the hallway.” He paused to lock gazes with Jack. “I can be back in here in a trice.”

 Fiona nodded. “That won’t be necessary.”

 The Scotsman grunted his disbelief but obediently left, closing the door behind him.

 Fiona had changed, after all. There was some steel to her now, a determination he’d never seen before. For some reason, that made him more uneasy than facing Hamish.

 Still, Fiona MacLean was responsible for this mess. Jack did not deserve to be punished for the sins of his less-than-loving family. Hell, he didn’t deserve any of this. Jaw tight, he turned to his enemy. “Fiona, I will never accept this marriage.”

 Fiona fought to hold on to her tenuous control. She’d known Jack would be angry, but nothing had prepared her for the rage burning in his gaze. Her shoulders still ached where he’d gripped them, and she shivered from the cold fury in his face. “Jack, please. You must accept this.”

 “Why?”

 Slowly, she placed her hand upon her stomach. “Because I have told everyone I am carrying your child.”

 He stepped back. “You didwhat ?”

 “I sent word to both of our families that I was with child and that was why we’d married.”

 He blinked.

 “That’s the only reason Father MacCanney agreed to wed us. He thought I was carrying your child.”

 “You bloodybitch. ”

 She winced. She deserved that, she supposed. “Kincaid, I would not have involved you if I’d had any other choice. The feud—”

 “The feud is nothing more than squabbles over boundary lines and livestock.”

 “No, now it’s different. Callum died. If something is not done, and quickly, neither of us will have a moment’s peace for the rest of our lives. We’ll be too busy tending graves to enjoy anything.”

 Jack’s expression darkened. He spun on his heel, took a quick step toward the wall, then halted. He turned back to fix a cold blue stare upon her. “You really believe your brothers would do something rash.”

 She thought of her brothers’ expressions when she’d last seen them—the hatred and anger. “Yes,” she said, her voice barely audible. “They will seek vengeance. And they will succeed. Then their actions will be answered. If not by your father, then a cousin or an ally. You know how it is done.”

 He nodded abruptly. “Aye. I do know.” Jack raked a hand through his hair, wincing when he touched a tender spot over one ear. “And so it will begin.” He crossed to the window. “Does my father know of all this? Of your brothers’ vow for vengeance?”

 “I wrote to him and told him everything.”

 He turned, his face in the shadows. “You told him that you planned to capture me? To force me to marry?”

 She bit her lip. “Not that part, no.”

 “Of course not.”

 She sighed, her knees a little weak. It had been such a long week, filled with sadness and emotion. “I told my brothers the same thing: that I was with child and you were the father.”

 Jack leaned a shoulder against the bedpost and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Who is the father, Fiona? I should know, in case the bastard arrives to take retribution.”

 Her cheeks burned. “There is no child. I mean, not yet. I haven’t been with anyone since you and I—” She bit her lip. Blast it, she hadn’t meant to tell him that.

 His expression shuttered. “I don’t believe you.”

 “It doesn’t matter what you believe. What matters is that—” She crossed the few steps that separated them. “Jack, you were right in what you said before: just getting married won’t stop the feud.”

 He scowled, his clear blue eyes locking with hers. “Then what will?”

 Lord, he was going to force her to say it. “To end this feud once and for all, we must also have a child. And soon.”

 Chapter Three

 The worst part of a MacLean is that when they think they’re right, they usually are. ’Tis a most annoyin’ habit, and I feel a bit of pity for the lads and lassies who marry into such a prideful clan.

 OLDWOMANNORA OFLOCHLOMOND

TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD NIGHT

 Disbelief warred with shock on Jack’s face. “You are crazed if you think I will agree to that!”

 She took a hasty step forward, so close that her skirts brushed against his knees. “We have no choice.”

 Jack’s hard blue gaze glinted down at her, deep white lines beside his mouth. “Speak for yourself. I have many choices.”

 “No, you don’t. Our families are on the brink of disaster.” Suddenly, the urgent words locked in her throat as a lost thought quivered in her brain:I am going to fail.

 It was all too much. Callum’s death, her brothers’ anger and their determined plans, abducting Jack, Father MacCanney’s reluctance, the hurried marriage, Jack’s own fury…Every strained moment of the last week dropped upon her shoulders in a silentwhoosh.

 Tears filled her eyes. She clenched her fists, swallowed a sob, and pressed her fingernails to the tender flesh of her palms, hoping the tears would fade.

 But the sob grew. She gulped hard in an effort to control it, but with a hiccup, her hold on her emotions cracked, slipped, then shattered. An entire week’s worth of pent-up emotions and deep grief broke free, swamping her in pounding waves.

 She dropped her face into her hands and let the sobs flow, unable to stop the torrent. She cried and cried. She missed Callum so much. He’d been her friend and confidant, understanding her better than anyone else in her family. And now he was gone.

 Gone.

 Sobs racked her body, draining her strength as tears fell from between her fingers. Grief, anger, pain, all of it rolled through her, wave after wave.

 A warm hand closed over her wrists, and she was unceremoniously hauled against a broad chest. “Stop it,” Jack whispered, his cheek against her hair, his voice soft. “I hate it when women cry.”

 Fiona cried harder. She didn’t want to do this in front of him, but now that the tears had begun, she couldn’t stop them. In trying to keep her brothers’ fury from exploding and destroying them all, she hadn’t allowed herself to grieve for Callum. Now the future stretched before her, bleak and cold and lonely without him.

 The sobs came harder and harder still, until she thought her heart might break.

 “Fiona,” Jack said, his voice deeper. “You cannot—Oh, blast it all!” He sank his hand into her hair and pressed her face to his chest, holding her tight. “Easy, lass.”

 She buried her face against him and let the tears fall. She was no gilded miss who’d been sheltered from reality; she’d had her share of loss. But this time, life seemed brutal beyond acceptance.Callum, I miss you.

 “Lassie, that’s enough,” Jack said, his voice resonating against Fiona’s ear. “We will deal with this.”

 We?Fiona’s heart clutched at the word, a faint ray of hope warming her. The thought that she might not be alone, that maybe Jack might find a way out of this mess, slowed the flow of her tears bit by bit.

 Yet, though her crying lessened, Fiona didn’t move. She drank in the strength of Jack’s embrace, the warmth of his body. Her pain began to ease. Finally, her tears ceased, her body racked now by a deep hiccup.

 Jack rubbed his chin against her hair and said gruffly, “I mean it. I really hate it when women cry.”

 “So—so—do I.” She gulped.

 He sighed, his breath stirring the tendrils at her temples. “I am sorry about Callum.”

 The tenderness in Jack’s voice brought more tears to her eyes. She was a mess; red eyes, wet cheeks, and embarrassing hiccups. Suddenly self-conscious, she attempted to step out of Jack’s arms. “I need a handkerchief.”

 Jack’s embrace tightened, his hand rubbing up and down her back with comforting strokes. “I would give you my handkerchief, but someone has taken mine.”

 Fiona gave a watery chuckle. “I had Hamish change your clothes. You were wet, and I did not wish you to catch the ague.”

 “How thoughtful of you. Not many men who’ve been abducted and stripped can say they were so well tended.”

 She smiled against his damp shirt, her head resting on his muscled chest. Her ragged breaths gradually evened out, and a soft, intimate silence enveloped them.

 The steady beating of his heart, mixed with the scent of starch from his shirt, calmed her somehow. The rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek warmed her from head to toe, and she gave a contented sigh.

 Jack bent and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

 Fiona’s breath hung in her throat. The kiss was chaste, almost innocent, and incredibly intimate.

 “You’ve been through hell, haven’t you, love?”

 He’d called her “love.” Not “my love,” but just “love.” She wondered how many women he’d called that, and how many had felt their hearts flutter the way hers had.

 Though she’d wept against his shirt and basked in the comfort of his arms, the truth was that Jack Kincaid would have treated any other woman who’d melted into a weeping mass the same way. As he said, he couldn’t stand to see a woman cry.

 Fiona stepped out of Jack’s protective arms into the cold of the room, reaching for a towel from the washstand.

 She mopped her eyes, then blushed. “I didn’t mean to soak your shirt.”

 He glanced down at the large wet spot on his chest, a wry smile softening the hard line of his mouth. “I don’t know whose shirt this is, but you can take it up with them.”

 “It’s Dougal’s.”

 “Dougal’s? There’slace on the cuffs. Your brother would never wearlace. ”

 She gave a watery chuckle. “Dougal is a dandy now. You wouldn’t believe how all-the-crack he has become.”

 Jack looked down at her for a moment, his eyes dark and unfathomable. He reached out and twined a tendril of her hair about his finger. “This is a pretty mess.”

 “I know,” she said, wishing she could just disappear. Her hair was falling about her, and her nose was pink from crying. “This entire week has been a nightmare.”

 “I am sure it has.” He pursed his lips as he considered her. “Only desperation would have made you think of this harebrained plan.”

 She stiffened. “My plan may have its faults, but I thought this through. I have thought of nothing else for a week, night and day.”

 “There must be another way,” he insisted. “Why didn’t you tell someone of your brothers’ plans? Someone who could stop them?”

 “Who? Jack, my brothers can turn someone into a cinder merely by losing their tempers. Who would dare face them?”

 “One of my brothers didn’t seem to have any problem doing just that,” he retorted grimly.

 She stiffened, her eyes flashing dangerously.

 Jack winced at her expression. “I didn’t mean to be coarse. It’s just that, though some believe your family can make it rain—”