Return to Clan Sinclair (9 page)

 

C
HAPTER
F
IFT
EEN

O
ne thing about the Irish, they knew how to blend into the woods. The duke was no slouch when it came to creeping up on a structure. Bruce barely heard the other man as he made his way around the side of the house. Most of the curtains were drawn, but the ones that were open revealed rooms empty of furniture and ­people.

He didn't see a sign of Ceana or Henderson. Had the Irish gotten it wrong?

Breandan approached them. “The carriage's here,” he said. “It's the same one that passed us on the road.”

That didn't mean it was Henderson's, a thought he didn't bother to convey to the duke. If they didn't find anything in a few minutes, he was all for abandoning this location and following his original plan.

He was about to pass the fourth window when he saw Ceana stretched out on the settee.

What the hell had Henderson done to her? He thought he couldn't be angrier, but his temper ratcheted up a notch.

He moved to one side of the window, his back to the house.

“She's not asleep,” the duke said from beside him. “Has he drugged her?”

He shook his head. Anger didn't do him any good. He needed a plan. There were four of them, but he didn't know how many men were employed by Henderson.

“He's nailed all the windows shut,” the duke said.

“The back door looks the best bet,” Ardan said.

Bruce didn't want all four of them rushing the same entrance. Looking up, he gauged the distance to the second floor then studied the oak tree next to the house. He hadn't climbed a tree in years.

“Once I get inside,” he said to the duke, “you and your brothers make it through the back door.”

The duke nodded.

He swung himself up, hoping the branches close to the window were thick enough to bear his weight. A squirrel chittered at him, evidently upset he'd invaded the animal's domain. Sliding out on the largest branch, he made his way closer to the house. The creaks and groans beneath him made him wonder if he'd make it. It wouldn't be a fatal fall but it would alert the ­people inside.

He grabbed the windowsill with one hand, pushing the window sash up with the other. With any luck, he hadn't chosen a window in a room currently occupied.

Gauging the distance, he swung off the branch, dangling from both arms. Swimming had increased his upper body strength. He swung his legs up until he placed one knee on the windowsill then pushed himself into the room, turning head over heels until he hit the floor with a thud.

He remained there a moment, listening for sounds of alarm. When there was no sign he'd been heard, he glanced down at the duke, gave him a thumbs-­up sign and turned toward the door.

Now to rescue Ceana.

He hadn't thought to tell the Irish to enter the house quietly, thinking they'd use their common sense and do so. But the duke and his brothers began screaming like banshees the minute they were inside. He could hear them from here.

But by the time he got to the stairs, the three men were in the middle of a melee, fighting three strangers.

He jumped off the staircase, entering the fray, hoping one of the men he punched was Henderson.

Somebody slugged the duke, but other than stumbling backward a few feet, he didn't howl or whine, merely reciprocated with a decent uppercut.

“Which one is Henderson?” the duke asked.

They should have asked Virginia what the man looked like, but he'd been in such a hurry he hadn't thought about it.

One of the burly men with a bloody lip and what looked to be a broken nose pointed to a room at the end of the hall.

“He's in there,” he said. “If it's Henderson you want.”

C
eana was awakened by two things: the sound of yelling and a slap on her face.

She didn't know who was yelling, but Paul Henderson was slapping her.

“Get up,” he said. “Now.”

Groggily, she raised herself on one elbow, staring up at him.

“What did you give me?” Why weren't her lips cooperating? How very odd it was taking so long to form words.

He jerked her to a sitting position and then, before she could tell him her stomach was suddenly very upset, he was pulling her to the other side of the room, one arm around her waist, the other encircling her neck.

She kept blinking but the room was still spinning.

Something was very wrong and it was centered on the shouting from the corridor.

The door opened and Bruce stood there, his shirt torn and his lip bloody. She'd never seen a more welcome sight in her life. Her knees sagged in relief.

“Are you Sinclair?” Henderson asked, dragging her backward.

“No,” Bruce said, moving toward them. “But you might say I'm acting in his stead. Release her. I've not the patience to ask twice.”

The second door opened soundlessly to Ceana's left. She glanced to the side to find the giant standing there. Did Bruce see him? Did she need to warn him?

“I think not. It's Virginia I want.”

“You're a fool to try to bargain now. We've subdued your men and you're outnumbered.”

She struggled in Henderson's grip. His arm tightened painfully around her neck until she could barely breathe. He really needed to release her before she was sick.

The giant swung back his arm. Suddenly, Henderson crumpled to the floor.

She almost joined him, but Bruce was there holding her upright as the room spun around her.

She was shaking like a newborn colt, holding onto Bruce as she stared at the man who'd both kidnapped her from Drumvagen and saved her. In his hand was a large iron skillet.

“Why?”

“Did you mean what you said about giving me money?” he asked.

There was something to be said for a mercenary man. They were so much easier to understand. Evidently, the giant decided to cut his losses.

She nodded, decided the movement was making her dizzier, then looked at Bruce.

“Have you any money with you? Give this man everything you have, please. I'll reimburse you once were back at Drumvagen.”

“Don't be ridiculous.” He led her back to the settee while the giant stood guard over Henderson.

The door opened wider and Irishmen flooded into the room. She stared at her brothers-­in-­law in shock. Why should she be so surprised? Ever since she'd been abducted life had not been normal.

Behind Dennis was Ardan and Breandan, following him as they normally were. The insufferable followed by the inconsiderate and the inarticulate.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“We came to bring you home.”

“I don't need you to come after me as if I'm a child, Dennis.”

“You left Iverclaire without asking us, didn't you?”

“I don't require your permission to live my life, Dennis.”

“We'll talk about this when we get home,” he said, shooting a glance at Bruce.

“I can imagine Macrath will have something to say about that,” Bruce said.

He wrapped one arm around her and she gladly welcomed it, wishing she didn't feel like she was going to faint at any moment.

“I want to go home,” she said to Bruce. “Not Iverclaire,” she added, frowning at Dennis. “To Drumvagen.”

 

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

B
ruce told himself he wasn't a coward. Courage had nothing to do with not wanting to witness the tearful reunion between Ceana and her flame-­haired daughters.

He couldn't quite escape it entirely because the squeals of little girls could be heard echoing through Drumvagen.

Macrath would need a full report, and he'd deliver it as soon as the happy reunion was over. He'd arranged for the authorities to take possession of Paul Henderson. The man who'd actually performed the abduction, Connor McMahon, wasn't mentioned when he'd explained the situation. He reasoned that saving Ceana was worth a bit of leniency on his part.

Once on the third floor, he unlocked the door of the room he'd been using as his office. Slowly, methodically, he began to pack away his notes on this case. He'd have them crated and sent to his Boston office, along with the maps and notes he'd made of the area.

He'd remain as long as necessary in order to testify or if the authorities needed any additional information. After that, he would go home.

Go home. Strange, thinking about it—­that his big, weathered house didn't feel as much like home as Drumvagen.

Fate had allowed him this time in Scotland but that was all. He was foolish to want more.

“So here you are, then,” the duke said.

He looked up from his desk to find Dennis Mead standing in the doorway. Not a good time for the man to make an appearance, not as annoyed and out of sorts as he was.

“For an American, you're not a bad sort,” Dennis said.

He only inclined his head, not bothering to return the compliment.

Dennis entered the room, moving the only other chair to a position in front of the desk.

“We'll be leaving soon,” he said.

“I'm sure Scotland will be the lesser for it.”

Was he supposed to be polite to the man? The duke had been a barnacle on his backside since appearing at Drumvagen.

“It'll be good for Ceana to be back where she belongs,” Dennis said, eyeing him closely.

Was this some sort of damn test of his tact and tolerance? If so, he was about to spectacularly fail it.

“Why, so you can make sure she's miserable? What's wrong with her being with her family?”

Dennis reared back on his chair. “We are her family.”

“Some family,” he said. “You make sure she's still wearing mourning three years after her husband dies. She has to sneak away from Ireland in order to visit her brother. You come chasing after her the minute she's been gone too long—­according to you. Are you sure you're not her jailer?”

Before Dennis could speak, he added, “I don't think she should go back to Ireland. Her home might have been there once, but it isn't anymore.”

“And where do you think it is? With you?”

“That's not your decision to make, is it?” he asked.

Or his. Only one person could make it. If he was brave enough to give her the choice.

Yes, damn it, he was.

“S
he's no better than she should be,” Brianag said, staring at Ceana and her daughters. “She and the American have been creeping about at night.”

Macrath turned and looked at his housekeeper.

“Ellice was the same,” she said. “Each itching to share a bed with a man.”

“I think it's about time you retired, Brianag,” Macrath said.

The older woman stared at Macrath, her eyes narrowing.

“You should take life a little easier. You're no longer a young woman.”

To Virginia's surprise, Brianag only nodded.

What on earth would Drumvagen be like with Brianag remaining in her cottage in the village? She wouldn't be stomping about Drumvagen all day, issuing dire pronouncements and Celtic curses.

They all loved the old dear in their way, but Brianag's love was sparingly given and only after a test of wills. The only two ­people she was certain Brianag adored were Macrath and Alistair. Even she was regarded with suspicion by the housekeeper.

“You'll send for the wagon, then?” Brianag asked.

Macrath nodded. “Whenever you wish.”

“Sooner done, sooner over.”

She'd never peered into Brianag's room on the third floor and didn't know anyone who had. She couldn't even imagine all the treasures she'd accumulated over the years.

When Brianag left the room, she turned to Macrath.

“Are you really certain you want to pension her off?”

He nodded. “I'm fond of her but I'll not have her scaring Fiona. And I'll not have her telling tales of Ceana.”

“Even if they're true?”

“Are they?” he asked, looking startled.

She wrapped her arm around his and headed for the door of the Great Hall, intent on giving Ceana and her daughters some privacy.

“I don't think she's going back to Ireland,” she began.

Perhaps it was best to warn Macrath that Ceana might very well be traveling to America.

T
wo days later Ceana found her daughters and Fiona on the beach, near the window nature had created in the grotto. They were sitting in a triangle, their skirts filled with rocks and sand, their faces pink from the sun, and their hair tangled by the brine-­tasting wind.

Bruce sat next to them, perched on a rock as if it had been dragged there to act as his throne.

“Look, Mommy,” Nessa said, “Bruce found three more turtle stones for me.”

“And he's promised to take me to the barn to see the new litter of kittens,” Darina said.

“And keep Carlton away,” Fiona added, sending a worshipful gaze toward Bruce.

“You shouldn't be calling him Bruce,” Ceana said. “His name is Mr. Preston.”

“He asked us to,” Darina said, looking affronted. “Didn't you, Bruce?”

He turned his head and nodded once.

He'd made a conquest of the three, that was easy to see. And of her, but hopefully that was less obvious.

Leaving him was going to be difficult.

She pasted a smile on her face and addressed her children. “You need to go gather up your things, girls. We'll be leaving in the morning.”

Darina rolled her eyes. Nessa just sighed.

“Why are you returning to Ireland?” Bruce asked. “I thought you'd decided to stay in Scotland.”

She glanced at him, taken aback.

“Anything you really want could be sent to you, couldn't it?”

“I suppose it could,” she said.

“Are you going only because of your relatives? The duke can be a pushy bastard.”

She bit back her smile. “Yes, he can be.”

“Don't let him badger you into returning.”

“I'm not.” Her heart began a thumping beat.

“Then don't go,” he said, standing.

“Aren't you returning to America soon?” she asked, leaning against the wall of the grotto. She hoped she looked more relaxed than she felt. She could barely breathe.

“I've thought of expanding my business. I might start a Scottish branch.”

“Will you?” Her cheeks were getting warmer, and it wasn't the bright afternoon sun heating her.

All three girls were looking from one adult to the other.

“It seems a worthwhile idea. But for now, I've decided to take a vacation. A holiday, as you call it.”

“You mean you're staying here at Drumvagen?”

Warmth raced through her.

“Macrath has invited me to stay. Only for a while, of course. I might be looking for a house to rent. The house Henderson had is not too far away.” He studied her. “Would it give you any bad memories?”

What was he asking?

“No. I wasn't there long enough to have incurred any bad memories.”

“Good,” he said, nodding. “I might rent it. Or buy it if the price is right.”

“You're thinking of staying here so long?”

He walked the few feet to her. She ignored the girls' giggles as he grabbed both her hands.

“Life is short, Ceana. We both know how short it can be. I've no wish to lose someone I love again, so I'll be staying as long as it's necessary.”

Blinking back her tears, she pulled one hand free and placed it on his cheek, feeling his beard abrade her palm.

She didn't believe in love at first sight. If anything, lust had begun her relationship with Bruce Preston. Yet over the past weeks she'd learned he was so much more than his physical perfection. He amused her. She liked the way he thought and admired his loyalty and his work ethic.

A part of her heart would always belong to Peter, but the rest of her life stretched out before her, empty. It was up to her to fill it with joy and love.

These days at Drumvagen had taught her that lesson.

“I'll court you until you agree to marry me. I'm a very convincing man.”

How blind ­people can be sometimes.

“Oh, Bruce, can't you see I feel the same?”

He glanced over at the girls. “Still, we'll take it slow and proper.”

She leaned close to him. “Must we be entirely proper?” she whispered.

Three little girls squealed and giggled as Bruce whisked her into his arms and kissed her thoroughly.