Seduced by a Rogue (47 page)

“Aye, of course, I am,” she said. “Who are you?”

“Kirkhill,” he said.

She frowned. “Should I know you? Is that all anyone calls you?”

“People call me several things, depending on who they are. Some call me Seyton of Kirkhill. As I am Will’s cousin, you and
I are clearly kin by marriage, so you may call me Richard if you like, or Dickon.”

“I’ll call you Kirkhill. I warrant it must be Lord Kirkhill, though.”

“More to the purpose, my mother is that old scoundrel’s sister,” he said.

“Sakes, I did not know he
had
a sister!”

“I think she’d liefer not be one,” he said with a slight smile. “But he did send word to us that he was dying and bade me
hurry to Spedlins Tower.”

“Then I expect I should go and tell him you are here and see if he will receive you,” she said with a sigh.

“Nay, my lady. I did not come here to kick my heels whilst my uncle takes his time to decide whether he truly wants to see
me. You will take me to him. First, though, I want to hear what happened to Will.”

“So would we all,” she said with a grimace.

“Sakes, do you not know? Jardine’s messenger told me that my uncle was on his deathbed and that I was to be his heir, so I
assumed Will must be dead. But as you’ve said you might be either the heir’s wife or its mother…” He paused.

“Aye,” she said, touching her belly again. “In troth, I do not know which. See you, Will was here and then he was not. He’s
been gone for over a fortnight.”

“I hope you will pardon me if I ask if you and he were actually married. I am sure that no one told my mother of any such
occasion.”

“Aye, sure, we were,” she said with an angry flash in her eyes. “If my good-father did not tell his sister, I am sure that
is not my fault.”

“Nay, it would not be,” he agreed.

Looking away, she added, “My good-father has clearly called you here for no reason, sir. Doubtless, you would do better just
to turn around and go back to wherever you came from.”

“Do I look like the sort of man who would do that?” he asked gently.

She met his gaze again. This time he detected wariness in her eyes.

Seventeen-year-old Lady Fiona Jardine did not at all think that the man facing her was one who would cheerfully go away just
because she had suggested that course. In truth, she was not sure what to make of him.

He was taller than she was by nearly a head, and looked as if he might be twice as broad across the shoulders. He did not
look much like the dark Jardines. His hair was the color of dark honey and curly, and his face revealed dark stubble, revealing
that no one had shaven him for a day or two. But he moved with athletic grace, spoke well, and seemed very sure of himself.
She envied him that confidence, remembering a time when she had enjoyed similar self-assurance.

But
was she actually married
? What a question to ask one! A true gentleman would never challenge a lady so. At least, she did not think one would, but
the truth was that she had not met many gentlemen.

The only ones that came quickly to mind were her deceased father, her sister’s husband, Robert Maxwell, and her cousin Jenny’s
husband, Sir Hugh Douglas. She scarcely knew the latter two, though, and she certainly did not count her cantankerous good-father
as a gentleman. Nor would she count her husband so if Will was still among the living.

But gentleman or not, Kirkhill did not look like a patient man. And, if he was kin to Old Jardine and to Will, she would be
wise to do as he told her.

“Come this way, my lord,” she said quietly, and turned toward the kitchen.

They passed through that vaulted chamber and up the winding stairs to the hall, crossing it to the inner chamber behind the
dais.

She paused then, glancing at her unwanted companion. “His chamber is no pleasant place,” she told him. “And my good-father
will be in no good humor.”

“I’ll bear up,” he said, leaning past her to open the door and gesturing for her to precede him inside.

Grimacing, she did. The odors of Jardine’s sickness were strong, and she wanted the business over quickly. Her companion,
however, showed no sign of minding the noisome atmosphere.

The fat old man was awake, propped on pillows, glowering at her through his piggy eyes. His personal servant hovered over
him, holding a cup in his hand.

Old Jardine waved him away. “What d’ye want, lass? I ha’ told ye afore that ye must rap on the door and wait till ye’re admitted.”

“That was my doing, Uncle,” Kirkhill said, urging her farther into the room with a touch of his hand.

“Richard! ’Tis yourself, then? Ye’ve come? By, but I’d scarcely know ye!”

“I warrant I was no more than seven when last we met, for I’ve not been next or nigh this place since then. And apparently
I’ve come on a fool’s errand now.”

“’Tis no foolish thing to answer the cry of a dying man,” Jardine muttered, his voice suddenly much weaker.

Fiona nearly rolled her eyes. She did not believe he was any weaker than he had been a moment before. Evidently Kirkhill agreed
with her, because his voice took on an edge as he said, “But why did you declare yourself dying and me your heir? I expect
the first part may be true, but the second is plainly false.”

“D’ye think so? Only God kens the answer to that.”

Fiona gritted her teeth. She would have liked to remove herself from the old man’s presence, but curiosity bade her stay as
long as they allowed it.

Kirkhill said, “Your good-daughter is obviously with child, Uncle. And she assures me that Will and she are married.”

“Aye, ’tis true he did marry her, the young fool.”

“From your message, I thought he must be dead,” Kirkhill went on with a new note in his voice, a harder one, that made Fiona
look quickly at him to try to judge what manner of man he might be.

Not that she counted herself a good judge of men, for she knew she was not. But she
had
learned to recognize certain important things about them. So she studied him carefully as he continued to gaze sternly at
his uncle.

Old Jardine continued to look at him, too, as if he were also sizing him up.

When the old man’s silence made it clear that he had forgotten the question or did not choose to reply, Kirkhill added softly,
“
Is
Will dead, Uncle?”

“He must be.”

“Even if he is, why did you say I was to be your heir? I don’t like liars.” As soft as his voice was now, it sent a chill
right through Fiona.

Old Jardine said in his usual curt way, “Nor do I
tell
lies. We’ve no seen our Will now for weeks, so he must be dead, like I said. Nowt but a grave would keep that lad away this
long without any word to me.”

“The English have been restless, breaking the truce by sending raiders across the line just east of here,” Kirkhill said.
“Mayhap he got himself captured or killed.”

“D’ye think he’d ha’ kept his name to himself? He’d ha’ told them he were my son straightaway, and I’d ha’ got a demand for
his ransom. I’d ha’ paid it, too, for Will. He’s naebody’s prisoner,” he added. “It has been too long.”

“If he is dead, you
will
soon have an heir or an heiress,” Kirkhill said, gesturing toward Fiona.

“Faugh,” Jardine snorted. “I’ll believe that when I see the bairn. Sithee, she’ll more than likely lose it afore it be birthed.
Her own mam lost more bairns than anyone else I’ve ever heard tell of.”

“I won’t lose
my
child,” Fiona said evenly.

“Aye, well, whether the bairn comes or no, Richard, I want ye to find out what became of my Will. I thought if I let ye know
that ye stand to inherit Applegarth, ye’d come here, and so ye did. I’ve also willed it that ye’re to look after the place
when I die if Will doesna come home. Ye’ll do that right enough, I’m thinking, for a tithe from the rents.”

“I will, aye,” Kirkhill said. “I’d do that for anyone, tithe or none.”

“I named ye guardian for the bairn, too,” Jardine said, shooting Fiona a look.

“My child won’t need any guardian but me,” she said.

“Even an I believed that, which I do not, ’tis my duty to name someone
suitable
to look after his interest here, and to look after yours, too, aye,” he said.

Wondering if that were true, she looked at Kirkhill.

He met her gaze with a stern look that somehow reassured her even as he gave a slight nod and added, “That
is
true, my lady. However, you should have someone you trust to look after your interest, a kinsman of your own.”

“Should I?” Fiona said. “My good-brothers live at some distance from here, and my father is dead. I do have an uncle who served
the Lord of Galloway, but I’ve not seen him these past three years, so he may be dead, too, for all I know.”

“They ha’ nowt to do wi’ her, any road, and I dinna want any o’ them here,” Jardine growled. “Get hence now, lass. I would
talk wi’ Kirkhill alone.”

When the lady Fiona had gone, Kirkhill faced his uncle. “I expect you think I should just drop anything else I might be doing
and stay here.”

“Nay, I’m none so daft as that. Moreover, I’m good to look after things myself for a time yet. I just wanted ye to know how
ye stand. Applegarth will be yours if Will be dead and the bairn also dies. I’d like a lad o’ Will’s to inherit, but I’m none
so sure that I’d want one wi’ that lass as his mam. God will decide that matter, I expect.”

“He will, aye,” Kirkhill agreed.

“Aye, sure, but I’ll be damned afore I’ll see any
daughter
o’ hers taking Applegarth, so ye’ll see to it
that
doesna happen,” he added with a straight look.

“If I did not know better, I might think you mean me to do away with her.”

“Aye, well, if I thought ye would, we might make a bargain o’ sorts, for I’ve nae use for her. Too hot at hand for any man
and doesna take well to schooling. Moreover, I’ve a strong notion that if my Will’s dead, she killed him. Sithee, she were
the last one to see him alive, and he were gey displeased wi’ her.”

Kirkhill concealed his distaste, saying only, “I’ll gladly see what I can learn of his whereabouts, Uncle. Mayhap I should
look for someone from his lady wife’s family, too, in the event that she needs someone to look after her interests.”

“Nay, then, ye’ll look after Applegarth, so ye’ll look after her, too. Mayhap we’ll talk more anon, but I’m tired now. Ye’ll
stay the night.”

Mayhap he would, Kirkhill decided. He had little interest in talking further with Old Jardine, but he did want to learn more
about Will’s lovely lady.

She was waiting outside the door for him.

“He thinks that I killed Will,” Fiona said without preamble, knowing the old man would have lost no time in expressing his
suspicion of her.

“He did tell me as much,” Kirkhill answered honestly. “I doubt that it’s true, though. Unless Will was even weaker than my
uncle seems to be now, I doubt that you could have managed it, particularly in your present condition.”

“That is kind of you, sir, because I’m nearly sure I didn’t,” she said.

His eyebrows arced upward. “
Nearly
sure?”