Chapter Twenty-Two

‘What do we do?' Grace whispered, trying very hard to hold back the panic. Her two oldest children were five hundred miles away and could even now be embroiled in a Clan war.'

Nicholas sighed and tossed the letters onto the table. Then he stepped towards his wife and enfolded her in his arms. ‘They have Malcolm with them,' he soothed. ‘His letter clearly states that he will not allow any harm to come to either Peter or Jennifer. He will give his life to protect them.'

‘But what if he has to do just that?' Grace wailed into his chest. ‘Child slavery, a clan chief who's dicked in the nob…' She trailed off and allowed the tears to fall.

The letters had been written three days earlier, the messenger arriving in the early hours, exhausted and white faced. Clearly, the man must have ridden almost nonstop to get to Blackmore so quickly.

‘We will leave immediately,' Nicholas assured her. ‘But in truth, by the time we get there, their intended rescue will have either succeeded or not and we'll be faced with the aftermath.' He stepped back and gripped Grace's arms. ‘Look at me sweetheart,' he demanded gently. As she raised her tear-stained face, he said, ‘Peter is a man grown. I trust him to deal with the situation. He has Malcolm, and, from what he said in the letter, Caerlaverock's new steward. He has assured me that he will not allow the situation to get out of hand. His only concern is to get the remaining children out of the mine as quickly and painlessly as possible. He will not show his hand.'

Grace bit her lip, then sniffed and nodded. ‘Felicity said how like you Peter is.' Then she gave a watery smile and added, ‘I only hope he doesn't allow Jenny to get involved.'

‘Rest assured, dearest, he will lock her up if he has to – he said that in the letter too.'

∞∞∞

The rest of the day passed in a blur of activity, and Jennifer had no time to discuss her proposal to her brother. Likely that was a good thing she told herself. A decision as life changing as the one she'd just made should first be discussed with her parents – not least because Peter was liable to declare her addled.

Neither had she had the time to speak further with Brendon. No mention was made of what had happened between them, and Jennifer was beginning to wonder whether she'd imagined their connection. Oh, not on her side, but perhaps what she'd chosen to believe was love on Brendon's side, had been nothing more than the scratching of an itch. Then she remembered his endearment while they were in the loch.

He'd called her sweetheart. And she could still see the look in his eyes as he'd said it. He may not realise it yet, but Brendon Galbraith was as much in love with her as she was with him.

She just needed to convince him of it - preferably before her parents arrived…

Of course, underneath the relief that they'd been successful in rescuing all twenty-two children, they were anxiously awaiting news from the MacFarlane Clan. Had Duncan MacFarlane succeeded in his bid to take over as the Chieftain? Until they knew for sure, it was essential they remain ready for whatever revenge Alistair MacFarlane might decide to seek. If he was still in command, he was almost certainly aware by now that the children were gone.

Their six footmenhad been rounded up in Banalan and brought back to Caerlaverock where Peter and Malcolm informed them of everything that had happened. Under their leader's watchful eyes, the men were currently cleaning their weapons and scouring the small armoury for anything that might be useful should a confrontation arise.

Then, an hour before sunset, a rider was spotted on the Lochside, another horse trailing behind him on a lead rein.

Ordering Chapman to keep his men out of sight, Peter gave instructions to allow the stranger entry through the main gate before heading outside flanked by Malcolm and Brendon.

The next ten minutes felt like hours as the three men waited for the visitor to reach the courtyard. They'd been unable to determine whether the man was wearing MacFarlane colours, though judging by the fracas taking place in the sitting room to the Viscount's left, the Reverend and Dougal were still fighting over the field glasses.

At length, the man's mount trotted underneath the archway, finally halting in the middle of the courtyard. Peter's heart slammed against his ribs as he recognised the MacFarlane colours.

‘I am Viscount Holsworthy, Heir Apparent to the Duke of Blackmore. What brings you to Caerlaverock?' His voice was self-assured - aloof but not hostile - and Brendon felt a surge of admiration. Truly, Peter Sinclair would be a formidable successor to his father when the time finally came.

In answer, the rider climbed down from his horse and strode towards them, stopping a full six feet away.

‘Ah hae a message fer the Laird,' he growled.

Peter felt the sweat form in the centre of his back. ‘I am the Laird's representative,' he answered. ‘You may give the message to me.'

A small silence, then, ‘The MacFarlane bids me tell ye it be done.' He stared pointedly at all three men, before adding, ‘An' he be lookin' forrit tae speakin' wi' his grace verra soon.' Without waiting for a response, he returned to his horse and swiftly remounted – no mean feat without a mounting block.

Untying, then dropping the lead rein of the horse standing behind him, the warrior spoke directly to Brendon. ‘The beast be yer da's. Ah'm tae tell ye, we used the wagon fer firewood.'

And with that, he turned his mount about and seconds later was gone

∞∞∞

That night's dinner was the most lighthearted since arriving at Caerlaverock.

Peter especially felt as though the weight of the entire world had fallen from his shoulders. As much as part of him had relished the challenge, there was another, admittedly smaller, childish part that longed to lay the burden at his father's feet. The Viscount gave a dark chuckle and took a sip of his wine. Clearly, his father had not anticipated his son and heir's first unaccompanied visit to Scotland would be quite such a baptism of fire…

Brendon, Peter and Gifford had been invited for dinner, and despite grumbling that the wee bairns were giein her more trouble than they be worth, Mrs. Darroch had made sure that the cook produced a meal worthy of a king.

‘When do you think Mama and Papa will arrive?' Jennifer asked Peter, who in turn looked at Malcolm. The Scot gave a wicked grin. ‘Would ye care tae lay a bet on it ladies and gentlemen?' he demanded, using his best carnival voice. ‘I say their graces will be here in exactly a sennight.'

‘Who's keeping record?' laughed Peter, getting into the spirit of things.

‘Being a man of the cloth, I'd better be the one laying the odds,' Reverend Shackleford declared piously, rummaging around his cassock for the piece of charcoal he and Dougal had used to such effect on Inveruglas.

With much laughter they each declared a date at which they believed the Duke and Duchess would arrive and the wager they were prepared to put on it.

Jennifer surreptitiously watched Brendon as the banter continued. He looked more relaxed and animated than she'd ever seen him. Mayhap worrying about the children had been weighing more heavily on him than she'd realised. Then she thought back to the moment she'd announced her intention to stay in Caerlaverock, to the subtle loosening of his stance as he'd listened to her ideas. Slowly, she felt a sense of rightness, of belonging, which she'd never experienced before. And she knew, without doubt, that she was the reason for his sudden ease.

Getting him to admit it though might be an uphill struggle. Nevertheless, she was up to the challenge…

∞∞∞

Something had been bothering Reverend Shackleford, ever since he'd felt that brief sense of things slotting into place. He didn't know why he should feel quite so surprised. After all, he regularly told his congregation that the Almighty moved in mysterious ways, and he himself had seen evidence of it on more occasions than he could count.

Sitting in front of the fire, his thoughts went to his oldest friend. He hated to say it, but Percy did not possess the resourcefulness of Dougal Galbraith – or the wiliness. Sometimes he thought his curate might well be too good for this world. Though he may never have actually said it, the Reverend was glad Percy had found Lizzy. They were perfect together, and in truth, she was much more a clergyman's wife than Agnes would ever be.

Then he thought back to the slight sadness he'd often noticed in her eyes when she watched the many children that seemed to be continually visiting Blackmore - toodeuced many of them in the Reverend's opinion.

Percy and Lizzy had never had any children. It could have been that they'd been too old by the time they wed, but Reverend Shackleford didn't think it was by choice. In fairness, it wasn't a subject that ever came up during the times he and Percy spent at the Red Lion.

And, if he was being entirely honest, the Reverend had never really given it a second thought, until now.

What would they do if he turned up at Blackmore with Finn in tow?

Earlier, when he'd taken his customary stroll around the garden, the lad had sought him out again, specifically to be a pain in the arse as far as the Reverend could tell. But just before the boy left, he'd repeated his desire to go to Blackmore.

Was Finn's wish simply eggs in the moonshine, or could he possibly find a home with Percy and Lizzy?

∞∞∞

The next day Jennifer rose early, determination fuelling her feet.

While she'd thought to keep her own counsel until her parents arrived, she'd realised, lying awake in the early hours, that she would have to share at least some of her ideas with Peter if only to halt the process of finding the children somewhere to go. Caerlaverock certainly wasn't equipped to house so many youngsters for any length of time, but Jennifer knew that once the children went to the poorhouse, they might very well be lost. And she was determined that that wouldn't happen.

Organisation was the key.

Five hours later, Peter declared her the bossiest woman alive.

Jennifer knew her brother didn't really expect her to remain in Scotland, despite their earlier discussion about her feelings for Brendon. Neither had broached the subject since – though in truth, there hadn't really been the time – but when she sought him out to sow the seeds of her plan for the children, she could see in his eyes the gradual realisation of her intention, though neither voiced it. There was time enough for that when their parents arrived.

Next on her list was Brendon. He might be more at ease knowing she wouldn't be leaving Caerlaverock at the end of the month as planned, but that didn't mean he now believed they could be together.

It was time she put an end to his foolishness.

When she asked MacNee if he'd seen Brendon, the butler told her he understood Mr. Galbraith to be down at the old boathouse. Perfect.

Without telling anyone where she was going, Jennifer shrugged on her shawl and headed in search of her husband-to-be…

As she approached the wooden structure, she could hear someone – presumably Brendon – hammering. As she reached the door, there was a sudden pause and a muttered expletive. Thinking he might have hurt himself, Jennifer shoved the door open and promptly fell over the lengths of wood that were lying in front of it.

As she rolled over onto her back with a groan, she heard him swear again, and drop his tools. Seconds later he was crouching down next to her prone form. ‘What dae ye think ye be doin'?' he quizzed her, unconsciously repeating the words from their first meeting. Only this time instead of adding the word eejit, he used her name. ‘Jenny.'

She made no attempt to move. Indeed, she didn't think she'd be able to – even if she tried. It wasn't because she'd been injured, but rather the realisation that he wasn't wearing a shirt. Speechless, she gazed up at his naked torso, her eyes travelling wonderingly from the hard planes of his stomach up to the solid muscle of his chest. The whole area was covered in a smattering of coal black curling hair that started at his belly button. She couldn't breathe.

The slightly amused look on his face turned abruptly to concern. ‘Jennifer,' he barked, ‘be ye injured?' He leaned down over her, his hands placed flat on the wooden floor, arms bent as he searched her face.

Without thought, Jennifer reached up and slid her arms around his neck, and this time, instead of tugging him towards her, she pulled herself upwards until her breasts were flattened against his naked chest and shamelessly, pressed her lips against his. There was the briefest of pauses, then with a low groan, his mouth opened over hers and he leaned back onto his haunches, taking her with him, his arms wrapping tightly around her back.

This time Brendon didn't hold back. His mouth plundered hers as though clinging to a life raft as their kiss finally turned into an all-consuming melding of mouths that demanded nothing less than his complete and utter surrender.

Brendon Galbraith was hers, now and always.