Chapter Five

M alcolm couldn’t help but laugh. He found Miss Barclay most comical. Aye, they were confined to this carriage, but truly, she could only blame herself for any situation she found herself in.

He gathered his wits and put on a serious face. Her scowl told him she didn’t appreciate his reaction in any way whatsoever. “Might I remind ye that any situation ye now find yourself in is by your own doing?”

Her gaze slid to her maid before landing back on him. “Nay. Ye dinna.” She raised an arched brow as she answered. “Ye have made it abundantly clear what ye think of me.”

“I dinna think I have.”

“Surely, ye jest, Sir. Ye have done naught but look upon me with suspicion.”

He chuckled. “’Twas no’ me that was caught elbow deep in the viscountess’s chest of jewels. I was no’ the one stealing that which doesna belong to me.”

She sat forward, her hands clenched into tiny fists. “Those things do belong to me!” She held up the necklace and shook it in the air. “This belongs to me. I dinna ken how many times I need to tell ye. They are my grandmama’s. Well, were, but that’s beside the point. They belong to my family. They’re mine to keep.”

The lass was so defiant in her argument, it was hard to believe that she wasn’t telling the truth. But he couldn’t wrap his head around the story that she wove. The viscountess being the thief? That made no sense. Why would a woman of wealth risk so much for something she didn’t need?

Now, Miss Barclay? Who kenned if Tolton Hall even existed? She could be leading him on a wild goose chase into the Highlands. What her end game could be, he hadn’t the slightest idea.

But say she was telling the truth, what did that mean for the viscountess? Had she been given the jewelry? How else could she explain how she came into possession of jewelry that was stolen from the Barclay home?

It was a wicked web being weaved. Malcolm wasn’t sure he wanted to be a part of it. And as frustrating as Miss Barclay was, he still found her entertaining in her defiance.

“Say they are yours. Why were they at the Wilsons’?”

She blew out an exasperated breath, throwing her hands up in the air. “I dinna ken how many times I need to explain the same thing to ye,” she said, her voice low in irritation. “She stole them from my family.”

He shook his head. “I dinna believe it. What would be her reasoning?”

Miss Barclay shrugged her shoulders. “I dinna ken. Mayhap she thought they were pretty.” She held up the necklace and looked at it admiringly. “Ye have to agree ’tis a beautiful piece.”

His throat was suddenly dry. The look of pure adoration on her face had Malcolm once again questioning his reconnaissance skills. He’d uncovered spies and traitors for the crown for Christ’s sake. Could this woman sitting across from him demanding her innocence be pulling the wool over his eyes?

Mayhap he was blinded by her beauty, which was most definitely impossible to ignore. Her honeysuckle perfume filled the interior of the carriage and tickled his nose. A pleasant scent that fit her well. With each breath she took, her chest heaved, causing her breasts to lift and he found himself having to continuously avert his gaze, lest he find himself, scooting to his knees in front of her and burying his face in her soft curves.

He shook his head trying to clear the erotic images prancing about like they were the only thing he needed to think about. He’d be damned if he let this woman bring him to his knees. He’d never let anyone else have such a hold on him, he sure as hell wouldn’t let this one.

“Tell me, my lord. Are ye married?”

“Pardon?” That was indeed a quick shift into an entirely different topic of conversation. Right away, he knew she was trying to draw his attention away from her thievery. He’d allow it for now, but he wasn’t so sure this was the best conversation to be had considering his thoughts.

“A wife? Is there a Lady Kennedy waiting for ye at home? I would hate to ken what she is thinking about ye traveling with a maiden. Alone, I might add.”

It was his turn to scowl at her implication. “We arena alone.” He dipped his head in Mary’s direction. “Your maid is here. Alas, I havena a wife.” Nor did he want one. He was perfectly happy single. Free to bed who he wanted, when he wanted. Which wasn’t to say he hadn’t had a lass or two try to trick him into marriage. He had. Obviously, they had been unsuccessful, and he had no interest in being saddled to a woman.

Even a beauty such as Miss Barclay. Although a quick romp wasn’t something he would reject if it were offered. He belonged to no one and planned to keep it that way.

“Surely someone as braw as ye has had many marriage prospects, nay?”

He schooled his features, uncomfortable with her line of inquiries. “And what of ye? Are ye no’ of marrying age. Certainly by now ye have been introduced into Society. Why have ye no’ married? Or do ye have a husband waiting for ye back in Stonehaven?”

“I most certainly do no’,” she snapped. “There isna anyone who has asked me.”

He chortled. “I bet. Your countenance would scare off any man looking for a wife.”

She gasped. “Ye, sir, are verra rude.” She straightened in her seat, pressing her lips so tightly together they turned white as she avoided his eyes. “My parents are in no hurry for me to marry,” she finally added.

“Or,” he drawled, “they’ve been unsuccessful in finding a match that will put up with your smart tongue.”

Her mouth rounded in shock. “Ye canna speak to me in such a way. I thought titled men of the upper echelons of society were well-mannered. Ye, sir, are the exact opposite.”

“Miss,” Mary whispered sharply. “Mind your words,” she warned.

“Me? Mary, please. Ye have heard how he’s spoken to me. He’s been rude since we first met.”

“With good reason.”

“Says who?”

And they’d circled back around to the reason they found themselves confined in this carriage. He was growing tired of the redundancy.

“I suggest we hold our tongues for some time and enjoy the ride.” He reached into his pocket and drew out some papers he had to review, effectively dismissing the lass.

Something she wasn’t happy about judging by the way she harrumphed and once again folded her arms on her chest. Every time she did so, she drew more attention to her bosom and he fought the urge to stare.

“I can see why ye arena married.” She broke the silence that had lasted for less than a minute.

Damn, the lass liked to yammer.

He said naught. Only looked at her as he waited for her to continue, which she surely would.

“Aye. Ye are crude and your demeanor is most unwelcoming. A woman wants to be loved, not regarded as a nuisance, which is most certainly how ye would treat her.” She sat back, glaring at him, with a smirk lifting the corners of her mouth.

She was purposely trying to rile him. He would not fall for her antics.

“Marriage isna always about love. More oft than no’ ’tis about business. Surely your parents must have explained this to ye. Unfortunately for ye, even coin canna save ye, which is why ye find yourself still on the marriage mart.”

“Ugh, ye are truly incorrigible. Has anyone e’er told ye that?”

He shrugged. “Mayhap a time or two. But I must note, that ye didna deny my assessment.”

She turned in her seat, facing the window, and doing her best to give him her back. Mary hid her smile behind her hand as she patted Miss Barclay’s shoulder.

“Mayhap ’tis a good idea to try to rest your eyes, Miss. We still have a long journey ahead before we stop.”

Malcolm listened for her answer, but Miss Barclay for once, remained silent.

He had thought that was what he wanted, but he found he missed her obstinance. He had enjoyed their banter. He found the way she refused to bow down to him refreshing.

It affected him in a most unexpected way. And he wasn’t sure what to do with the feelings that were running rampant through his head right now.

*

Lizzie abhorred long carriage rides. It was why she usually passed the time in idle chitchat. Something the earl obviously did not find favor in.

He’d been reading the papers he’d plucked out of his pocket for what seemed like hours, the only sound was the carriage wheels as they bounced over the gravel of the road.

She hid a yawn behind her hand and wondered how much longer it would be before they stopped for a rest. The number of times she’d had to bite her lip to stop from talking were too many to count.

Unable to take the silence anymore, she spoke up. “My lord. Can we stop soon? I find my legs in need of a stretch.”

Lord Kennedy looked at her over the edge of his papers, his brow cocked up as he pondered her question.

“I suppose ye are right, Miss.” He knocked on the carriage wall, alerting the coachman to stop.

Once the carriage rocked to a halt, the door swung open.

“My lord?” the coachman asked.

“Aye. The ladies need a brief respite to stretch their legs and take care of personal matters. Any concerns?”

The man shook his head. “Nay, my lord.”

The earl nodded and stepped out of the carriage, turning and offering her his hand. “Miss Barclay.”

She accepted his offer, the heat of his hand sending bolts of warmth up her arm. As annoying as she found her, her…what was he? Her host? Her guardian? Nay, her jailor. As annoying as she found her jailor, she couldn’t tamp down her body’s reaction every time they touched.

With Mary by her side, she looked around at her surroundings. Thick pine trees lined either side of the road. Storm clouds were moving in and she expected before long they would be riding through inclement weather.

“Great,” she mumbled under her breath and stomped around the carriage toward the trees.

“Dinna wander far, Miss,” the earl ordered.

She straightened. Something in the way he barked out commands, as if she were a soldier, irked her. Grating on her nerves. Just because he thought her a thief didn’t mean that he could take over every minute of her life.

“We will be far enough to afford us some privacy. Your coachman said ’tis a safe spot. We will be fine. Come, Mary.” She grasped Mary’s hand and pulled her along. A few feet into the woods and when she turned around, she could barely see the carriage.

They could run and easily get lost in the trees. It would be an option if she knew where they were. Alas, she hadn’t a clue, so running wasn’t an option. But the thought remained in her mind. If the opportunity presented itself, she would run in a heartbeat. She still had her grandmama’s necklace. She only needed to get the earl to hand over the earrings as well. Once she had possession of both, there was no reason why she shouldn’t try to escape his clutches.

“Miss, I dinna think we should stray too far from the road. We will ne’er find our way out.”

Mary was right, of course, but Lizzie’s rebellious side was tempted to see how far she could go or how long she could be gone before the earl came looking for them.

A roar of thunder rumbled through the air. She jumped at the sound and all thoughts of running left her mind. She hated the thunder. Always had. Ever since she was a young child.

Another rumble and she gathered her skirts. “Mary, let us make haste and get back to the shelter of the carriage afore the storm catches us out here.”

“Aye, Miss.”

They hurried through relieving themselves and quickly made their way back.

The earl stood on the edge of the road waiting for them to emerge. As they did, a bolt of lightning cracked nearby, and Lizzie yelped as she jumped.

Concern etched his handsome face as he hurried her into the carriage, and then Mary before climbing in himself.

Rain came pounding down on the roof of the carriage and the skies grew dark.

“Damn it,” the earl cursed before looking at her sheepishly. “Pardon my crass words, Miss.”

The thunder boomed and she cried out again, grasping for Mary’s hand and clenching it tightly.

“Are ye all right?” he asked, brows drawn together in worry.

She was shivering and he quickly removed his jacket and placed it on her shoulders. His spicy scent enveloped her. Something she would have savored if she weren’t on the verge of panic.

“’Tis just a storm, Miss. ’Twill pass quickly.”

“Miss Barclay doesna care for storms o’ermuch,” Mary explained as she rubbed her hand up and down Lizzie’s back, trying to calm her nerves.

“I can see that. It came on quickly, let us hope that it clears out as quick.”

Lightning lit up the interior of the carriage and she shrunk back.

She could feel the earl’s eyes on her, studying her. He must think her a fool for her reaction. He more than likely thought her juvenile in her reaction.

“Did ye have a bad experience with a storm, Lass?” he queried.

She had. When she was very young. She remembered traveling with her parents when a storm had taken them unawares. They were outside. In a forest. The lightning hit a tree close to them, causing it to split and fall, landing on her father, crushing his leg.

She could still hear his cry of pain. Her mother’s scream of fear as she called out for help. But they were walking alone. Lizzie had to run back to Tolton Hall for help. Her brother had been visiting relatives so he hadn’t been there to help.

Their gardener and stable boys ran to her when she came screaming through the grounds. With their strength they were able to lift the tree off her father’s leg and carry him back home where they called for the physician.

Her father still walked with a slight limp to this day. The whole experience was traumatic, and every storm brought her back to that feeling of helplessness. She’d thought she’d lost her father that day.

Unable to stop shaking, she just nodded her head.

The earl moved onto his knees in front of her, taking her hands in his and forcing her to look at him. “Lass, I promise ye. Naught will happen to ye. We are safe.”

Another flash of lightning followed by a loud boom of thunder caused her to jump and she couldn’t hold back a scream.

Immediately, he gathered her in his strong arms, and sat her on his lap. He rocked them back and forth, stroking his fingers up and down her back as he told her everything would be fine. She buried her face in his chest, not caring that what they were doing was wrong. She just wanted to feel safe.

He began singing softly, his deep voice soothing as he sang the words with such emotion she couldn’t help but concentrate on him.

The sound of him.

The feel of him.

The scent of him.

Just him.