Highland Heiress

chapter Fourteen



“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Moira shouted, her grip tightening on her reins.

His face and hands and clothes black with soot, Big Jack MacKracken came out from behind a half-fallen wall.

“Why are you here?” Moira demanded as her men rode up beside her and Jem reached for his riding crop.

Big Jack didn’t answer. He stood where he was and, to Moira’s even greater surprise, Lillibet came around the wall, her face and hands and clothing equally dirty. She smiled up at her father before saying, “We’re cleaning away the burned wood from inside, my lady.”

Moira wouldn’t have believed that explanation if Big Jack had been here by himself. Since Lillibet was with him, it seemed more plausible. Unfortunately, however, as she knew from sad experience, a daughter might be all too willing to make excuses for an errant parent’s behavior.

“Is that so, MacKracken?” she asked, nudging her horse a little closer.

“Aye, my lady,” he said, his face reddening beneath the soot as he twisted his equally filthy cap in his big hands.

She halted her horse and, after a moment’s hesitation, dismounted. “I thought you didn’t approve of my school.”

“Well, my lady, it’s like this,” the big man began, shuffling his feet like an embarrassed lad. “I didn’t hold with it, but that don’t mean I’m willin’ to let some ruffians come to Dunbrachie and burn anything. Seems the least I can do is offer a bit of a hand with the cleaning up.”

It was a start, anyway. “I’m grateful for your help,” she answered sincerely. She was about to offer to pay him, when Robbie’s stinging words about being an arrogant Lady Bountiful came to her mind. “Thank you.”

Nevertheless she simply couldn’t let this opportunity to speak on behalf of his children pass without further comment. “Perhaps when my school’s rebuilt, you’ll let Lillibet come. She’s a very clever girl—just the sort any shopkeeper would be happy to hire if she could read and do figures.”

“I’ll think on it,” Big Jack muttered, glancing down at his daughter, who looked up at him as if she’d just been given a seat at a banquet.

Moira didn’t press him further. “Will you show me what you’ve done?”

“Aye, my lady,” he replied with a nod.



“A most excellent recovery,” the doctor said two days later as he packed up his medical bag after examining the bandage over Gordon’s eye and his side, leaving his patient to gingerly button his nightshirt. “I think another day or two, and you should be able to ride in a carriage. Not if it goes a gallop, of course, but a nice leisurely journey should be possible.”

“Thank you, Doctor, for your excellent care,” Gordon replied, knowing he should sound happy, even if he wasn’t.

Well, he was glad to hear he was healing; he wasn’t so happy to hear he could leave, even though he had no right to stay.

Mrs. McAlvey, standing near the door, delicately cleared her throat. “I had a most excellent nurse, too,” Gordon said.

“Indeed, you have. Mrs. McAlvey is one of the best.”

The older woman justifiably beamed. “I’ll be glad to continue, if you need my help when you go home.”

“Thank you,” Gordon said.

“Ah, my lady!” the doctor exclaimed as Lady Moira herself appeared on the threshold.

As always, she was simply but exquisitely dressed, her glossy brown hair modestly styled, her gown a day dress of pale green sprigged muslin. Most beautiful of all was her shy smile, yet it was even more thrilling to know that beneath that bashful exterior lurked an amazingly passionate woman.

Even though she had only looked in on him briefly at night and in the morning for the past two days, his admiration and desire had not diminished. If anything, his appreciation for her excellent qualities and his own passionate yearnings had increased, so that he longed for those few brief moments in her company or even just a glimpse of her smile.

“I don’t know what you’ve been feeding this young man,” the doctor declared, “but his recovery is remarkable. Mr. McHeath should be quite fit to travel in another day or two.”

“So soon?”

He mustn’t attach any significance to her surprised query. Or think that was disappointment in her doe-brown eyes. He’d learned the folly of thinking a woman’s reaction or expressions meant more than they did. Hadn’t he?

“If he wishes,” Dr. Campbell confirmed.

And he really had to go home. “My clients were expecting me to return in a fortnight,” he said as much to himself as to her and the others.

“Sir Robert came when you were first brought here and he said he would inform someone named Mitford,” she replied.

How difficult it must have been for her to talk to Robbie—another debt he could likely never repay. “Mitford’s a solicitor friend who’s working with my clients while I’m away. But he has his own practice, so I shouldn’t be away longer than necessary.”

Even if he wanted to.

He couldn’t gauge her reaction to that.

“Will Mr. McHeath be well enough to travel all the way to Edinburgh, Doctor?”

The doctor’s brow furrowed. “I had assumed he would be returning to Sir Robert’s.”

Before Gordon could correct him, Lady Moira said, “Sir Robert isn’t at home. He’s gone to Edinburgh.”

Gordon stared at her in surprise. Why had Robbie gone there? Had he decided to tell Mitford what had happened in person—or did he have another, more self-centered reason for going? A debt? A woman? Because he simply wanted to?

Gordon could believe any or all of those explanations might be the right one.

“Is that so?” Dr. Campbell said as he closed his black leather bag with a snap. “In that case, I would recommend that Mr. McHeath stay here another few days.”

“Not if my presence is an imposition,” Gordon said quickly, resolved not to be a burden for Lady Moira, or cause her any more trouble.

“You’re most welcome to stay,” she said, her voice calm and even, without enthusiasm—or reluctance, though, either.

Dr. Campbell’s glance went from one to the other before he said, “I’ll see myself out,” and started for the door.

“I’d like a word with you, Doctor, about what Mr. McHeath ought to be eating,” Mrs. McAlvey said, following him.

“Of course.”

After the doctor had gone out, the older woman paused and looked back from the doorway, her expression grave, but her eyes shining with sympathy, making her as beautiful as an angel of mercy as she addressed Lady Moira. “However Mr. McHeath may be acting, he’s still weak as a kitten so you should only stay for a little while, my lady. Nobody I’ve nursed has ever had a setback and I won’t have Mr. McHeath be the first.”

“I’ll only be a moment,” Lady Moira assured her.

Only a moment, but it was more time than he’d had alone with her since that exciting, memorable encounter in the lane.

Mrs. McAlvey nodded and went out, leaving the door open, as was only proper.

Unfortunately, once they were alone, Gordon found it difficult to think clearly, and not because of his injuries. He’d never been so nervous in a woman’s presence before. He owed Lady Moira so much, yet all he could think about was kissing her.

Fortunately, she kept a careful distance from the bed. “Is there anything you need?”

You. “No, thank you, my lady. You’ve already done enough—more than enough.”

He was afraid she might leave. He wanted her to stay, even if he could only look at her, to see her lovely, sweet face and the play of light and intelligence and vitality in her eyes.

She didn’t leave, and he grasped the opportunity while he had it.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t prevent your school from being destroyed. I shouldn’t have investigated on my own. Next time, I’ll go back for reinforcements before I attempt any interventions.”

“Next time?” she asked, raising a brow as she came a little closer. “First you rescue me from that dog, then you try to stop those vandals single-handedly. Is it your habit to act like a hero?”

He laughed, then winced at the brief spasm of pain that elicited. “Not until I came to Dunbrachie,” he said, putting his hand to his side. “Perhaps it’s something in the air.”

“Or perhaps it’s me,” she said quietly, looking down at her hands. “I seem to have required a hero since you arrived.”

“I’m glad.” The words escaped before he thought and he cursed himself for an idiot.

“That is,” he amended, “I’m not glad for any trouble that befalls you, my lady, and I would happily prevent any further distress, if I could. I meant that, whatever the circumstances, I’m glad I met you, my lady.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me my lady!” she said a little peevishly as she turned away and walked toward the window, incidentally giving him a fine view of her profile. She turned back almost at once. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to it, you see. I’m not used to a title, or this house, or…or much of anything here!

“I must sound like an ungrateful wretch,” she continued apologetically, “but so much has happened in so short a time.” With a sad smile, she started back toward him. “One moment, I was plain Miss MacMurdaugh, daughter of a Glasgow merchant, the next I’m Lady Moira, daughter of the Earl of Dunbrachie.”

He was quite sure she had never been plain anything. “I had heard that your father came into the title recently,” he replied, not mentioning who had told him.

“We had no idea he was even in line,” she admitted, walking toward the bed. “Papa was only distantly related to the previous earl—a third cousin.” She spread her hands. “You must just imagine it, Mr. McHeath. Suddenly this huge manor is my home, not our little town house in Glasgow, and we have so many servants and tenants we can hardly remember all their names.”

“How long has it been since this change of fortune?”

“A little more than a year, and there are still days I wake up and wonder if I’m dreaming. Or in the middle of a nightmare,” she finished grimly, looking down at her feet.

Because of Robbie. And because of him, because he had agreed to help his friend bring a legal action against her.

He threw back the covers and, holding his side, cautiously put his feet on the floor.

“What are you doing?” she cried, rushing to his side and putting her arm under his shoulder for support. “You must go back to bed.”

“I’m all right,” he said, masking the pain, because this was not a conversation he wanted to have lying down. “I don’t need any help.”

He didn’t know if that was true or not, but he didn’t want to feel like an invalid when he was with her. Nevertheless, he missed the feel of her body against his as she moved away. She stayed close enough to touch, though.

“I’ve told Robbie I won’t represent him anymore. I can’t,” he said, putting one hand on the bed to steady himself.

“Because you don’t think the suit will succeed?”

“No.”

She took a step back. “Because you feel beholden to me?”

“That’s one reason.”

She flushed, but didn’t move away. “Because he might not be able to pay you?”

He felt as if he’d been stabbed again. Did she really think he was that mercenary? And if she did… If she did, he was as wrong about her feelings for him as he’d been about Catriona McNare’s. “No, that isn’t a factor in my decision.”

Her blush deepened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply… It’s just that I’ve heard something that makes me think he may be having financial difficulties.”

Gordon was both relieved and anxious to learn the source of that information. “What did you hear? From whom?”

“Sarah Taggart told me he wants to sell McStuart House. That’s why he went to Edinburgh. Why would a man as proud of his heritage as he do that, unless he had to?”

He wanted to be honest with her, and yet…

“Even though I won’t be representing Robbie in the future, I can’t tell you what he said to me in confidence, either as a friend or a lawyer,” he said. “It wouldn’t be right, and it wouldn’t be ethical.”

She frowned and turned away. “Then don’t—but I think Robbie is seriously in debt. I believe that’s why he wanted to marry me in the first place, and that’s why he’s suing me now.”

Whatever happened, whether she made him leave at once or let him stay, whether he was right or wrong about her feelings for him, this might be the last chance he had to speak with her alone, and he had to broach one other subject, come what may. “Does your father lose his temper when he’s in his cups? Does he strike you?”

She whirled around and stared at him, aghast. “My father has never hit me in his life! He loves me and would never, ever hurt me.”

That was good to hear, especially since he was sure she was being truthful. “But he does drink too much, doesn’t he?”

Lady Moira drew herself up. “That, sir, is none of your business.”

“No, it isn’t,” he agreed. “I have no right to pry, except that I owe you my life, and anything that hurts or upsets you must therefore concern me. But that isn’t the only reason I’m worried about you, my lady, although that would be enough.

“I’ve seen what drunkenness can do to a family. I’ve witnessed how men—and women, too—can make their families dance to their tune, as if they’re puppets on a string, with promises and guilt, making their lives miserable and uncertain, worrisome and troubled.

“That’s another reason you wouldn’t marry Robbie, isn’t it? It wasn’t just the women. You already know what it is to live with a man who drinks too much, and didn’t want to have to endure the same trials and worries for the rest of your life.”

She met his gaze with admirable steadiness. “Yes, that was partly why, but it was the women, too. That’s something my father has never done. He loved my mother very much and was utterly loyal and devoted to her. He never drank to excess while she was alive.”

“And since then…?”

“Only when he’s upset or distressed. He hasn’t had a drink in several weeks.”

“But you’re worried he’s drinking now, aren’t you, wherever he is?”

“No. He’s away on business. He’s written, so…”

Moira couldn’t keep up the pretence, not with Gordon McHeath looking at her that way. Yet to admit her fears to a man who was still almost a stranger, no matter how he made her feel… “What makes you think my father drinks too much?”

“If it’s true, that’s all that matters, not how I found out. Has he promised to stop? More than once? And broken that promise again and again, until you’ve nearly given up hope—but not quite?”

He knew. However it had happened, he knew what she endured and regarded her with sympathy. “Yes,” she whispered, deciding to tell him. To trust him.

“No one ever gets used to having their hopes dashed, my lady.”

He spoke so quietly, so sincerely, she was reminded of the words he’d murmured when they’d first brought him here. “Do you still have hope, Mr. McHeath, although your heart was broken?”

He stepped back as if the ground had started to shake. “I beg your pardon?”

“When you were hurt, you spoke of a woman named Catriona, who apparently led you on while caring for another.”

When his brows lowered, she said, “You talked about my troubles. Isn’t it fair we speak of yours?”

He frowned, but answered nonetheless. “Catriona didn’t lead me on. She never said she cared for me in that way. It was only my hope that led me to interpret her responses as more than the affection one might have for a friend.”

He could demure all he liked; the pain was there, in his eyes. “Yet your heart was broken just the same.”

He shook his head. “Not broken. Wounded, but not broken. I’ve since discovered that I never really loved her.”

Her heart suddenly felt much…lighter.

“What else did I say?” he asked.

“That you came to Dunbrachie to get away. Instead, you’ve found more trouble, been set upon and almost killed.”

“Whatever happened, whatever the future holds for us, my lady, I’ll never regret coming to Dunbrachie,” he said softly, the sincerity shining in his eyes. “If I hadn’t come here, I would never have met a beautiful, spirited young woman hiding in a tree.”

He couldn’t help it. He had to reach out to take her hand, to feel her skin warm and soft against his own. Now he knew that love wasn’t just an attraction born of admiration. He had learned that affection and desire, respect and admiration, could be combined into a devotion that would last a lifetime.

That was how he felt about Moira. It was more than desire, more than affection.

It had to be love.

As that realization crashed into his mind, it was as if everything stopped. The moon and stars in their course, time, the earth on its axis. He couldn’t even be sure he was breathing as he drew her to him, his wounds forgotten, aware only of her shining, passionate eyes, her soft lips and the growing need within him that he could no longer ignore.

Or fight.