Mischief lit his eyes. “Not even to brain me with?”
The brute was enjoying himself far too much. She turned her gaze to the castle, now in full view as they crested the hill.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
Phoebe noted the dozen armed men arrayed along the battlements. “This is the nineteenth century, why so many guards?”
Kiernan motioned with his head to the forest that surrounded them. “This is untamed country, far beyond the reach of traditional law. The nineteenth century won’t ride to our rescue any quicker than the Queen's men will.”
She pointed past Mather to the sparkling lake that stretched out in the valley to the east. “What lake is that?”
“Loch Katrine.”
"It's beautiful," she said.
They lapsed into silence. As they rode through the castle gate, three ruddy-faced children shot across the courtyard. Three women walking toward the castle slowed, their attention on Phoebe. She gave a cordial nod and they continued on. No one looked thin or underfed. What shielded these people from the catastrophe that had devastated Alan Hay and his people?
They halted and Mather dismounted. Kiernan slid from the saddle and tossed his reins to Mather. “If you would, Mather,” he said, and came around her horse.
Mather cast her a nervous glance that reminded Phoebe of when she'd told him she wanted help in writing a letter to Kiernan's father. Surely the rogue's father couldn’t be at the castle? Kiernan halted beside her and she looked down at him.
“When will I meet your father?”
He grinned. “He isn't here.”
Of course not. The kidnapper wasn’t about to be so easily caught. “Where is he?”
“In the south.”
Kiernan clasped her waist and lifted her from the horse. He set her down so close that she caught the familiar scent of sandalwood.
His gaze dropped. “That’s a fine dress you’re wearing, Heddy.”
Phoebe looked down to find her breasts nearly spilling over her bodice. She scowled and pulled her cloak more closely about her. "I would have preferred my own dress."
"I think that one suits you just fine.”
She was sure he did think that. In fact, she had a suspicion he was responsible for the fact that the seamstress hadn't been able to finish her gown before they left.
He released her and turned to a man who had stopped behind him. "Johnson, how are you?”
“Well enough.” Johnson nodded. “Daniel wants to see ye.”
“Where is he?”
“The library. Harris is training the new steward and had business with Daniel.”
“Excellent.” Kiernan turned back to Phoebe. “Shall we?” He offered an arm.
Phoebe rolled her eyes and started toward the castle without taking the proffered arm. “How long do you plan on keeping me prisoner?” she asked.
Kiernan fell into step alongside her. “Are you so anxious to be rid of me?”
“Beware your choice of words, sir.”
He laughed. “I sent word to Regan. I expect he'll be here soon.”
“Don't you find it odd he hasn't yet arrived? Has it occurred to you I might be telling the truth?”
“It's my guess that my original message didn't reach him.” Kiernan gave her a serious look. “He is likely frantic with worry. You are, after all, missing.”
Phoebe looked sharply at him.
They had reached a side door of the castle and Kiernan opened it. “After you,” he said, waving her through.
She stepped inside and found herself in a large eating hall. Phoebe stood, transfixed by the variety of weapons mounted along the length of the wall on the far side of the room.
“An arsenal,” she breathed.
“Not quite,” Kiernan said. “Just a few relics we’ve collected over the years.”
Phoebe recalled her father's mention of Arthur Thistlewood’s claim that he could amass fifteen thousand armed men within half an hour. The weapons that covered the wall in front of her were a far cry from fifteen thousand, but if Kiernan MacGregor flouted this small arsenal to the world, how many more weapons had he hidden in the bowels of this castle? Who was Kiernan MacGregor, and why hadn't she heard of so powerful a man? But he'd given her the answer; Brahan Seer was far beyond the reach of traditional law.
“Come along.” Kiernan cupped her elbow and led her toward the kitchen.
They stepped through the doorway into the busy room and a woman Phoebe guessed to be in her seventies looked up from a table in the middle of the room where she sat shelling peas.
“So, ye decided to grace us with your presence?” she said in voice clear for a woman of her advanced years.
“Aye, m’lady.” Kiernan swept a low bow. “I have returned to the nest.”
“Who's that with you?”
He winked at Phoebe. “A friend of Regan’s.”
“Does she have a name or is she like the others?”
Phoebe shot him a questioning look—though she well knew what the others must have been like. Lord Stoneleigh was a well-known rake.
Kiernan shrugged and said, “No, Winnie, she is nothing like the others.”
“Well,” Winnie said, “what is it?”