Page 21 of This Laird of Mine

Blood roared in Claire’s ears. How could Grayson be dead? The man who had stood beside her at the wedding ceremony had been no older than herself.

She stole a glance at Jules. His face was hard, his posture rigid. “What happened?”

“Early yesterday morning, only a few moments before I arrived, a runaway carriage crushed him in the street while he was on his way to work,” Joseph said gently, as if a softened voice could make a difference when the words were so cold and ugly.

A heavy silence hung over them until Jules finally asked, “Who was the driver?”

“No one knows. They did not stop after the accident.” Joseph’s gaze dropped to the ground. “The only witness said the conveyance was unexceptional except for the bright red fringe that hung over the doorway. The driver was dressed in dark clothing, and the only occupant was cloaked in black.”

The same carriage that had reportedly taken her wards from her home. A terrifying picture of Penelope, Anna, and Eloise lying dead in the street shot through Claire’s mind. She felt a scream start deep inside her, building, gathering force until it threatened to choke her. Her sweet wards could meet the same end.

She must have let a sound slip past her control because Jules turned to her. “Claire, what is it?” A deep frown furrowed his brows. “Do you know who did this?”

Tears scalded her eyes. She wanted to give in to them, to allow herself the relief of crying, but she knew she could not. If she told Jules the truth, the abductors would know and they would kill the girls regardless.

“To die in such a way . . .” She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “No, I don’t know who would do such an evil thing as to kill an innocent man.”

“And the only witness to the marriage you say took place,” he replied with a softer tone.

Claire’s arms felt limp, and her legs went suddenly weak. She stumbled.

Jules was there beside her. His arm slid around her waist, bolstering her. They stood there for a long while, staring at each other, saying nothing until he finally broke the silence once more, saying, “Come inside.”

His words snapped her back to her senses. She steadied herself and stepped away from his arm, supporting her own weight. “I am better now. I want to stay out in the sunshine. The warmth helps.” Pale afternoon sunlight streamed through the tree branches overhead, creating a tangle of greenish-brown on the grass at her feet.

“I understand,” he said, walking her to a large rock nearby. “Wait here for me. I won’t be long.”

She heard the crunch of grass beneath his feet as he moved back to the messenger. “Take your horse to the stable for a rubdown and a pail of oats. When you are done, help yourself to whatever you can find in the kitchen.”

“Thank you, milord,” Joseph said as he guided his horse away.

Claire closed her eyes and tipped her head back, letting the sun caress her skin and ease the chill that had settled deep inside her since the girls had been taken. She drew a steadying breath.

She knew to use another human being in such a way was wrong, yet she would do whatever she had to do to free three innocent girls. She was the only one who could rectify the situation. And if Jules got hurt along the way, then she would have to find a way to forgive herself, eventually. Because hurt him she would.

She tried not to feel sad at the thought.

The summer heat from the open door cut through the stifling, sweaty press of The Thistle and Sword at the southern edge of the village of Kildare. Across the room, a dark-cloaked figure watched as two new patrons entered the smoky tavern. At the sight of the two women, she sat up. Four men entered behind the women. Frowning, the cloaked figure stepped deeper into the shadows as she recognized the pesky servant from Kildare Manor, John Finnie. The others must be Jules’s friends.

The younger of the two women made her way across the crowded room, heading toward the only open table. The regal way she held her slender, delicate body marked her as Lady Jane Kincaid. The memory of what Jane had done to save Lord Kildare from the hangman’s noose made the cloaked figure clench her hands. The young laird was supposed to die, but Jane had altered that plan. Now was the time for a different plan—one of revenge, slow torture, and pain. The thought blew across her mind like an elusive breeze in the stuffy room.

The end would be worth the wait. For the end promised to be every bit as tragic as the beginning.

Jules MacIntyre deserved nothing less.

Jules returned to Claire less than a quarter hour later bearing a basket.

He had taken the time to wash and change into a clean lawn shirt and fawn breeches that didn’t smell of fish or sweat. “Since the others have yet to return, I thought we might have some bread and cheese outside.”

“What time is it?” she asked, coming to sit beside him on the blanket he had spread out on the one corner of the lawn that wasn’t waist-high. He had trampled the weeds into submission as he’d cut several sections of logs into kindling earlier this morn.

He looked at the sun. “Most likely around midday,” Jules replied, then frowned at the rest of the lawn. Perhaps it was time to tame the estate. Working outside had helped to clear his head, at least until Joseph had arrived with the news of Grayson’s demise.

“When will the others return? Did they say?” Claire asked, sitting down on the blanket beside him, gazing off toward the village.

“Around four, I imagine. Do you miss them so much?”

Claire gave him a winsome smile. “No, but I am eager to move forward with the cleaning. And unless we are going to eat fish and cheese for days on end, we have no more supplies.”