Page 6 of A Scoundrel’s Promise

Chapter Two

From the corner of his eye, Liam saw his brother ride through the gate. An instant later, Ewan pulled rein beside him.

“What happened?”

Liam tilted his head in the direction of the retreating women. “Two young ladies decided to get a look at the Beasts of Blackstone Abbey.”

“I saw you holding her in your arms.”

Liam shrugged. “One of them decided to jump from her horse to garner my attention.”

“Your attention?”

The women entered the trees and Liam swung into the saddle before he met his brother’s curious gaze. “They saw me riding toward the gate. With all the thievery here about, perhaps I’d best ensure they reach home safely.”

“And where is home?” Ewan asked as Liam tapped his horse’s ribs.

“Newborne, if I don’t miss my guess.”

Liam urged the horse into a gallop but slowed when they reached the trees. When he neared the edge of the forest, he glimpsed the women cutting across Newborne land, at least a mile away from the mansion. He snapped the reins and his horse started forward again. This time, he held the beast to a walk.

Slowly, the mansion came into view, with the women never looking back the entire time. Liam shook his head in disbelief. They clearly believed they were impervious to harm while on Newborne land. If he were a brigand, he could come upon them in seconds.

They continued to the stables and Liam turned south toward the mansion. He reached the door and tied his horse to a post as the heavens opened and rain poured down. He jerked his sketchpad from the saddlebag, stuffed the book into the front of his kilt, ducked under the overhang at the door, and banged the knocker three times. Rain poured off the overhang behind him in a symphony of sound. Long minutes passed before the door finally opened and Mister Dobbin, the butler, appeared on the step.

“Come in, sir. Do come in,” he said, waving his hand in invitation.

The man was sixty-five, if he was a day, but quick of mind and body, and kindly.

Liam stepped into the well-lit foyer and then cocked a rueful glance at the puddle forming beneath his feet. “I’m getting your floor wet, Dobbin.”

The butler smiled. “Think nothing of it, sir. It’s my fault for taking so long to answer the door. With the rain, I didn’t hear the knock. If one of the young maids hadn’t told me she spied a stranger at the door, you might be standing there still.” With a critical eye, he surveyed Liam from head to toe. “You need to dry off. A brandy and fire are in order. Please follow me.”

Before Liam could reply, the butler spun and started down the hallway. Liam took three quick paces to catch up with him. “There is no need to go to any trouble, Dobbin. I am here to see Viscount Dunn. I promised to deliver the drawings for the proposed storehouses and the new stables.”

“Never fear, Lord Liam, I will fetch him.”

“Ye need no’ call me Lord Liam,” he said. “Liam will do.”

“There are many things I can do, sir. That is not one of them.”

Liam laughed. “Of course, you can.”

They turned a corner and ascended stairs to the third level. Dobbin showed him to the library where a welcome fire burned in the hearth. Liam crossed to the hearth and withdrew his sketch pad from the folds of his breacan. A few drops of rain spattered the cover, but the pages were dry. He set the book on the divan to the left of the hearth, then froze when his gaze caught on the flames.

Muskets flared with flame and acrid powder smoke burned his nostrils. Liam tightened his grip on his sword and dove left as a cannonball soared past. He rolled onto his feet and swung his sword up just in time to block an enemy sword. The bone-crushing blow reverberated down his arm and jarred his teeth.

Liam swung his sword in an arc, threw off his attacker’s blade, then drove his sword into the man’s throat. Blood spurted across Liam’s face. Bile scorched his throat when the man gurgled, then dropped to his knees. Screams pierced his ears. The battle spun around him. His knees weakened—

A hand clamped down on his shoulder. Liam spun. The parlor snapped back into focus. Viscount Dunn stood before him.

“Are you well, Liam?” The man stared, dark eyes grave. “Where were you, lad?”

Liam released a breath and relaxed the hands fisted at his sides. “Hell.”

Dunn clapped him on the shoulder. “I have visited there myself.” His hand dropped from Liam’s shoulder and he turned, then crossed to the table located against the right wall. “Brandy or scotch?”

“Scotch, if you dinnae mind.”