Page 27 of To Defy a Highland Duke

Muted male laughter echoed and, with a gasp, she jerked from him, frantically looking in the direction of the sound. Hands trembling, she tried to straighten her rumpled bodice.

“How could I be so stupid?” she muttered to herself. To have taken such a risk? She’d practically let him tup her.

God’s bones, to kiss in the gallery with no discretion whatsoever. Like an immoral wanton.

“Here. Let me help ye,” Keane said, brushing aside her fumbling hands and making quick work of restoring her clothing to order.

She wasn’t sure whether to be grateful for his adeptness or miffed because he knew his way around a woman’s garments so well.

He’d just stepped back when a footman bounded down the corridor, his red face perspiring and lined with alarm. “Yer Grace. There ye are!”

“What is it?” Keane asked, instantly on alert.

The footman scarcely flicked Marjorie a cursory glance, for which she was grateful. She didn’t need a mirror to tell her Keane’s kisses had left her lips swollen. Pray God, her hair wasn’t mussed as well.

“The Martins’ cottage is aflame.” The servant swiped a gloved palm across his moist forehead.

Oh no. Marjorie slapped a hand to her mouth.

“Christ.” Alarm pinched Keane’s mouth and pleated the corners of his eyes. “Alert the clansmen and anyone else who is willin’ to help fight the blaze, Ned.”

“Aye.” Ned tore off as if the hounds of hell gnashed at his heels.

“Marjorie…?” Keane held out a hand, then looked down the passageway. “I—”

“Go, Keane. Your people need you.” She laid her palm over his heart. “But please be careful.”

He grabbed her face, framing it in his big hands, and planted a hard kiss on her mouth. “We’ll talk when I return, jo. Wait up for me.”

The clock had long since struck one in the morning before Keane trudged up Trentwick’s entry. Soot-covered, his clothing torn, and his eyes and lungs burning from acrid smoke, he’d been amongst the last to leave what little remained of the Martins’ charred cottage.

Stifling a yawn, he raked a hand through his filthy hair as he took in the bedchamber his housekeeper had assigned to the Martins.

A single curtained bed dominated the room. A toasty fire crackled in the hearth, and candles glowed on bedside tables, in sconces above the fireplace, and atop a table situated before the window. Plates of food also topped the table, and the Martins’ young sons’ attention repeatedly gravitated to what was, no doubt, a feast to them.

Smiling indulgently, he gestured toward the table. “Help yerselves, lads.”

After a hesitant glance toward their parents and receiving confirming nods, Toby and Eric rushed to the table. With awe-widened eyes and whispering excitedly to each other, they reverently examined each plate.

“What do ye say?” their mother admonished, hands on her ample hips and fair brows high on her forehead.

“Thank ye, Yer Grace,” the lads said in unison. Upon receiving another nod from their mother, they turned their awestruck gazes to the food once more.

Keane scanned the room again. With the additional servants his Hogmanay guests had brought with them, there wasn’t a private servant’s room available. Feeling certain the Martins would prefer privacy in any event, he’d specifically requested one of Trentwick’s simpler bedchambers.

The Martins were uncomfortable enough accepting their laird’s hospitality, and a fancier room would’ve increased their discomfit. As it was, this chamber was nearly half the size of the Martins’ humble cottage, the remnants of which now smoldered a mile away.

“Mrs. Martin, yer lads are welcome to sleep in the nursery after they eat and bathe, or I can request a separate chamber for them if ye wish,” Keane offered, his attention on the only bed while he tried not to wrinkle his nose at his own stench.

“Thank ye, laird, but I’d prefer to keep my lads near me if ’tis all the same to ye.”

A gentle and soft-spoken woman, Alice Martin had just lost all of her worldly possessions. Naturally, she wanted her boys close. Understandable, poor woman. She hadn’t cried or wailed her anguish at the loss.

Showing a degree of stoicism Keane couldn’t help but admire, she’d summoned a hollow version of a smile and said, “As long as Will and the lads are well, I am content.”

Keane strode to the open doorway and hailed a passing maid. “Please have two pallets brought up, as well as changes in clothin’ and soap and hot water for the Martins.” Surely they were as eager as he to rid themselves of the grime covering their persons.

“Aye, Yer Grace.” Anny hurried away.