Georgina Devon - Her Rebel Lord

The Ferguson released her and she stumbled. She felt cold and bereft with his warmth gone. She was demented to feel thus.

Noise and cooking smells engulfed her. Warmth wafted from the fire where a mutton roast turned on the spit, propelled by the efforts of a tiny urchin. The proprietor, identifiable by the none-too-clean white apron around his skinny waist, nodded briefly at Jenna’s companion, then ignored them.

Nelly slid in the door behind them. Duncan made a nearly imperceptible nod to the woman. She acknowledged it with a wink. Then he strode across the room and into the night.

Jenna followed him through the outside door and a blast of wind hit her. The sleet had turned to rain, and clouds obscured the full moon. At least it was not freezing—yet. Desperation twisted her stomach.

She caught up with The Ferguson. ‘Gavin’s hurt. We must hurry. My horse is this way.’ The nearly incoherent words spilled from her mouth as rain ran in rivulets down her face.

His hand wrapped around her wrist and jerked her to him. He was wet as she, although they had only been outside for scant minutes. She stared up at him, his action and the harshness of it taking her by surprise. He was a darker shadow in the black night so she could not make out his features. But she felt his heart beating steadily and strongly against her breasts.

Abruptly, she became aware of the warmth radiating from his body and the way it sheltered her from the worst of the wind that pounded at his back. He was an inferno in his heat and a rock in his strength.

‘Not so fast.’ His voice was a deadly growl. ‘Who are you? And why should I believe a word you say? You could as easily be an agent of that German bastard’s, sent to trap me with information forced from Gavin by torture. You wouldn’t be the first,’ he added in an undertone.

Jenna blinked away water and looked up at him. He made sense, even if her immediate thought was to kick him in the shin and gain her freedom from his disturbing hold.

‘Jenna. I am Jenna de Warre.’ She felt him stiffen and his hold on her wrist turned painful, causing her to flinch. ‘You are hurting me.’

His grip did not ease. ‘What does Bloody Ayre’s daughter have to do with a Jacobite?’

She should have known he would recognise her father’s name. But it was too late now.

‘Answer me.’ His voice colder than the night, he radiated tension.

For the first time, Jenna felt fear of the man who held her close as a lover, yet harshly as a gaolor. She should have dissembled, used a different name. Anything. But she had not thought beyond getting help for Gavin.

She groped for words and nothing came. She stared up at him, his face in shadow, telling her nothing of what he thought.

He shook her. ‘Answer me, woman. Your life depends on it.’

Fresh fear stole her breath away. She had been so unprepared. Finally, she realised what she should have known all along. Duncan would not—could not—let anyone live he could not trust with the secret of what he looked like. She was more a danger than most, or so he must think.

The man holding her thought she would betray him at the first opportunity. Somehow she had to convince him otherwise. Gavin’s life depended on that.

She had to choose her words carefully. ‘My father has regretted what he did for his entire life. My mother died from grief when I was young because of what my father did. She was Scottish.’ She paused to lick lips that were cold and stiff. It did not help. ‘Gavin is my cousin. Could be my brother, we are that close. His mother came to live with us and raised me along with her own child. Our mothers are—were—sisters. I would do anything to save Gavin.’

Long minutes dragged by. Jenna squinted in the darkness, wanting to read his thoughts by the expression on his face, but was unable to see his features. Despair began to creep up on her. She forced back a tear of frustration and shattered hope.

If he would not come with her, then she would escape from him and go back to Gavin on her own. Somehow she would get her cousin on his horse. If she had to, she would ride home and bring someone from her father’s castle. She would bring her father. She should have done that at the beginning. It would be dangerous for Gavin, but no more so than leaving him in the cold and wet. There were no other choices.

The kitchen door opened and a beam of yellow light split the dark. Duncan yanked her back with him into the shadow of a large oak where the glow did not penetrate.

A redcoat stood in the entry, a storm lantern in his right hand. Seller.

Could things get any worse? Jenna wondered, her hands breaking into cold sweat. She felt the man holding her stiffen until he seemed ready to explode from the tension he suppressed.

Seller stepped into the rain just as a female form materialised beside him. Nelly. She said something to him that Jenna could not hear and pulled on his arm that held the lantern. He looked down at her and spoke. Nelly nodded and her hand slid from his arm to his chest. Seller stepped away from her and further into the dark.

A gust of wind ripped through the tree sheltering Jenna and Duncan, bringing cold stinging rain with it. It hit Seller and Jenna saw him sway. Nelly appeared by his side once more, urging him back inside with her body pressed to his. This time he went.

The air whooshed out of Jenna. ‘So close,’ she muttered.

‘Too close,’ Duncan said. ‘’Tis time to go.’

Hope flared in her. ‘Are you going with me to Gavin?’

He held her for another second before pushing her away. She took a shaky step back, bracing herself against the tree trunk.

His voice harsh, he said, ‘Understand this. I do not trust you, and I will not think twice about killing you if you’re lying.’

She shivered, but anger and determination stiffened her spine. ‘And I you, if you do anything to harm my cousin.’

Chapter Three

‘Fair enough.’ The Ferguson motioned Jenna toward her tethered horse. ‘I will meet you at the bend in the track.’

Teeth chattering, she nodded before realising he could not see her. ‘At the bend. In five minutes or so.’

‘Close enough.’

She shivered and looked around for something to use to mount her mare. A hand gripped her shoulder and she jumped. It took all her control not to squeak.

‘What?’ She twisted around to find The Ferguson so close his breath was a warm caress on her chilled face.

‘I just realised you rode side saddle.’ Disgust dripped from his words.

She bristled. ‘Of course.’

‘And your teeth chatter enough to draw attention from a deaf man.’

She tried to pull away from his hold. ‘I am cold.’

‘I will bring you another cloak or a blanket.’

‘I do not need anything—’

He cut her short by grabbing her waist and lifting her onto the saddle. Even after he let her go, she would insist he still touched her. It was a sensation she had never experienced before and it was not comfortable.

The fact that his hold on her waist had felt exciting and illicit was something she pushed to the back of her mind. No man should make her respond like this. Particularly no Jacobite.

She had been so jumbled that he had turned his back to her and made his way to the stables before she realised it. It was too late to tell him not to bring her anything unless she yelled, and she had no intention of doing that. The last thing either of them needed was to draw attention and have Seller come back outside because her voice carried.

She settled her leg over the saddle horn and turned her mount, Rosebud, in the direction they were to rendezvous. All the while her mind worked.

The Ferguson must be known here and the workers must approve of what he did, particularly Nelly, or he would not move so openly. Even in her sheltered life, she had heard about secrets told to bed partners and imagined that could be deadly to a man of his ilk. But that was none of her business.