Chapter 12 #2
Patrick passed by Taylor, giving him a bored look. Predictably, Taylor puffed himself up and started shouting as he ran down the street after them.
“What an arse,” Patrick muttered as he left the village and sped up. “All clear.”
Madelyn moaned as she sat back up. “Just toss me in the local Dumpster. It would be the kindest thing you could do.”
Patrick looked in the mirror. No one following. It boded well. “There’s life in you yet, woman. We’ll see it preserved.”
She leaned back against the seat. “Thanks for the rescue. Your Officer Fergusson was most unreasonable.”
“He doesn’t care for me.” That was understating the animosity, to be sure.
“Long-standing family feud?” she asked.
“Aye, you could say that.” What he didn’t bother to add was just exactly how long the MacLeods and Fergussons had been going at it. No sense in giving Madelyn details she didn’t need and likely wouldn’t believe if she had them.
“Then why bother with me?” she asked with a yawn. “You’d think he would have been thrilled I was breaking and entering something of yours.”
“Taylor had to have made it worth Hamish’s trouble. We’ll solve the mystery as time goes on, if it interests you. If not, I’ll see that it goes away.” He glanced at her. “You’re well rid of your good Mr. Taylor.”
“I would be, if I could actually get rid of him. And speaking of discharging troublemakers, where are you going to put me to rest?”
“My cousin’s. You’ll be safe there.”
She went very still. So still that it affected even him and his mind was still racing. He would have looked at her if he hadn’t been going so fast.
“Does that not suit?” he asked.
“The kindness of strangers,” she murmured.
“I’m hardly a stranger.”
“Aren’t you?” she asked with a small crack in her voice. “I hardly know you, yet here you are ready and willing to let me impose on your relatives.”
“I’d let you impose on me, but I don’t have anything in the fridge.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“I know,” he said, “and you won’t be imposing. Ian and Jane love company, and you’ll be quite comfortable there for a couple of days. Then we’ll head to London and get your papers straightened out.”
“I can’t begin to thank you. I don’t know where I would even start thinking about it.”
“I always do this for women who disturb me,” he said lightly. “Three rescues per maiden in distress.”
“I think I’ve already used two.”
“Make your third count.”
She sighed. “And how many women have disturbed you, my lord?”
He slowed down. He let out his breath just as slowly. “Just you.”
She was silent for several moments. “I can’t decide if I should be flattered or terrified,” she said finally.
He pulled to a stop in front of Ian’s large manor house, then looked at her. “Believe me, I can’t, either.” He reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. “We’ll think about it later. For now, come inside and be at peace.”
She hesitated. “Do they know I’m coming?”
“Nay, but not to worry.”
“Oh, Patrick,” she said, dismayed, “I don’t think—”
“I daresay you do. Too much.” He got out of the car and went around to open her door. She wasn’t moving. He squatted down next to her. “Madelyn?”
She reached for his hand. “Could you please give them a chance to say no? I just can’t impose . . .”
“It won’t be an imposition, but I’ll go ask if you wish.”
“I do. Please.”
“Then I will.” He leaned down, kissed the back of her hand, then gently shut the car door.
And he did his damndest to ignore the feeling of pleasure he got from thinking about having her stay at Ian and Jane’s for a few days.
Given that he also had a room at their house where he camped on a regular basis.
He rubbed his hand over his face as he walked to the door. Obviously, he hadn’t had enough sleep over the past two days.
He was five paces from the door when it flew open and a small body sprinted out.
“Unkie Pat!” the boy shouted.
He was cousin, not uncle, but he never bothered to correct the mistake.
He scooped Alexander up, then submitted cheerfully to kisses, tugs on his hair, and investigations of all the pockets Alexander could reach.
He carried his young cousin to the door and smiled at Ian, who appeared holding his year-old daughter in his arms.
“Cousin,” Patrick said.
“Cousin yourself,” Ian said. “What brings you? A need for breakfast?”
“Always, and that isn’t all that brings me. I have a wee problem. Actually, I have a friend with a problem—not so wee.”
“A woman friend?” Ian asked with a waggle of his brows.
“If you can believe it,” Patrick said dryly, letting Alexander slip to the ground.
“Miracles never cease,” Ian said. “Is that wench yonder the one in question?”
“Aye. She is without funds or place to stay.”
“Hotel MacLeod is always open,” Ian said without hesitation. He shifted Sarah to his other hip. “We’ve enough room and to spare.”
“You never disappoint.”
“Aye, I’m a prince,” Ian said with a laugh. “Bring the poor girl in. My Jane will be happy for a bit of company.”
Patrick turned back to find that Alexander had already gone to do the deed. He had opened Madelyn’s door and was examining her closely. Patrick hesitated, then turned back to Ian.
“She’s in a spot of serious trouble.”
Ian raised one eyebrow and waited.
“Ex-fiancé. A vindictive blighter who doesn’t want her—or maybe he does. He had her tossed into Hamish Fergusson’s cell.”
Ian stroked his chin thoughtfully.“’Twould be a pity to be forced to do him in. In self-defense, of course.”
“Who, Hamish?”
“Him, too. Nay, I spoke of your lady’s former betrothed.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Patrick warned. “I’ve had far too many encounters with him for my taste. And she’s not my lady.”
Ian looked at him skeptically. “Isn’t she? You’re powerfully solicitous about her, for her to mean nothing to you.”
“I’m a very gallant soul. Giving till it hurts.”
Ian grunted. “Not worth commenting on. So, what’s her name? This poor woman you have chosen to protect and defend but care nothing about?”
“It isn’t that I don’t care—”
“Saints, Pat, what’s the wench’s name?” Ian asked with a laugh. “If you can leave off defending your position long enough to spew it at me.”
“Madelyn,” Patrick said curtly.
“Then bring Madelyn, the one who is not your lady, inside the house,” he said with a grin.
He kissed his little girl. “Come, Sarah, and let Uncle Patty go fetch his sweet Mistress Madelyn. She’s come to stay with us for a bit.
” He looked at Patrick. “We’ll make her welcome,” he said seriously. “And we’ll keep her safe.”
“’Tis that which I wanted to hear.”
“I suspected it might be.”
Patrick nodded, then turned and walked back to the car. Madelyn would be safe. He would speculate later upon why that concerned him so. For now, it was enough to have her away from Bentley and have them both where they might rest a bit.
He leaned on the car door and looked in. “I see you’ve met Alexander,” he said with a smile. Alexander, as fate would have it, was a storyteller of epic proportions and liked to ply his trade upon any soul who would listen.
Most of his tales involved Legos.
Madelyn looked as overwhelmed as he himself felt after listening to the long, involved adventures of Alexander’s plastic connecting blocks.
“Yes,” she said, looking as if she needed a rescue, “I have.”
Patrick smiled. “Have you no younger siblings?”
“I’m the youngest of two.”
“No tending of children in your past?”
“None,” she said, sounding as if that might have been a good thing. “I didn’t baby-sit; I hung out at faculty parties with my parents.”
“A far cry from Alex’s escapades.”
“Absolutely.”
He gave Alexander affectionate hair ruffles. “Begone, you wee fiend, and let the gel breathe.” He pulled Alexander aside, then held out his hand for Madelyn. “Come with me. You’re wanted inside.” He took her hand and pulled her to her feet.
And once she was there, there was no sense in not pulling her into his arms. He held her close, closed his eyes, and allowed himself the pleasure of feeling her arms go around him.
“We’ll stay here for a bit,” he whispered. “You’ll be safe.”
She pulled back and looked up at him. “This is too much—”
He smiled at her. “’Tis a small thing, in the grander scheme of things. Come and be at peace. Then again, Alex lives here, too. You may not have much peace while he’s awake.”
“It seems a small price to pay.”
“See how you feel ten minutes before his bedtime.” He took her hand. “Let’s go in.”
She nodded, put her shoulders back gingerly, then hobbled with him into the house. Jane MacLeod, Ian’s wife of four years, was waiting in the living room. She immediately took Madelyn in hand.
“You look exhausted,” she said gently. “What do you want first, food or sleep?”
Madelyn looked at her in surprise. “You’re American.”
“Born and bred.”
“But you’re here.”
“Ian was persuasive.” She took Madelyn by the arm. “It’s a great country, but the taxes are bad. Where are you from? What do you do? What brings you to Scotland? How did you meet our Pat?”
Madelyn laughed a little uneasily as she disappeared up the stairs. “He was running over sheep. . . .”
“I did not run over sheep,” Patrick said. “’Tis for precisely that reason that my Vanquish sits in Inverness receiving Douglas’s loving ministrations.” He realized he was speaking to no one, so he sighed and walked into the kitchen.
Ian was busy with breakfast. Patrick took a seat at the table.
Patrick sighed. “’Tis a rescue, nothing more,” he said. “She needed aid; I was at hand.”
“Hmmm,” Ian said, noncommittally.
“I am not seeking a bride.”
“Didn’t say you were.”
“You didn’t have to say it.”
“Saints, Patrick”—Ian laughed—“you’re a bit touchy about this.”
“She bothers me.”
“I can see why. Beautiful women bother the hell out of me. I can scarce bear living with Jane because of it.”
Patrick scowled. “’Tisn’t that. This is not what I want right now.”
“Then walk away.”
“She needs my aid.”
Ian turned around, spoon in hand. “What a romantic heart you have, cousin.”
Would he get no peace from his damned heart? Bad enough that it plagued him. Now the souls about him were reminding him of it as well.
“I’m a fool.”
“Love makes fools of us all.”
“Not me,” Patrick said. “Not twice.”
Ian turned back to his shiny red Aga stove. “Love, if it is to endure, must be reciprocated, Pat.”
Patrick pursed his lips and stared at the table. “I talk too much,” he muttered.
“I am discreet,” Ian said, beginning to put food on plates, “which is why you tell me things you won’t tell Jamie—much as we both love him.”
Ian had it aright. Besides, if Jamie knew half of what Ian did about Patrick’s past, it would send him to his library for a year at least, trying to unravel the horrors of Patrick’s twisted heart.
Ian set a plate down in front of Patrick. “I’ll look her over if you like. Give you my unbiased opinion.”
“Oh, aye,” Patrick said, “’tis that that I’ve been holding out for.”
“You could do worse. I’m happily wed.”
“And that through no virtue of your own. Jane has a good heart and a blind eye.”
“Heard my name,” Jane said, walking in and shepherding children. “If you must speak in the native tongue, do it more slowly so I can follow.”
Patrick admired the hell out of her. Not only did she endure his cousin, she loved the Highlands with a passion that rivaled Ian’s own, and she spoke Gaelic as well as they did—her deprecating words aside.
“How’s Madelyn?”
“Exhausted. What did you do to her?”
“Wearied her with scrutiny,” Ian said wisely.
Patrick snorted. “I merely rescued.”
“She seems nice,” Jane said.
“She is,” Patrick said. “She is quite nice.”
“I have a thought,” Ian said. “Why don’t you just spend a few days enjoying her company and let nature take its course. You might find that you don’t like her at all.”
“Or you might find that you love her very much,” Jane said.
Patrick honestly wasn’t sure what would be worse.
And he most certainly did not want his heart’s opinion on the matter. He knew already what it would tell him.
It was too soon.
Not soon enough
, it whispered.
He set to his meal, trying to bury his thoughts and those damned whispers under as much butter and marmalade as possible.