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Ian could not deny his sweet wife anything, except three little words. She told him she loved him every night after they made love and several times throughout the day. He knew she was waiting for him to respond with his own pledge. He hated the uncertainty he felt at those times.
He wanted to love her. She deserved it. Maybe he did love her, he just dinna ken.
Tonight, tears had slipped out of her eyes after her declaration and she had turned away from him. He had pulled her body flush with his and whispered words to soothe her.
Words about her beauty, words about her honor and loyalty until finally she had shushed him and bid him sleep.
He could not sleep.
Although his wife’s breaths had grown even ages ago, he laid awake wondering if he would ever be able to give her the words she longed to hear.
If he did not, would her love shrivel and die?
Unable to stand his own musings any longer, he quietly slid from the bed. Perhaps a walk would clear the muddle from his mind. He went out through the kitchen. The air was cold and he took several deep breaths. Movement near the stable caught his eye. A lone rider led three other horses away from the stable.
Someone was trying to steal his horses.
Astonishment kept Ian immobile. The cloud that had covered the moon shifted and suddenly moonlight illuminated the rider.
Renton.
The blackguard had Nightsong and two of Ian’s other horses. He would not bloody well get away with it. Ian let out a piercing whistle. The affect was startling. Renton shot up in his saddle and whipped his head around to see where the sound had come from.
Nightsong stopped immediately and when he did, so did Ian’s other horses. The squire tried yanking on the lead, but the horses would not move.
Ian stepped out of the shadows. He whistled twice more, short, piercing sounds only seconds apart.
“Who’s there?” The squire was still trying to pull the horses and came flying off his own when Nightsong reared back, pulling his lead from the squire’s fingers.
The tall black stallion came galloping toward Ian. Ian praised his horse and commanded him to stop as he ran around the animal, looking for the fallen squire.
Renton was already standing, his face set in a snarl. “I should have known. You have foiled my plans for the last time.”
The moonlight glinted off a pistol in the squire’s hand. The sound of it cocking was not nearly as terrifying to Ian as the sound he heard from behind him. Belle’s voice confirmed Ian’s tormented suspicion.
“You will not shoot my husband.”
The squire looked over Ian’s shoulder. Ian didn’t dare turn around to see his wife.
The demented man had a gun cocked and ready.
Renton said, “Lady Annabelle. How kind of you to join us.”
“Belle, leave. Now.” Desperate to get his wife out of danger, he spoke his demand with arrogant authority.
The squire shook his head. “No. I do not think that would be wise. She would only call for help to save your sorry hide.” He waved the gun so that it pointed at something behind Ian. Ian had no doubt that something was his wife. “Lady Annabelle, I will have to insist that you stay.”
The squire appeared to believe that he had the advantage. Ian let him continue in his foolish assumption. The bloody gun still pointed at Belle.
“You know, I thought I would just steal your horses. An eye for an eye, you see.” Renton’s gaze took on a wild expression. “They came and took my hunters. All of my
prime cattle sold on the auction block to settle tradesmen’s bills.” The squire’s voice rose shrilly. “They paid my worthless tailor with the blood money they got from selling my animals.”
“Surely, you did not think you could continue to spend without paying your debts.” Ian wanted to cup his hand over his wife’s mouth and stop any more words from coming out. He wanted the squire’s attention on him. The gun pointed at him. “Be quiet, Belle.”
He felt her glare through the thin fabric of his shirt.
“I see domestic discord. How very sad. Had you married me, my dear, you would not have subjected to such brutish behavior.”
The squire was back to sounding like a gentleman at a society function.
“Had I married you, I would undoubtedly be dead like poor Mr. Thorn.” Ian edged backward toward the sound of his wife’s voice.
“You know about Thorn? That explains how this barbarian has succeeded in besting me. He had information I was not aware he possessed.” Renton shrugged. “You may be right about your death. I assure you that I would not have killed you before I got my heir off of you.”
Belle’s gasp of outrage came from somewhere to Ian’s left. He shifted that direction and kept inching backward. He could only hope that his wife would not take a notion to obey him at this late date and stop talking. Her conversation was keeping Renton distracted.
She did not disappoint him. “I would sooner die than let you touch me, you foul murderer.”
The evil parody of a smile was back. “I believe, my dear, that I will accommodate you.”
The calm certainty in Renton’s voice terrified Ian. The man’s madness was beyond help. The squire tensed to shoot and in that second Ian turned and leaped. The shot rang out and Ian landed on Belle knocking her to the ground. He whistled for Nightsong and commanded the horse to stand between Belle and the madman. In his madness, Renton would not shoot a horse.
Ian made a running leap at Renton. He caught the fleeing man by the ankles and pulled. Renton went crashing to the ground. Ian took advantage of his opponent’s fall. He dove at the squire, landing a punch on the man’s jaw.
“No. Damn you.” Renton swung wildly, but in his fury he missed Ian completely.
“You cannot win.”
Ian swung back and then drove his fist into the face of his opponent, cold-cocking him. Ian leapt to his feet and raced back to Belle. She was standing, holding on to Nightsong’s bridle. He breathed a sigh of relief.
“I told you to leave.” He had not meant to shout.
She smiled, or was that a grimace of pain? “I did tell you that I would not be any good at obedience.”
He moved closer, inspecting her for the source of weakness he heard in her voice.
“Aye, you did, lass.” Then he saw her left shoulder. Blood soaked her wrapper.
She looked at him, her eyes glazed with pain. “I believe… I have been shot.” She pitched forward and fainted. Ian caught her and swung her into his arms. The stable master came staggering up, rubbing his head. “The bluidy bastard got me.”
“Are you okay?”
“Aye, just a sore head and me temper is right riled.” Ian nodded toward the fallen squire. “Take care of him and the horses, then. I’ve got to rouse the house and get a doctor.”
“What happened to our lady?”
“The whoreson shot her.”
The stable master cursed. “Bluidy thief. I’ll take care of him all right.” He squeezed Ian’s arm. “She is a strong lady, laird. She’ll no give in to a wee gunshot wound.” Ian prayed the man was right.
He walked into the kitchen bellowing for his housekeeper. Mrs. MacTavish came running, her mobcap flying.
“Call for a doctor and bring hot water and cloths to our bedroom.”
“Aye, laird. I’ll bring the spirits as well. Me old aunt said they stopped the wound from catching fever.”
Ian nodded. He carried Belle upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. He laid her gently on the bed. She must not die. He could no live without his opinionated and strong-willed wife.
Annbelle opened her eyes and tried to make sense of the scene around her. She was naked except for the bedclothes covering her. Her shoulder burned like it had been set afire. Memory returned quickly. The squire had shot her.
“Lass, ye are awake,” Ian said.
The relief and tender concern she heard in his voice soothed her. He stood near her head, an expression of anxiety in his brown ey
es. His hand rested on her shoulder that had not been wounded. Another small, wiry, man stood to her husband’s right. He must be a doctor. Ian would not allow another gentleman into their bedchamber.
The doctor prodded her shoulder.
She grimaced. “That hurts.”
Ian glared at the other man.
“I need to see how serious your injury is, Lady Graenfrae.” She nodded slightly. He dabbed at her shoulder. She winced when he touched her, but stopped herself from crying out. Her husband looked close to the end of his tether as it was.
“’Tis no serious.”
She frowned. “It certainly feels serious to me.” The doctor shook his head and smiled. “’Tis merely a flesh wound. The bullet only grazed your shoulder.”
Ian’s hand on her good arm tightened. “Ye’ll be fine, wife.” She frowned at his pronouncement. Of course she would be fine. Her frown turned into a scream when the doctor poured fiery liquid over her wound. Ian’s hold on her good arm was the only thing that kept her from coming off the bed. The doctor finished bandaging her and gave some instructions to Ian before leaving.
“’Tis a blessing that.”
She looked up at her husband’s words. “What?”
“That you dinna have more than a small scrape.”
“A small scrape? It feels like my shoulder is on fire. It hurts, Ian,” she wailed. She wanted to be comforted.
He touched her cheek. “I am sorry it hurts, lass.”
