Page 47 of The Highlander’s Improper Wife

A low cry from Patterson was followed by Caroline clutching at the butler’s arm as they toppled to the floor, her on top of him. Strong fingers clamped around her arm and yanked her to her feet, face to face with Taran.

“By God, madam, at least have the decency to wait until I am killed before seducing my butler.”

Chapter Fifteen

Taran hauled Caroline over his shoulder.

“How dare you!” she howled.

“Patterson, ready those pistols,” he commanded, and strode from the room. “Huntly, bring my sister—if you have the stomach for it.”

“Ross, do not—” Fiona’s words were cut off when Ross threw her over his shoulder and followed.

Taran bounded up the narrow stairs, two at a time and was surprised to hear the young viscount hard on his heels.

“Put me down!” Caroline commanded.

Taran winced at the sound of each word echoing off the stone walls in a staccato that was punctuated by each step he took.

“Ross!” Fiona shouted.

Taran reached the second floor, turned left, and ascended the next flight of stairs. An unexpected elbow to his back sent a sharp pain through him.

“I will have your head for this.” Fiona shouted.

Taran couldn’t deny a stab of compassion for the boy. He really hadn’t grasped what he was getting into with Fiona.

Taran reached the third floor and strode towards the fourth door. He felt Caroline swing to his left and he veered right as he realized she was making a swipe for the claymore hanging on the wall beside his bedchamber door. He couldn’t prevent a laugh as he crossed the threshold. If she had managed the claymore, she would have brained him with it. He strode to the bed and tossed her onto the mattress. She bounced twice and started to push to her feet. Taran shoved her back down and straddled her. Light radiating from the low fire in the hearth lit her hair like ebony. He suddenly wished his sister and her hapless husband anywhere but here.

“Good God,” Fiona cried as Huntly stumbled into the room.

“This is ridiculous,” Caroline snapped. “Get off me.”

Taran gave her an appraising look. “Tired of me already, wife?”

Her eyes narrowed. “If your sister does not shoot you, I will.”

“But I will,” Fiona growled. “Ross, put. Me. Down.”

“Now, Fiona,” he began, but she cut him off with a scream.

Caroline winced, then her gaze latched onto Taran’s. She seized his shoulders and dragged him closer. “You will not kill the boy?” The words, spoken in a whisper that couldn’t possibly be overheard above Fiona’s command to be released, held a chill that startled him.

“Do not say you are concerned.” The edge in his voice sounded dark even to him, but an odd sense of foreboding suddenly rose.

Her mouth thinned. “You go too far with this ruse.” “Ruse?” he repeated.

“You will rue the day you married me!” Fiona shouted.

Taran twisted to see his sister had begun to thrash wildly. Huntly stumbled backwards, barely managing to keep her from slipping from his grasp. Taran jumped to his feet and pulled Fiona from the younger man’s shoulder just in time to keep her from being squashed between him and the wall.

Huntly straightened. “Damnation, Fiona, you nearly knocked yourself senseless.” From the corner of his eye, Taran saw Caroline slip from the bed.

Fiona swayed. “Release me.” She yanked in an effort to free her arm. Taran obliged. She fell to her backside on the rug.

“By God, Taran.” Her head snapped in Huntly’s direction. “Ross, do something.”

His brow creased. “What more would you have me do?” He gave a snort. “Come, Blackhall, I wish to be done with this business.” He whirled and disappeared through the door.