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After her unnerving conversation with Mrs. Murray, Donella had considered telling Kendrick of her suspicions. He obviously knew she was withholding information, and it would almost be a relief to tell him the truth. She’d kept silent for ten years, hiding the whopping, great secret that rattled behind her like a rusty chain. But now she no longer had the convenient shield of the convent to protect her.
Uncle Riddick had made Donella swear on the good name of Clan Graham to hold her tongue on what they referred to asthe incident. That wasn’t quite as serious as swearing on the Bible, but it was enough to inspire caution and the resolve to keep her suspicions to herself until she was safely home.
As for any further dangers on the road, she’d simply have to trust Kendrick to keep her safe. He’d done a splendid job so far, and she had little doubt he’d continue to do so even if shedidkeep refusing to answer his nosy inquiries. Fortunately, after brusquely reminding her to bolt her door, he’d taken himself off for the remainder of the evening.
Shivering a bit, Donella wriggled down under the quilt. As she tried to decide between saying a rosary or counting sheep, the quiet shuffle of footsteps outside her door made her freeze like a startled rabbit.
A key turned in her lock. A moment later, footsteps retreated down the hall.
Why would anyone lock a door that was already bolted? Had she misheard?
Rising, she grabbed her woolen shawl, flung it around her shoulders, and strode to the door. She pulled back the bolt and cautiously tried to open the door. Her heart jolted because someone had indeed locked her in.
Kendrick? He was irritating, but she doubted he would lock her in without telling her.
Ignoring a spiraling sense of dread, she cudgeled her brain for ideas. She had only one option—to pound on the door and, if necessary, start yelling. She could only hope that Kendrick would hear her first, and not the likely nefarious person who’d locked her in.
“Mr. Kendrick, can you hear me?” she called out after banging on the solid oak panel.
She waited several seconds before banging again. “Mr. Kendrick. Please wake up.”
Silence met her straining ears.
Donella was winding herself up to start yelling when she heard the quick tread of boot steps.
“I’m here, lass,” Kendrick said. “Are you all right?”
She sagged against the door in relief. “Yes, but someone’s locked me in.”
He rattled the lock. “What the devil?” he muttered.
“Can you please get me out of here?”
“I’ll have to roust the Murrays out of bed. Although I suspect one of them is the prime suspect.”
“Yes. I admit I find the notion disturbing.”
“We’ll get it sorted. In the meantime, bolt your door.”
She shot the bolt.
“Good girl,” he said. “If anything happens before I’m back, start screaming and I’ll come running.”
Donella devoutly hoped she would not be forced to resort to screaming—or fighting off more kidnappers.
Racing to her bag, she quickly dressed, thanking the saints for front-lacing stays and a dress that buttoned up the front. She wound a bandeau around her hair, and then retrieved the fireplace poker and went to stand by the door.
It seemed to take Kendrick forever to return. Donella quietly tapped her fingertips against the door, counting the long seconds as they passed. Had he been attacked and was lying unconscious? She felt woozy at the idea, so she rested her forehead against the door and said a few prayers to try to calm her unsettled nerves.
Finally, she heard footsteps, and then a key was inserted into the lock.
“It’s me, lass,” Kendrick said. “Open up.”
Donella pulled back the bolt and opened the door. She blinked at the sight of him, clad in breeches and boots with only a leather vest over his naked chest. Since her eyes were but a few inches away from his torso, she was able to instantly deduce that his chest muscles werequiteimpressive.
He grimaced. “Sorry. When I heard you yell, I just grabbed what was close at hand.”
Donella gotherselfin hand. “It’s perfectly fine, sir.”
