Hamish strode up, bristling with anger. “I’m the Laird of Glen Lyon, and I’d like to know what the devil you think you’re doing, bursting in on our Christmas revels without so much as a by-your-leave or an introduction.”
Not shifting his gaze from Kit, Neil performed a perfunctory bow. “I’m Neil Maxwell of Halfrew, this lady’s legal guardian. Under the law, you must return her to my custody.”
“Like hell I will,” Hamish snarled, standing large and belligerent on Kit’s other side.
Neil’s gaze didn’t waver from Kit’s face. “The game’s up, Christabel. Belmont is here to marry you and take you back to Appin where you belong.”
“Stop talking such confounded rubbish,” Hamish snapped.
Quentin’s nearness and Hamish’s defense bolstered Kit’s dwindling courage, although she shuddered to hear how reasonable Neil sounded. She struggled to summon her defiance, even as the memory of his domination made her tremble.
“I’m…I’m not going to marry Belmont.”
Most of the guests had drawn back from the confrontation to watch what happened. How Kit wished that the room was full of the Douglas clan, as it had been last night at the ceilidh. A dozen stalwart stablehands wouldn’t stand for her stepbrother’s arrogance.
“Poor girl. You haven’t been well.” Neil’s sham pity chilled her to the marrow. “Everyone knows you’re delicate.”
“Delicate? She’s the bravest lassie I know,” Hamish said, his size dwarfing Neil and his thugs. Kit could sense how much he wanted to pick her stepbrother up by the scruff of the neck and toss him out of Lyon House, but the intruders were heavily armed and nobody else in the ballroom was.
“Christabel, for everyone’s sake, come quietly,” Belmont said, reaching out for her. “The scandal will already be bad enough.”
She flinched away from his touch. “Get away from me, you avaricious worm.”
“That’s my girl,” Quentin said.
His approval reminded her that she was no longer friendless and at Neil’s mercy. At last – too late in her opinion – she straightened her backbone and lifted her chin to face Neil down.
Her unthinking terror receded, as she sucked in a breath that cleared her swimming head. She had Quentin and the people of Glen Lyon on her side. Neil had bullied her for years, but he’d never bully her again, damn him.
“I’m not coming with you, Neil,” she said in a firm voice. “So go back to Appin and pack your belongings and get off my lands.”
“I can see all this has been too much for you.” Neil responded with more of that unconvincing sympathy. “It’s no surprise. Your wits have always been feeble.”
Kit’s temper stirred, vanquishing the last of her weakness, and she glared at this man who had tormented her for too long. “When I turn twenty-one, I take control of my inheritance.”
“Not if you’re of unsound mind, and I’ve got half a dozen men with me, ready to swear to your imbecility.” Neil’s superior expression was lamentably familiar. He still thought he could win, even now. “This mad act of running away to become a stablehand speaks to the frailty of your nerves. Once I set out the sad facts, no judge in the land will give you control of the Appin estates.”
In the face of his self-assurance, her confidence faltered. Kit’s frightened gaze swept the crowded room. Could anyone here be ready to believe Neil’s lies? The problem was that her stepbrother sounded so plausible. The toad always sounded so plausible.
“I’m not mad,” she said, detesting how her voice trembled. “You should rather look to your own future. Once I lay what you’ve done at Appin before the courts, you’ll be lucky to escape prison.”
“So sad to see you like this.” Neil’s expression conveyed insincere regret. “Completely insane.”
“Prove it,” Quentin snapped.
“I’ve got the minister from Appin outside.” Neil didn’t spare Quentin a glance. “He’s ready to perform the marriage ceremony for Christabel and Lord Bogle. He, too, will swear the girl hasn’t been in her fit mind since she was a child.”
“Yet this paragon is willing to marry this pathetic creature to your friend?” Hamish asked sarcastically, stepping closer to Neil and further away from Kit. She missed his brawny presence at her side.
“Belmont is the right man to care for her in her distress.”
Kit chanced a glance around the room and met a wall of avid eyes, but she was too upset to read what impact Neil’s story had on the onlookers. There was one consolation. Whatever the outcome of tonight’s intrusion, at least she was safe from ever having to marry Belmont.
“You’re too late, Neil,” Kit said with satisfaction. “I’m already married. Under the terms of the will, once I wed, I gain control of my fortune.”
Shock leached the color from her stepbrother’s face, then a flash of such coruscating anger blazed in his eyes that she cowered against Quentin.
“You little bitch, you’d do anything to spite me.” Neil spoke over the onlookers’ audible gasps of horror. “Given the doubts over your sanity, I’ll have any match overturned.”
“No, you will not,” Quentin insisted, stepping in front of Kit. “Christabel is my wife, and you’ll take her from me over my dead body.”
Neil wrenched the sword from the scabbard at his hip. “That can be arranged, whoever in Hades you are.”
A few of the ladies shrieked, as the guests retreated further toward the walls. With impressive speed, Neil’s cohorts drew their own weapons and created a tight circle around Kit and Quentin. Kit surveyed the pitiless faces observing her, and her fear stirred anew.
“Dinnae be a fool, man,” Fergus Mackinnon said, moving up beside Hamish. “It’s clear you’ve lost. Murder and mayhem willnae change that.”
“By God, I’m not beaten yet,” Neil growled. He lurched forward to grab Kit, but Quentin kept her out of reach.
“Quentin, here!”
Through a mist of rising panic, Kit saw Diarmid wrench a ceremonial sword from a display on the wall and toss it across to her husband. More cries of shock from the crowd, and at last a few of the gentlemen advanced with a hint of aggression.
“Much obliged, cuz!” Quentin caught the sword in one hand with a deftness and confidence that did wonders to revive her spirits. “Drop your weapon, Maxwell. Even with your men, you can’t hope to prevail against a crowd of this size.”
As Neil edged around, seeking an opening, Diarmid marched around the room and passed swords to some of the other men, including Fergus and Hamish and Brody.
“Neil, it might be sensible to make a strategic retreat,” Belmont bleated, inching away and eyeing the forces that assembled against them. Kit noticed that while her suitor was armed, he hadn’t yet unsheathed his weapon. “The gamble hasn’t paid off.”
“Be buggered if I’m going to fail at this late stage,” Neil blustered.
“You’ll have to kill me to take me away from here,” Kit said with a calmness that in no way reflected the frenzied pounding of her heart. “And if I’m dead, the estate goes to cousin Stephen.”