Remembered terror overwhelmed her for an instant, and she closed her eyes until the wave of nausea and fear passed. Opening her eyelids, she sought his reassuring gaze and lifted a shoulder. “Nae. We’re no’ wealthy nor do we possess chests of jewels and the like. I think it must’ve been a case of mistaken identity. There can be nae other reason.”
Thank God Liam had killed the blackguards so they couldn’t carry out their despicable mission on their true target.
“They kent yer name, lass.” He rubbed his cheek. “It wasna a mistake.”
She snapped her gaze back to his, and her jaw went slack. In the midst of the horror and chaos, she’d forgotten that indisputable fact.
Compassion softened his craggy features, and he touched a curl laying atop her shoulder, the gesture at odds with his warrior’s bearing. “They also said they’d been paid to do the deed. Are ye sure ye have nae enemies?”
The tress coiled lovingly around his forefinger, the brazen thing.
“Nae. None. We’ve lived a quiet life, only attendin’ an occasional dance or assembly. The trip to Killeaggian Tower was the first time I’ve left Edinburgh in my entire life.” She brushed her fingertips across one eye. “I canna believe any of this has happened. It makes nae sense.”
The ordeal had left her terrified and confused. Her whole world had tilted on its axis and she’d no way to right it. Didn’t even know where to begin or who she could trust except Liam MacKay.
“We’ll get to the bottom of it,” he assured her, confident and certain. “Dinna fash yerself.”
How could she not worry?
He was right, nevertheless. The men had known her name, and they’d taken the place of the real drivers.
Had they killed them, too?
Come to think of it, should she return to Edinburgh?
If someone was determined to dispose of her, wouldn’t they expect her to do that very thing? She’d have to rethink that decision. Perhaps Liam might have a suggestion about how best to proceed, although imposing upon him further seemed presumptuous.
“Ye’re frettin’. I see it in yer doe eyes. No’ can be done now.” He gently turned her toward the bunk and gave her a wee shove. “Now back to bed with ye. It will be dawn in a few hours, and I plan on goin’ huntin’ first thing. If I’m nae here when ye wake, dinna worry.”
How had he known that was precisely what she’d have done?
He gestured to the overflowing shelves. “There’s makin’s for coffee and tea and porridge. Help yerself. Och, and the necessary is out back. There’s a brook nearby, too.”
“This place is for huntin’, I take it?” Giving him a small upward sweep of her mouth, she shuffled to her hard, narrow bed, and he did likewise.
“Aye. Several of my friends, includin’ Graeme Kennedy, Broden McGregor, Quinn Catherwood, and Coburn Wallace use it.” Only Graeme Kennedy and Coburn Wallace’s names were familiar to her.
“We built it ourselves as teenagers.” He sighed as he relaxed onto the thin mattress. The cot groaned under his weight as he yawned. “Monthly, we rotate who checks the place and makes sure basic supplies are on hand. One never kens when one might have the urge to get away for a time.”
Or save a woman from would-be-assassins and a flash flood.
Emeline settled onto her side, drowsily staring at him. She owed this stranger much. If he hadn’t intervened—
She closed her eyes and gave her head a little shake to dislodge the gruesome image. “Liam?”
“Aye?” His bed squeaked as he changed position so he, too, lay on his side. He barely fit in his bunk, however. Evidently the teenage boys who’d built the cottage hadn’t considered how much larger they’d be as grown men.
How odd it was to be a few feet away from a man she scarcely knew, both of them abed and wearing next to nothing. Yet, she wasn’t the least afraid. There was an aura about Liam MacKay, an invisible wall, despite his gentleness and chivalry.
“Thank ye, again,” she murmured, emotion tightening her chest. “I truly do owe ye my life, and I ken I’ve put ye to a deal of trouble. If it werena for me, ye’d be home by now.”
To his waiting wife?
Was that why he’d not made any improper advances? He was married and faithful to his wife, as well? If so, that raised him further in her estimation. She’d met few inherently decent men of his caliber.
Or, perchance, he found her lacking. Most men did. That knowledge didn’t bring the sting it once did. Girlish fantasies fade, and life’s realities toughen sensible women.
“I’m just glad I was there and able to help,” he murmured sleepily. “Now rest, lass. Ye’ve had a tremendous shock.”
She had, but knowing he was just a few feet away brought her much relief. Else she’d not have been able to sleep a wink. Closing her eyes, she snuggled further beneath the blanket.
“Emeline?”
“Hmm?” It was much too great an effort to open her eyes again.
“I think ye’d better plan on stayin’ at Eytone Hall, my familial home, until we ken ye’re out of danger.” Was it very wrong that she found his sleepy voice sexy? “And I think ye should consider usin’ a different name for a time.”
Her eyelids popped open, and her gaze tangled with his across the room.
“Is that really necessary?” she whispered, fully understanding the implication of his suggestion. He believed she was in grave danger.
“Aye, and since the assassins kent yer full name, it will have to be a name they willna suspect.” He brushed a hand over his beard, eyeing her speculatively. “Do ye fancy any certain name?”
Eyes, partially closed, she wrinkled her nose, considering the question. “I’ve always liked Mareona.”
He went perfectly still, his mouth drawn into a grim line and his quicksilver eyes boring into hers. Such emotion sparked in their depths, her heart skipped a painful beat.
“That…that ’twas my bairn’s name.”
Chapter Three
Emeline puttered around the cottage, casting frequent glances out the dusty window. She had awoken a couple of hours ago to golden sunlight streaming into the cottage. After summoning her courage, she’d ventured outdoors and used the necessary. She didn’t like the fear that has shrouded her since yesterday.
Upon returning indoors, she’d rinsed her mouth and added a log to the fire. Shivering, despite the crackling blaze in the hearth, she’d quickly bathed with cold water from the bucket and soft citrus-scented soap she’d found in a jar before hastily dressing.
Grimacing, she’d donned her bloodstained traveling gown, but there’d been no help for it. Her trunk had been lost in the flood.
Drawing in a ragged sigh, she placed a palm to her forehead, as if the gesture would help steady her rioting thoughts and emotions.
She’d brought her best clothes to the gathering at Killeaggian Tower, and everything else she owned was in Edinburgh. The minute they arrived at Liam’s home, she’d borrow a gown and have this one burned.
Once again peering outdoors, she combed her fingers through her thick, unruly hair. Encountering a snarl, she winced. Heavens. She didn’t even own a hairbrush anymore, and her hair pins had come out while she struggled against the curs hauling her and her aunt from the coach yesterday.