Highland Heiress - By Margaret Moore Page 0,41

that hair.

“It’s Mr. McHeath!” she cried, kneeling beside him and gently rolling him onto his back. She could scarcely breathe herself, for fear that he was dead.

He moaned.

Alive, thank God! Alive!

Yet he was far from well. There was an ugly, bloody gash over his right eye and fresh bruises colored his chin and cheek. Worst of all, there was a huge bloodstain on his shirt, bright and fresh.

“Jem, see if you can find some boards or branches to make a stretcher,” she ordered as she slowly shifted until Gordon McHeath’s head rested on her lap. “And send one of the boys for the doctor. Have him come to the manor. Quickly now!”

“Aye, my lady.”

“Send someone for the constable, too,” she added as she brushed the wet, muddy hair from Gordon McHeath’s pale brow.

“You’re going to be all right,” she whispered fervently as she looked down at his cut and bruised face. “You’re going to be all right!”

“God damn it, that was close!” Rafe gasped as he lay panting on the moldy mound of hay in the loft of an abandoned outbuilding on the Earl of Dunbrachie’s estate. “I ain’t run so fast since I nearly got nicked pickin’ pockets in York.”

“We wouldnae cut it so close if that lawyer hadn’t come,” Red Mac MacCormick said as he hunkered down in the corner, his back to the wall.

“Here’s hopin’ they don’t find him for a while yet,” Charlie said as he tossed a hunk of bread down to his dog below. The animal snapped it up in one bite and sat on its haunches waiting for more.

“How long do ye reckon we’ll have to stay here?” Rafe asked, scratching at a fleabite.

“Till the man comes with the money,” Red replied.

“Tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” Red said, taking out his dirk and wiping off the blood with a handful of hay. “He’ll have to wait until nobody’s watchin’ him.”

“Better be soon, unless you’ve got some food stored hereabouts,” Rafe replied before he started to cough.

“If he don’t come today, we’ll go to him,” Red declared. He nodded at the oldest among them. “Charlie here knows all about housebreakin’. He can get us in.”

Charlie frowned as he tossed another hunk of bread to his dog. “Not likely,” he said, his voice low and rough.

“You can’t, or you won’t?” Rafe demanded.

“Too risky,” Charlie replied. “Too many servants.”

“Then that’s it,” Red said. “We wait here.”

“And get caught, like as not—and then he don’t have to pay us at all, or ain’t you two thought o’ that?” Rafe asked harshly.

“He’s good for it, I tell ya,” Red retorted. “But if you want to live like a beggar the rest o’ your miserable life, go. And good riddance.”

Rafe got to his feet. “Not without the money I was promised. Not when I might swing for helpin’ you.”

The dirk still in his hand, Red rose and faced him.

Sweat beaded Rafe’s grimy forehead as he began to back toward the edge of the loft. “I only want what I’m owed. What I was promised. Easy money, you said. Well, where is it then?”

Charlie muttered something under his breath.

“What’d you say?” Rafe demanded, his frightened gaze flicking from the man with the knife to the man whose dog would rip out a man’s throat on command.

“I said, if we let you go, maybe you’ll turn us in for a reward,” Charlie said.

Rafe shook his head and took another step back. “I won’t. I just want to get out of here with my life, and never see neither of you again.”

“I dinnae think we can let you do that, can we, Charlie?” Red said with a sidelong glance at his companion.

“Nay,” Charlie said. He got to his feet and pulled off his leather belt.

The dog waiting below began to growl low in its throat. Red took a step forward. Charlie began to wrap his belt around his right hand.

Rafe took another step back. To the very edge of the loft. Crying out, he flailed his arms and tried to get his balance. Failed.

And fell.

The next morning, sunlight streamed into the east-facing windows of the Earl of Dunbrachie’s manor house. Outside, birds sang and sheep grazed on the expansive lawn as if nothing at all had happened last night. Inside, the servants attended to their tasks almost as if this day were like any other, although not quite. There was too much excitement and avid speculation whenever two or more met and spoke in hushed whispers about the fire and the man who’d been brought back