The Laird’s Angel Page 9

When she cut herself off with a noise which sounded suspiciously like a sob, Lachlan moved his fingers to her chin to hold her gaze, and to keep from losing her.

  “Mellie,” he began softly, “ye are worth more than just giving a man pleasure.”

  A shudder passed through her as her eyes widened in shock at his words.

  Why?

  Had no one said that to her before?

  When she tried to shake her head again, he held her in place with a gentle pressure, and countered her denial with a slow nod of his own.

  “Ye are worth more than this.”

  With a sob, she broke away from him by throwing herself backward, before scrambling to her feet. The silk gown tangled in her legs, but she didn’t allow that to stop her.

  Instead, she muffled her sobs with her palm, and when she was steadily back on her feet, she paused in her flight to look down at him.

  Her shoulders were heaving and tears streamed down her cheeks. The look in her vivid blue eyes was almost wild—confused, frantic, frightened—as she met his gaze.

  Then, with another muffled sob, she whirled and bolted for the door.

  Lachlan knelt there on the floor of his chambers, his cock softening beneath his kilt, and cursed himself for a fool.

  Who in all of Creation was she?

  Chapter 6

  Mellie stared down at the parchment resting between her two hands. It was her report to Charlotte, and it was still blank.

  In the days since she’d kissed Lachlan—then tried to do other things—she’d paced her room, trying to make sense of what she’d learned. She’d even taken her suppers in her chambers, alone, claiming a headache.

  Likely he’d known the truth, but she was far too embarrassed to face him.

  Not after he’d rejected her so…so…nicely.

  Like a true gentleman.

  She took a deep breath and rolled her head from side to side.

  What did she know about him?

  Well, other than Brigit’s gossip, she was no closer to finding the truth about his loyalties, or the likelihood of him committing treason.

  But she was learning more and more about Lachlan, the man, wasn’t she?

  She knew he was a good leader, one who valued peace and his clan’s prosperous future.

  She knew he wasn’t afraid of hard work, and in fact, seemed to prefer it to sitting in his solar with his seneschal.

  She knew all that hard work had built a glorious set of shoulders, and a chest she wanted to lick. The man was well-built, and the sight of his strong arms alone could make her—

  Focus.

  With a sigh, she picked up the parchment, rolled it, then set it down and smoothed it back out again, all the while watching the way her hands moved.

  What else did she know about Lachlan?

  He was a good father and loved his daughter deeply.

  He’d once been betrothed, but when the poor woman had given him a daughter instead of a son, he’d sent her away.

  He was the only man to ever look her in the eyes and tell her she was worth more than the pleasure she could bring him.

  He was the only man who’d rejected her seduction, despite the fact she could clearly feel his need and desire.

  He was the only man who’d ever held her tenderly and told her she was worth more.

  With a groan, Mellie dropped her head into her hands, willing her tears not to fall. For one thing, she’d cried enough over the last days. For another, she didn’t want to have to clean the parchment if she spilled her tears all over it.

  Sainte Vierge!

  She’d offered herself to him—had gotten down on her knees for him!—and he’d rejected her in the most heart-wrenching, the most beautiful, way possible.

  That didn’t sound like the actions of a man who had banished his first betrothed, then kept her from her own daughter, did it?

  Mellie’s eyes flashed open. Through her fingers, she stared down at the blank report in front of her.

  Suddenly, Lachlan’s past, his loyalties, seemed to fade in the background. Although her mission here at An Torr was to determine if he was behind the assassination attempt, she found herself thinking of Rosa’s advice instead.

  Gain his trust, and his heart.

  She couldn’t do all of that, nay. But mayhap…

  Mayhap if she could find the truth of who he was, then mayhap she’d find the truth of his actions.

  I will tell ye whatever ye need to ken.

  He’d said that yesterday, after he’d dropped to his knees in front of her and taken her in his arms. Her heart had been so torn, she hadn’t been paying attention, but now?

  She couldn’t come right out and ask him if he was behind the assassination attempt, could she?

  He’d surely say no, so could she trust it was the truth?

  Gain his trust.

  Nay.

  First, he had to gain hers.

  “Lady Mellie?”

  The small voice from the door caused Mellie to gasp and spin around in surprise. She caught herself attempting to hide the parchment behind her back, before remembering it was blank.

  Wee Simone was peaking around the doorframe, but when she found she now had Mellie’s attention, her eyes lit up, and she stepped into the room. “I’m sorry for bothering ye, Lady Mellie, but the door was ajar. Are ye still sick?”

  “I—” Mellie shook her head, flustered.

  She’d left the door ajar?

  Or had someone else opened it and been peeking in on her?

  Was life at An Torr as idyllic as it seemed, or was she just too used to thinking as an Angel and seeing conspiracies everywhere she looked?

  “I am better now, thank ye.”

  Nodding, Simone took another few steps into the room. “Da said ye werenae feeling well yesterday eve, and when I came to see ye this morning, yer door was closed.” She looked around the room, her eyes lingering on the gowns Brigit had hung on hooks along the wall. “ ’Tis my favorite room in the keep, ye ken.”

  One of Mellie’s brows rose, as she scooted a chair around to face the girl, then sat. “I didnae ken that. Even more so than yer nursery?”

  The wee lass made a face as she crossed to the bed. “Ella is my nursemaid, and she’s auld an’ boring. My bed there is comfortable enough, I guess.” She leaned both hands and her weight on the mattress. “But I was born here in this bed, ye ken. That’s what Da tells me.”

  Slowly, Mellie stood, both brows raised high this time, as she looked around the chamber. It was An Torr’s nicest guest chamber, and had likely belonged to the ladies of the keep in the past. It wasn’t hard to believe Lachlan’s first betrothed had been assigned this room as well.

  And had birthed her child here.

  Had she done so, knowing the bairn would be loved and accepted by the father? And had she known, even then, she wouldn’t have a place in her daughter’s life?

  Unconsciously, one of Mellie’s fingers rose to her lips as she tried to make sense of it all.

  Lachlan did love and accept his daughter, there was no question about that. But why had he sent Simone’s mother away? And could a man who would do that also betray his King?

  She needed more information, if she was to determine the truth about Lachlan Fraser.

  And the wee lass in front of her may just be the source she needed.

  “I am feeling much better, Simone. Would ye like to take a walk with me?”

  A look of guilt flashed across the lass’s face. “Um…”

  “Ah. Does Ella, yer nursemaid, no’ ken where ye are? Will she be cross if ye—”

  “Nay!” The little girl clasped her hands in front of her and shifted her weight from one tiny foot to the other. “Actually, she’s napping. She’s quite auld, ye ken.” Peeking up at Mellie, the lass offered a hesitant smile. “I was gonna go down to the loch, but then I thought mayhap…”

  When she trailed off, Mellie cocked her head to one side. “Aye?”

  “I thought mayhap”—the
little girl shrugged, then took a deep breath and said, all in one breath—“ye-might-want-to-go-fishing-with-me-Lady-Mellie-but-ye-don’-have-to-if-ye-don’-want-to-but-would-ye-please?”

  Mellie’s lips curved upward. This was the perfect opportunity for her to possibly learn more details, but that hadn’t been her first thought.

  Nay, when the lass invited her, Mellie’s first thought had been one of excitement at the chance to spend time with Simone.

  “I think that sounds like a wonderful idea, Simone. But ye have to do me a favor.”

  The wee lass’s face lit with excitement, her gray eyes sparkling. “Aye? Anything!”

  Mellie offered her hand, and when Simone took it, she squeezed the little girl’s hand gently.

  “Call me Mellie.”

  * * *

  “Milord! Milord, I cannae find wee Simone!”

  Lachlan grunted as he hoisted the stone he was building into place, then turned toward the call as he wiped his dusty hands on his plaid.

  His daughter’s elderly nursemaid was waddling across the yard, appearing cross and agitated. He stifled his sigh and raised his hand to let her know he’d heard her.

  “We can handle the rest of this, milord,” said Owen, who was working beside him.

  They’d been at the wall repairs since early that morning, and Lachlan reveled in the feel of his muscles straining, and the way his back ached. Anything was welcome which might help wipe away the memory of Mellie on her knees, reaching for his cock—

  He cleared his throat. “Ye’re sure?”

  His best friend, and second-in-command, squinted up at the sky. “Aye. Even if this storm breaks, we’ve enough done to hold the foundation. Go track down the wee lassie, afore Ella has a conniption.”

  Nodding his thanks to the other men, Lachlan started across the yard. Likely Simone had gone down to the loch again to fish with the baker’s son.

  Although…

  Suddenly frowning, Lachlan glanced up at the sky again. Dark clouds had started gathering about an hour ago, and if the storm hit while the lass was out on the water…

  Bursting into motion, he ran toward his daughter’s nursemaid, fear and panic not yet taking over, but the threat was there.

  “Ella!” He crashed to a stop once he reached the woman, and took in a deep breath. “How long has she been gone?”

  “Oh, milord!” the woman wailed, “ye ken I like a wee nap some mornings, and she wasnae in the nursery when I awoke.”

  And why should she be stuck in a damn nursery all day?

  Simone loved adventure as much as he did, and would’ve seen no good reason to be stuck in the nursery, with nothing more to do than watch an old woman nap.

  Frowning, Lachlan glanced around the yard, as if his wee lass might easily be found there.

  “Ye’ve looked for her?” She’d been missing for a few hours by his calculations, knowing how long Ella’s naps usually took.

  The woman was nodding her head and wringing her hands. “Aye! Aye, milord. I looked in the nursery and yer room and the great hall.”

  That was it?

  Simone wouldn’t be in any of those places, not when the great wide world beyond beckoned.

  He did his best to stifle his sigh. It wasn’t Ella’s fault; he knew she was too old to be in charge of a wee hellion like Simone.

  What the lass needs is a mother.

  God’s Wounds! Where in damnation did that thought come from?

  When a clap of thunder sounded in the distance—the Almighty himself lending his opinion on the matter—Lachlan shook his head, focusing on his current concern.

  “Find Martin and have him organize a search party. I’m going to check with the baker and the fishermen.”

  “A—aye, milord,” Ella stuttered, as she offered an awkward curtsey.

  But Lachlan was already hurrying past her, heading for the gates, and doing his best to ignore the ominous clap of thunder—which was much closer this time. He called out to his men as he began to jog, ensuring Martin would have plenty of help searching the keep for his missing daughter.

  He didn’t wait for the others, because he thought it might save them all a lot of time and stress if he found her quickly by searching the most likely places first.

  But nearly an hour later, thoroughly drenched from the furious rain pouring down, Lachlan stood alone on the shores of his loch, his daughter nowhere to be found.

  The baker hadn’t seen her, nor had the baker’s son, nor any of the fishermen. They’d predicted the weather would turn bad and few had ventured out onto the water that day. Those that did had all returned hours ago, and hadn’t seen Simone then either.

  But there was still one boat missing.

  Lachlan’s heart felt as if it would beat out of his chest, it hurt so much.

  Saints above, protect her. Protect my angel.

  God help him, but if Simone had been out there on the loch when this storm had hit, if she was now gone…

  Nay, donae think it.

  But how could he not?

  “Nothing, milord!” called one of his men, holding a torch aloft as he jogged up from the path to the village.

  Lachlan whirled. “Keep searching!” He bellowed. “All of ye! We will find her!”

  A ragged chorus of “Aye, milords” rang up and down the shoreline.

  God’s Wounds, but it was damn near impossible to see the village, much less a wee lass out on the loch. “Someone head back to the keep and check with Martin.”

  He had to yell just to be heard over the crashing of the waves. The storm had begun to move on, with the thunder echoing in the distance, but the wind was still vicious.

  A band tightened around his chest, refusing to allow him to breathe properly. She was out there, he knew it! And if the waves had capsized her boat…

  With a groan, Lachlan began to stalk down the shore, wishing for an enemy to slay or a demon to battle. This uncertainty, this fear, was the worst thing he’d ever experienced.

  And as the rain lessened, he knew he wouldn’t be able to hide the tears on his cheeks, and he didn’t care.

  But as the skies became a little clearer, he found he could see better too. He was far from the village—far from anything, but imposing cliffs. There was no place for a lost little girl to hide here.

  But there, ahead of him on the shore…

  Was that her boat?

  Unconsciously, Lachlan let out a wordless bellow and began to run toward the beached lump.

  Aye, aye, ‘twas!

  He wasn’t sure if this fierce burning in his chest was hope, or fear, but he refused to allow himself to feel either.

  The boat had been overturned, and the closer he came, the deeper the pit in his stomach became.

  If the boat was here, overturned, on the beach, then that meant…

  Not daring to breathe, not daring to pray, Lachlan reached the boat, and his heart in his throat, grabbed for the gunwale to flip it over. Mayhap there was a clue in there to where his daughter had gone overboard, where he could look for her.

  He took a deep breath.

  Dear God in Heaven, let her be safe.

  Chapter 7

  When the storm clouds had started closing in, Simone had just caught a fine, fat trout. She was laughing as she tried to remove the hook, while the poor thing flopped around on the bottom of the wee rowboat.

  “Fine work,” Mellie said, joining the girl in her laughter. “But that’s our last fish for the day.”

  With a triumphant cry, Simone lifted her prize by the lip. “But ‘tis bigger than both of yers! Ye’re just going to let me win the wager?”

  Mellie eyed the shore, then the clouds. “Aye, I think I must concede defeat. I still think Loch Ness is small, but ye’re a better fisherwoman than I am.”

  Giggling, the lass nodded as she dropped her catch in the pail they’d brought along for just that reason. “Both of mine are winners, methinks. Cook will praise me—and ye too, I’ll wager—when we have ‘em f
or dinner tomorrow.”

  A distant crack of thunder startled Mellie, and she shifted around on the bench, settling into the rowing position.

  Sainte Vierge!

  She should’ve been paying better attention to the skies!

  A piss-poor fisherman I turned out to be.

  Simone glanced up from her catch to eye the sky as well. “Do ye think…” She swallowed, as if suddenly realizing the danger. “Do ye think we’ll be caught in that storm?”

  With a grunt, Mellie shipped the oars, settling them into their oarlocks. “No’ if I can help it.” She pulled hard on the starboard oar, turning their wee craft toward the Fraser shoreline. “But it might be close.”

  “I’m sorry, Mellie,” Simone said in a small voice from her spot in the bow. Her grip was white-knuckled around the gunwale as she eyed the storm clouds above them. “I should’ve been paying attention.”

  Mellie’s feet were braced against the opposite bench, her concentration on the task at hand. Still, she was pleased the girl was facing the shore and couldn’t see the lightning strikes behind her.

  Bon Dieu!

  Had the storm really snuck up on them so suddenly?

  Only a few moments ago, the skies had been clear. She thought they had been at least.

  Was it possible she’d been enjoying herself so much with Simone, more time had passed than she’d realized?

  With another grunt, Mellie pulled hard on both oars, welcoming the burn in her arms and back. “Just keep an eye on the shore, lassie, and tell me when we are close.”

  With a nod, Simone turned her attention back over Mellie’s shoulders, and Mellie had to smile. The girl was adventurous, aye, as well as intelligent. ‘Twas clear she’d been raised by a parent who cherished her, and Mellie knew Lachlan would never put the lass in the same position Mellie’s father had put her in.

  She’d agreed to this outing in the hopes of learning more about Lachlan, but had discovered she adored Simone’s company because of the girl herself. The lass was witty and fun, full of silly faces and bad jokes. And her joy—at such simple pleasures—made Mellie happy as well.

  I’ll get her back safe.