Sizzle All Day, Bad Luck Wedding #4 (Bad Luck Abroad) Page 9

  "Dead as a fly in molasses. Has been since winter."

  Gillian froze. He was telling the truth. She could read it in his eyes. Relief washed over her, and as her head dropped back against the pillow, she murmured, "I wish I'd known. I've been plagued by terrible taxidermy nightmares."

  Jake's mouth tilted in a wry grin as he approached with a wicked looking knife and sliced through the silken ties, While he took hold of her arms and pulled her into a seated position, she imagined the look on Flora's and Angus's faces when she told them the news. The threats had made them all uneasy.

  Jake sat beside her on the bed and gently rubbed her wrists where the fabric strips had bound her. Though it reflected poorly upon her to feel pleasure at another person's demise, Gillian couldn't help herself. He had just freed her from a fearsome burden and it filled her with delight. Pulling free of Jake's tender hold, she beamed a smile at him. "Oh, Texas, this is the most welcome news."

  She threw her arms around his neck and yanked him to her.

  Then, Gillian kissed him.

  * * *

  For the first time since arriving in Scotland, Jake Delaney wasn't cold. He smoldered. He steamed. He sizzled.

  He was hot.

  Damn. He knew from experience that females had a talent for surprising a man. His sister Chrissy was a fine example of that. And hadn't Scooter knocked him for a loop earlier today at the watchtower when she somehow managed to catch a bird? He had been shocked senseless when the pooch approached with her trophy in her mouth.

  This particular surprise didn't knock him senseless. No, this surprise kept his senses very much in working order.

  At the first touch of Gillian's lips against his, he felt an instant, intense jolt of lust. Sensation bombarded him. She tasted delicious, an intriguing combination of sunshine and sweetness. She smelled heavenly, surrounding him in a cloud of jasmine and temptation. Then the sound she made when his hands clasped her waist—that little, dazzled hitch of breath—made him want to howl.

  Instinctively, Jake took control of the kiss. He changed the angle, deepened it. Invaded her mouth with his tongue. She whimpered once, and then responded, seducing him completely. Every impulse in him yearned to lay her back, to strip her naked, to take her and make her his.

  But the pesky voice of reason, of honor, could not be silenced for long. She was no lightskirt or lusty widow, but a young, unmarried woman of good family. Undoubtedly, a virgin.

  Virgin. Virgin. Virgin. The word echoed like a death knell in his brain.

  Well, hell. If he didn't watch himself, his mother might hear those wedding bells after all.

  It required a Herculean effort, but Jake pulled away. He wrenched himself from the bed and stalked across the room to the fireplace where he hunkered down and scratched the dog behind her ears. He didn't look at Gillian. He couldn't. After two bouts of serious sexual frustration in one evening, he was dangling at the end of his rope.

  So he forced himself to tie a knot and hold on. He got busy thinking about something else. Though he cleared his voice, it still emerged sandpaper rough when he asked, "What were you and Bennet fighting over?"

  She didn't immediately reply. As the silence dragged out, Jake finally had to glance over his shoulder. She sat as he had left her, a stunned expression on her face. Jake didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted.

  He raised his voice. "What did Bennet steal from Rowanclere?"

  Slowly, she turned her head toward him. The dazed look in her eyes faded. "It's not important." She reached for the robe lying at the foot of her bed and shrugged into it. "Mr. Delaney, I think I should apologize for being so forward. I didn't mean—"

  "I know. Neither did I. Tell me what he took."

  She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, visibly affronted. Jake knew better than to grin, although he found himself wanting to. When she wasn't busy being beautiful and alluring, the woman was just so damned cute.

  She gave the belt on her robe a hard tug. "Something that belongs to my Uncle Angus."

  "And this something is—?"

  "Not your concern."

  Rising to his feet, Jake grasped the fireplace poker and stirred the coals. He knew the answer, of course, but he wanted her to confirm it. Gillian was the woman who had taken the Declaration of Independence from that damned Texas Room at Bennet's country estate. The pieces all fit.

  Now he had to find a way to convince her to give it up to him. Not an easy task, considering the effort she'd made to get it away from Bennet.

  Jake replaced the poker in its stand, then turned to face her. Moonlight cast a luminous glow upon the highlights in her hair. Now, for the first time, Jake could believe she might in fact be supernatural. The reincarnation of Helen of Troy was who came to mind.

  "Jake Delaney, you and your sister have done my family a great service. I made the mistake of sharing Lord Bennet's letters with Uncle Angus, and he has fashed himself over the threats ever since. Such strain is not good for him. I think the pain in his bones worsens with worry. Now, that burden is lifted. We owe you a debt of gratitude."

  A debt? Jake checked Gillian's hands for signs of a silver platter. Yes, there it was, imaginary but about as shiny and pretty as they came. Never in his life had he been handed such a perfect opportunity.

  It can't be this easy.

  But the sincerity he saw shining in her face suggested it was. What the hell. Why not? He curled his fingers and stared down at his nails. "Debt is such an unpleasant commodity. I think it's always best to discharge an obligation as soon as possible, don't you agree?"

  "Yes, I do."

  "Good. Because you see, I do know a way your family can pay my family for the good turn we have done you."

  She must have heard something in his voice, because her eyes narrowed. Warily, she asked, "What is it?"

  Jake flashed her a smile and called her bluff. "You can hand over the copy you have of the Republic of Texas's Declaration of Independence."

  Chapter 6

  Gillian didn't know whether to laugh or cry. That accursed document. She rued the day Uncle Angus stepped ashore on Scottish soil with it in his possession. First Lord Bennet brought trouble to the family because he coveted the thing, and now Jake Delaney wanted it. If it were up to her, she'd give him the bastartin piece of paper just to be rid of it.

  But it wasn't up to her. The document was Uncle Angus's treasure, his to keep or give away. She tried her best to make her smile sincere. "I am sorry, I have no clue as to what you are talking about."

  "C'mon, princess, you are no better a liar than you are a ghost. I think you know exactly what I'm talking about."

  "Mr. Delaney," she protested, drawing herself up in offense.

  "I think we've gone beyond the Mr. and Miss, don't you, Gillian? Call me Jake." He sauntered over to her favorite chair and took a seat, stretching his long legs out in front of him before crossing them at the ankles. "A few minutes ago you said he stole something from Rowanclere and you went to England and got it back. That something was the Declaration of Independence."

  "Mr. De...Jake... I don't think—"

  "Here's the way I think it worked. At some point during the years your uncle lived in Texas, the document fell into his hands. He brought it with him when he returned to Scotland. It could have happened differently—this copy could be the one we believe was sent to the Texas Legation in London—but that part doesn't really matter. What does matter is that Bennet learned of its existence and went after it. Angus Brodie wouldn't give or sell or barter away the document, so Bennet tricked Robbie into giving it to him. He swindled a piece of history away from that darlin' little girl for the price of a bag of candy and a ham."

  Gillian choked and covered it with a cough. How could he know that? He certainly didn't learn it from Robyn, because shame kept the child's lips sealed tight. That bit of news must have come from Bennet himself.

  Jake continued. "Once y'all found out what happened, I imagine tempers blew. No
t only did Bennet take advantage of a child, he took something your uncle valued. So you set out to right the wrong and stole the Declaration back from Bennet."

  He had read the situation like a book, and Gillian did her best to hide any response. She couldn't confirm or deny anything, not until she talked to Uncle Angus.

  He folded his arms and tilted his head to one side, making a show of studying her. "You snatched the Declaration right from beneath the baron's pointy nose, then hightailed it home. You must have suspected he'd try to get it back, so you were prepared for him. You stopped him."

  While Jake talked, Scooter had dragged herself toward the chair and plopped down beside his feet. Jake leaned over, scooped her up, and set her in his lap. "Now Bennet wasn't a man who liked being thwarted, hence the letters. You were right to be wary of the man and his ugly threats, Gillian. He was obsessed. He'd have been back for the Declaration eventually. So, what parts do I have wrong? Not much, I imagine."

  Not anything. At a loss on how to answer, Gillian kept her gaze on Scooter, who whimpered with pleasure at Jake Delaney's attentions. I know how you feel.

  "Gillian? How about it? It was the Declaration you stole from Bennet's home, right?"

  She avoided answering by asking a question of her own. "Is that the true reason you searched our library? You were looking for this proclamation?"

  "Declaration, as you well know. Yes. Like I said before, my family almost came to real grief at Bennet's hand due to the Declaration. Because of that, I thought it best to keep to myself the purpose behind my visit when I first arrived. Now I figure it's best to lay it all out for you. I believe I mentioned I am an attorney?"

  Returning Scooter to the floor, he rose, reached into his pocket, and handed her a card that read J. A. K. Delaney, Attorney at Law. San Antonio, Texas.

  Lovely.

  "In this matter I represent the people of the State of Texas." His tone turned professional as he elaborated, "I have been sent by a group of concerned Texans who have organized a search for four handwritten copies of the Republic of Texas's Declaration of Independence. We traced one of the Declarations to England. My brother-in-law's inquiries then turned up Lord Bennet's name. That trail has now led right to you."

  Then, with a wink, the solicitor disappeared and the rogue returned. "So hand it over and be done with the debt. This document truly belongs to the people of Texas. The only other copy we had burned a few years ago. A country deserves to own its own history."

  "Tell that to the museums of the world," Gillian observed wryly. "I'm certain Greece would like the Elgin marbles back, too, but I don't see the British Museum handing them over."

  "The British Museum doesn't owe me a debt and you do, princess."

  "Dinna call me princess."

  Wicked charm filled the smile he flashed. "You are a blindingly beautiful woman who lives in a fairy-tale castle. Princess fits."

  His compliment warmed her and stroked her wounded sense of femininity. David never called her blindingly beautiful. Of course, David had never wanted her to give up an historical document, either.

  No, he only wanted your virginity.

  Gillian mentally slammed that door and cleared her throat. "I understand your concern, and I would be pleased to help you if it were in my power. However—"

  "Not yours to give away, hmm? Must be your Uncle Angus's property, then. He's the one who'll make the call?" Jake pulled out a pocket watch and checked the time. "Now that we have an understanding, I reckon this can wait until later this morning. Mind if I bunk in one of those rooms downstairs near your sisters instead of up in the tower? I noticed it's warmer in that part of the castle, and after the day I've had, my bones are crying out for heat. We can both get some shut-eye, then I'll meet with your uncle at breakfast. If all goes right, I can be on my way home before noon."

  "Wait. You have made assumptions and decisions based on your imagination. We have no understanding. What we have between us is—"

  "Debt. You said it yourself, Gillian. You said it first. Don't try to fishtail when I want to collect."

  "Fishtail?"

  He moved his hand in a back and forth motion. "Back out of it. Change directions. Change your mind."

  "I'm not changing anything. Nor am I admitting to anything or denying anything." Gillian closed her eyes and drew a deep breath in an attempt to calm her jittery nerves. Delaney wanted to sleep. Good. She would use the time to talk to Uncle Angus and explain the situation. Maybe together they could think of a way to pay the debt in a currency different from the one requested by Jake Delaney.

  If that was what Uncle Angus wanted, she couldn't imagine it being otherwise.

  The Declaration of Independence meant too much to Uncle Angus. He often said that in many ways, the document defined him as a man. He did not elaborate, other than saying it had something to do with what had happened on the San Jacinto battlefield where independence was won.

  After Lord Bennet stole the Declaration, she'd been surprised at the depth of Angus Brodie's sorrow. When the depression dragged on for months, she'd been motivated to go to great lengths to bring the document home. Now Jake Delaney wanted to take it away again. How would Uncle Angus react? Would the altruistic reasons Delaney presented make a difference to Uncle Angus?

  Possibly. She wouldn't know until she asked.

  "Well?" Jake folded his arms and scowled. "How long does it take for you to make up your mind? I'd just as soon not be standing here come dawn."

  "I was trying to decide which bedchamber you would find most comfortable. I think the pink room on the second floor is the best choice. It's usually warmer than—"

  "Pink?" He grimaced.

  "Actually, lavender and pink. It's a perfect room for you, sir." His petulant expression made her grin. Nodding toward the dog, she said, "If you and Scooter will follow me, I'll show you to your room."

  "Perfect room," he muttered. "Lavender and pink. What, did I kiss like a schoolgirl?"

  They were halfway down the spiral staircase when Gillian first heard Robyn's shout. Immediately, she picked up her skirts and ran down the steps. Rounding the final turn, she spied her younger sister. Tears glistened in eyes rounded with worry.

  "Oh, Gilly, come quick. Please, come quick."

  "Angus?" Gillian asked, her throat tight with nervousness.

  "No. It's Flora. It's the baby. Oh, Gillian, it's way too soon, but Flora says she's afraid she's having the baby."

  * * *

  Rowanclere was a castle in chaos.

  Before disappearing into her sister's room, Gillian dispatched a stableboy to Laichmoray to summon Flora's husband and sent a maid to the nearest village to fetch the howdie, or midwife. Mrs. Ferguson, the cook and all-around caretaker, dashed up and down the stairs, checking on Flora's progress while seeing to preparations for the merry meht, a kind of post-birth celebration, from what Jake gathered.

  Even young Robbie kept busy. Seated at a table in the sitting room across the hall from Flora's bedchamber, the girl made lists of items needed for the coming child. "We are not prepared to have a baby here at Rowanclere," she told Jake solemnly. "Birthing bairns is a serious event and matters must be a certain way to ensure the health and safety of Flora and the wee babe."

  "I see," Jake said, even though he didn't. At home, babies were birthed with little more than clean sheets, soap, a pan of hot water, and a knife to cut the cord. Why would it be so much different over here? He could see the need for extra coals for the fire to keep the infant warm enough, but the girl had filled three whole pages with writing, and she didn't appear near finished yet.

  Because he was curious by nature, Jake would have asked questions. Under the circumstances, he figured he'd better not. Calling attention to himself any more than necessary might prove dangerous. At the moment, while activity swarmed around him, Jake sat on a straight-backed, too-small, splintered-seat wooden chair within point-blank range of a Texas Paterson five-shot revolver held by a shaky Angus Brodie, Laird of R
owanclere.

  Damned old man had gotten the drop on him.

  Surprised was a mild term for what Jake felt when shortly after meeting his host, the Scot had pulled a gun. Hell, Brodie had to be eighty if he were a day, and he walked not just with one cane, but with a pair of 'em. If anyone from home saw Jake playing target in a chair like this, he'd never live it down.

  Except for confirming Jake's identity after Gillian's hurried introduction, Angus Brodie did not address him at all during the first half-hour of the bairn watch. A time or two Jake wondered if the lord of the castle had forgotten him, but each time he so much as twitched, he found himself staring down the Paterson's barrel. Not that he couldn't have extricated himself from the situation if he'd wanted. The man had a sickly look about him. But Brodie kept demanding information from the women going in and out of Flora's room, and Jake wanted to hear their replies. He figured Brodie probably wouldn't shoot him without some sort of provocation, and he was a bit worried about Mrs. Dunbar, himself. So he'd settled down to wait.

  Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when the howdie arrived with her daughter and another female assistant. Moments later, the midwife called for Robbie. The girl disappeared into the bedroom, then less than five minutes later, dashed out into the hah headed for the stairs. She returned a short time later carrying a huge knife.

  "Careful, there, sweetheart!" Jake exclaimed, horrified at the sight of such a little girl carrying such a big weapon. As Robbie hurried into the bedchamber, he turned to Brodie. "Why the hell did they need a knife like that in the birthing room?"

  Angus scowled in his direction, then explained in a voice that was a unique blend of Texan drawl and Scottish burr. "The butching-gullie. To ward off evil. Flora already has her Bible."

  "Oh. Of course." Now that didn't make a lick of sense. Jake was still pondering the remark a few minutes later when Robbie reappeared, rolling her eyes theatrically.

  "What's wrong?" asked her uncle, the last of the color fading from his already pallid face. "Flora?"