Part 11 (1/2)

He took a deep breath, straightened his coat, which had somehow come askew, and made his way to the front steps. He stumbled only once more, catching the railing when he did so. The footman, who'd made a grab toward him, stepped back into place and pretended he hadn't noticed a thing.

”I didn't fall,” Jack said, carefully watching the footman.

”No, my lord,” the footman said immediately. ”You did not.”

Jack grinned, absurdly pleased. ”You are a good man...ah...Charles?”

”I am Peter, my lord. Charles was here before me.”

”Ah, yes. A shorter fellow with dark hair.”

”Yes, my lord.”

Fiona thought he was callous and hard-hearted because he did not take the time to know his servants.

Well, he'd show her. He'd find out what had happened to Charles and amaze her with his knowledge.

Really, Kennelsworth and Devons.h.i.+re had it all wrong-this marriage thing wasn't such a difficult proposition. All he had to do was modify his behavior in a few small ways but make a big deal over those changes. That would temper her ladys.h.i.+p's annoying propensity to think the worst of him.

Jack turned to the footman. ”So, ah...Peter, why did Charles leave my employ?”

The footman blinked. ”Because he wished to marry Jane, my lord. She is the upstairs maid to Sir Broughton.” ”Ah. And when is the happy day?”

”The...the happy day, my lord?”

Jack took a deep breath and enunciated each word with great care. ”The marriage. When is it?”

The footman gulped a bit. ”M-my lord, Charles left three years ago. He and Jane have a child now. She

just turned two years of age.” Jack blinked. ”Then...you've worked for me since?” ”No, my lord.” Jack relaxed a bit. ”How long have you worked for me?” ”Twelve years, my lord.” Jack blinked. ”Twelve? You said you'd only recently become a footman!” ”Yes, my lord. Before that, I worked under your head groom, Mr. Lachney.” ”There you go!” Jack said, feeling vindicated. ”Thatis why I do not recognize you. I daresay I rarely saw you if you worked in the stables.”

”Actually, my lord,” Peter said, looking miserable, ”I saw you every day. I was your outrider since I was

twelve.”

Jack stared. ”How old are you now?”

”Twenty-four, my lord.”

Good G.o.d. The man had been his outrider for nine years and then his footman for three, and Jack could

not remember a bit of it. Maybe-just maybe-Fiona was right, and he did ignore his servants.

G.o.d, he needed another drink. He could not think this through now. ”Thank you, Peter.”

The footman managed a bow.

Jack looked across the portico to the front door. It would be opened by yet another footman, and

working with that footman would be others, all of whom had names that he did not know. ”b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, I'll need a b.l.o.o.d.y list to remember them all!” He rubbed his forehead and wished he hadn' t had that last snifter of brandy; he was rather foxed. Well, it would serve his cheeky wife well-that's what she got for being so d.a.m.ned seductive and for sending a rain storm after him. He needed something to eat. A man could only take so much witchery on an empty stomach. Jack paused at the top of the steps, one hand on the banister. He'd have to let go of the banister to reach the door, and he wasn't certain that was a wise idea. He was contemplating his options when a deep voice rich with a Scottish brogue said, ”Och, now, what have we here?”

Another voice, even deeper, answered, ”'Tis none other than black-hearted Jack Kincaid, the drunken scalawag who stole away our sister.”

Jack sighed and glanced up at the sky. Was G.o.d angry? Was that why he kept sending these tests?

”Aye,” replied yet another voice, ”that's who 'tis. Now kill him. I'm famished and there are warm pasties at the inn.”

”Aye, hurry things along,” said another. There was a distinctive sound, as if someone had cracked his knuckles menacingly.

Jack turned, one hand still clutched the railing. Fiona's brothers, all four of them, were standing on his walkway, and here he was, ape-drunk.

He closed his eyes and said a short, fervent prayer. When he opened his eyes, they were still there, all four of them obviously angry.

There was nothing for it but to face them, the jacka.s.ses. Jack put his foot back on the steps and made his way down, holding on to the railing and hoping they wouldn't notice the world was slowly slanting to the left.

The morning sun outlined Fiona's brothers with rays of gold, as if they were Gabriel and his archangels come to enact vengeance.

But if there was one thing Jack knew about the MacLeans, it was that the only angel in the family was now residing inhis bed.

The thought made him grin. They may be furious with him, but it didn't change things. Fiona was his. They'd not do anything to dishonor their sister or cause her embarra.s.sment.

The thought gave him courage. Jack squinted in the light, then cursed and moved to the other side of the stairs so the sun did not s.h.i.+ne in his eyes.

Talldid not begin to describe Fiona's brothers. They were ma.s.sively built, with bulging muscles and thick necks. All were dark-haired like Fiona except Dougal, which Jack found amusing, as the nameDougal meant ”dark stranger.” Unlike Fiona, whose green eyes showed her every emotion, her brothers' eyes were so dark they appeared black. And every one of them glared at Jack.

”What a pleasant surprise.” Jack leaned against the railing, tipping his hat down to shade his eyes a bit more. ”The lost brothers of Fiona MacLean. Oh. Wait. FionaKincaid .”

”Do not push us, fool,” Dougal growled. ”We came to be certain our sister is well.”

”Aye,” agreed Hugh. Older than Dougal by a year, he appeared much older because of the streak of white that touched his brow. He eyed Jack icily. ”And if our sister's not well-” He smacked his huge fist into his palm.

Jack decided he didn't particularly care for Fiona's brothers. ”There's no need for any of you to be here. Your sister is inmy care now. Not yours.”

His words sent a wave of displeasure through his audience. Alexander, the oldest, glowered, while Gregor, Hugh, and Dougal sent dagger glances.