The Laird of Blackloch (Highland Rogue #2)

Chapter 6

A lex unlocked the door and ushered Aileen through, followed by a seething Sarah Lambert. She swept past him, claret-red skirts swaying around her slender hips, her blue eyes darting fire. He could hardly blame her for feeling both outraged and terrified, and a better man would let her go. Indeed, a better man wouldn’t have abducted her in the first place. But needs must when the Devil drives, and Miss Lambert was a pawn he had to play in order to best Malcolm Campbell.

Even though the final stage of this game was only just beginning, Alex was determined to win.

Lifting her skirts with one hand, Sarah held onto the carved mahogany railing with the other as she began to descend the stairs to the lower floor. Alex followed close behind, not at all certain that she wouldn’t try to make a break for it. Not that it would do her any good. There was a loyal footman standing guard at every door.

They’d just gained the landing before the descent to the main hall when Sarah tripped on the edge of the Turkish runner. She let out a terrified squeal as she stumbled and pitched forward toward the stairs and Alex only just caught her in the nick of time.

“Careful, lass,” he murmured as he pulled her backward and she sagged against him. He could feel the frantic rise and fall of her chest, the pounding of her heart, and a small part of him almost regretted what he was putting her through. “Trying to break your neck to escape me seems a trifle drastic.”

Aileen, several steps below them, turned back. “Perhaps it is the laudanum, sir.”

Sarah put a shaking hand to her head. “I do feel a little dizzy.”

“Well, that won’t do, lass.” Alex swept Sarah up into his arms and began to descend the stairs again.

She immediately began to wriggle and push at his chest. “Put me down. I can manage.”

“I don’t think so. I need you alive and well, Miss Lambert.”

“For what?” Sarah’s blue eyes were bright with anger, the color high in her cheeks. “I still don’t understand what is going on. Why are you abducting me? You say you don’t want my money.” Her cheeks grew beet red as she added, “And I won’t become your whore.”

God, if she knew what he ultimately had in mind for her, she’d be horrified. Instead, Alex simply said, “As lovely as you are, I don’t want you for that reason either.” They’d gained the main hall and Alex followed Aileen toward the servants’ entrance at the rear of the townhouse.

“Then why—?” Sarah’s dark blond eyebrows drew together in a deep frown. “Has this got something to do with Lord Tay and the woman at the ball? The one he was…he was with...?” Her voice cracked and she swallowed. “Was she someone you cared for? Are you stealing me away because of what Malcolm did? Because if you are?—”

“It’s complicated. And yes, this is about Lord Tay. But not the other woman. Or you.”

Sarah’s pretty pink mouth flattened into a disapproving line. “It’s hardly fair to involve me in your diabolical scheme then.”

“I know.”

“Surely there’s some other way.”

“There isn’t.”

“If we could just talk?—”

“Trust me, it won’t make any difference.”

They’d reached the servants’ entrance where Aileen stood by the door with a footman; both waited for his directions.

“My carriage is outside, Miss Lambert. I’m going to put you down.” Alex set her on her feet, facing Aileen, then surreptitiously drew a silk rope from the pocket of his coat. “And I hope you’ll accept my apology in advance for what I’m about to do…”

Before Sarah could draw breath to question the reason for Black’s apology, he was deftly lashing her wrists together behind her back and Aileen was pushing a silk gag into her mouth.

Unbridled anger and panic coursing through her veins, Sarah attempted to scream as she struggled and writhed, but her efforts to escape were to no avail. Black had tied her in such a way that each movement seemed to pull the bonds tighter, and her cries were nothing more than muffled moans. Tears stung her eyes as she slumped to the ground, refusing to walk, but Black simply picked her up and unceremoniously slung her over his shoulder so that she was upside down, her derrière in the air.

Even though she kicked and twisted, it made no difference whatsoever—Black held her easily as though she weighed nothing more than a child. Within moments, the door had been unbolted and Black was carrying her outside into a cobbled close—at least Sarah thought it was a close, considering her view of the world was topsy-turvy. As she was deposited onto a leather bench inside a carriage, she caught a brief glimpse of gray bricks and whirling snowflakes before Black climbed in after her. And then the door slammed shut against the frigid morning air and any hope she had of freedom.

Sarah glared at Black as he claimed the spot beside her. His long, powerful legs were canted across the space between her and the door and she knew if she tried to launch herself toward it, it would be no effort at all for him to restrain her.

“I will remove the gag and untie you as soon as we leave the city,” he said gruffly, before lifting the black velvet curtain covering the window to peer outside.

Was that a note of remorse in his voice?

The carriage rolled off and Sarah closed her eyes as the tears she’d been trying to keep at bay slid down her cheeks. It seemed she was still in Edinburgh. Not that it mattered. For the moment, she was trapped with no obvious way out. And after last night, she clearly couldn’t count on Malcolm to mount any sort of search and rescue attempt.

But somehow, some way, she would get out of this mess. She was intelligent and she was capable. And Alexander Black, for all his power and ruthless machinations, must have a chink in his armor. She would find it, and when the time was right, she would exploit his weakness and escape.

She had to.

“Milord, my apologies for disturbing ye...”

Malcolm groaned and prized open his eyelids. “Fuck, Drysdale,” he growled at his old-as-Methuselah butler. “What is it?” He straightened in his wingchair and cracked his neck. His head pounded and his mouth felt as dry and dusty as the ash-strewn grate. Why, in the Devil’s name, had he drunk so much last night after he’d returned to Tay House after the Kenmuir’s ball? He couldn’t believe he’d fallen asleep by the fire in his private sitting room instead of crawling into bed. It was moments like these that he really wished he hadn’t dismissed his valet. “What time is it?”

The wizened butler hovered by the heavy oak door, nervously shifting his ill-attired weight from one foot to the other. “Eight of the clock, milord. Again, I apologize but?—”

“Eight o’clock? You useless cock, why are you waking me at such a godforsaken?—”

Malcolm froze. Shit, Sarah. Sarah’s gone.

He swallowed and rubbed his face with a shaking hand as reality dashed over him like a bucket of cold water. Sarah hadn’t returned to Tay House last night, and he hadn’t a clue where she’d gone. All his discreet inquiries and a search of the streets between here and Kenmuir House had proved fruitless.

He cast a narrow-eyed look at Drysdale, not daring to hope he had any news. “Well, out with it, man. Is this about Miss Lambert?”

The elderly butler hobbled toward the fireside and proffered a folded piece of cream parchment upon a tarnished silver tray. “A message was delivered verra early this morning, milord, and ye said that if there should be any word aboot Miss Lambert...” The butler swallowed audibly. “Weel, MacThomas, the night footman, says that someone pushed this letter under the front door some time afore dawn. Whilst we dinna know if it is aboot yer betrothed?—”

“Christ, just give it to me.” Malcolm snatched the parchment from Drysdale and cracked the plain red wax seal.

Tay,

Your pretty little heiress is now in my possession. To ensure her safe return, a substantial sum is required. Further directions shall be delivered at my convenience in the coming days. But harbor no illusions, if you do not provide what I ask for, when I ask for it, Miss Lambert will be no more.

Janus.

“Fuck!” Malcolm stared at the paper in his hand. How could this be? Surely this had to be some sort of mad prank or sick joke.

But of course, it wasn’t.

Someone had kidnapped Sarah.

How in the Devil’s name was he to pay the ransom? He couldn’t even afford to pay his bloody servants properly.

Malcolm sent Drysdale for coffee then tossed the paper onto a nearby table where his silver snuffbox and an almost empty bottle of brandy sat. The kidnapper—this Janus, whoever he was—hadn’t stated how much money he wanted exactly. “Substantial” could mean anything, depending on who was making the demand. It could be one hundred pounds, a thousand, or ten thousand. Even the King’s bloody Crown Jewels.

Malcolm picked up the brandy and sloshed what remained into a sticky tumbler before taking a sizable swig. The problem was, he had virtually nothing left to give. Marrying Sarah should’ve been the solution to all his woes. She was worth an absolute fortune. But now the stupid bitch had allowed herself to be kidnapped from under his very nose by some prick calling himself Janus.

Who the bloody hell was he? Malcolm ran a hand through his hair, racking his brains for some kind of answer. Who did he know who was both short of funds and desperate enough to carry out such a brazen attack?

He grimaced. No one except himself.

One thing was certain: he had to get his hands on more money, and discreetly. It was a predicament like no other. He couldn’t afford to lose Sarah, but he also couldn’t afford to let it be known that she’d been kidnapped. The resultant scandal would kill him. If Society learned the mighty Earl of Tay was in dire financial straits, and he couldn’t pay the ransom, he’d be well and truly fucked, and for all time. He’d wouldn’t have a hope in Hades of finding another gullible heiress.

Malcolm supposed he could always approach Sarah’s former legal guardian and executor of the late Edwin Lambert’s will, Charles Swindon, as a last-ditch plan. Sarah had only recently come of age, so perhaps Swindon still had access to her fortune... It meant he would have to travel to Newcastle—another expense if he were to stay at an inn rather than sleeping in his last remaining carriage at the side of the road. There was also no guarantee the journey would be worth it.

He’d only met Charles Swindon on a few occasions, and he’d come across as a stuffy tight-arse. Of course, Sarah’s bird-witted Aunt Judith might prove useful in convincing Swindon to cough up the funds. The biddy would undoubtedly be desperate to get her niece back, too.

Then again, if the woman suspected he was penniless, she might use the information against him. She might go to Swindon on her own and they might arrange to pay Sarah’s ransom. Then turn Sarah against him, which wouldn’t be hard considering she’d undoubtedly come upon him screwing that woman, Nell. No doubt there’d be a massive to-do. And the Earl of Tay’s name would be mud.

Malcolm downed the last of the brandy then took a pinch of snuff. Perhaps all was not lost. The wait for the next lot of instructions would be excruciating, but in the meantime, he could approach a friend or two to see if he could acquire some extra funds. And of course, Damaris would probably be willing to fuck a few more noblemen in exchange for jewels, which he could then pawn. It wasn’t as though they hadn’t done it before.

He’d best stay away from the gaming tables...

One way or another, he would get Sarah back and her fortune would be his. Anything else was unthinkable.