Page 57 of Romancing the Scot
That was true about all the lanes around here unless, Hugh thought, you weren’t of Scottish descent and happened to cross onto Nithsdale land. Hugh felt a surge of anger. And he wasn’t done with the earl . . . or with his wife’s guest if she was the one who sent that letter to Grace.
“You’re new around here,” he said to Darby. “But had you seen these men before? In the village perhaps?”
“I’d remember those scoundrels, m’lord.” The blacksmith shook his head. “At first, I thought they were just thieving rogues passing through, but I think they were trying to snatch you, mistress.”
“Those men weren’t thieves,” Grace agreed. “They weren’t after coins or jewels. Not once did they demand a purse from me.”
She was trying to keep up a brave front by focusing only on Darby’s wound, but Hugh saw her shiver. The letdown that came after battle.
“I heard one of them say to ‘grab’ you,” the blacksmith said, taking a deep breath as Grace swabbed and pressed on the wound again. “Like they were hiding out here waiting. Not a quarter mile before I came up to you, I passed one of the farm lasses from Baronsford heading toward the village. We exchanged greetings. She had no trouble passing this way.”
Questions bombarded Hugh’s mind of why anyone would want to kidnap her. Very few knew she was here. Nithsdale. Mrs. Douglas. Who else?
His clerk, normally a man of discretion, had no reason for secrecy when he asked around Antwerp about a missing American woman. He may have let slip that she’d arrived at Baronsford in a crate, but he had no name to circulate. Someonecouldhave traveled here by now. And there was the diamond locked in his iron chest. Men were capable of despicable deeds when it came to possessing a treasure like that.
Or, all of this conjecture was meaningless. Those men could have simply happened upon Grace, seen the way she was dressed, and decided that she was a prize too tempting to pass up.
The sound of the approaching carriage pulled him out of his thoughts.
Footmen jumped down from their places, and Truscott was out of the carriage before it had even rolled to a stop.
“Good God,” he cried out, seeing the bloodied blacksmith.
“Help me get him into the carriage,” Hugh ordered. “Gently.”
“I can walk,” Darby protested. “Don’t need my blood messing up your carriage, m’lord.”
“Nonsense,” Hugh replied shortly.
“Keep pressure on the wound, Mr. Darby,” Grace said as Hugh, Truscott, and the footmen carefully lifted the man into the carriage.
“Stay with him while the doctor attends to his injuries,” Hugh told his cousin. “He’s to give Darby the same care he’d give me. And tell Namby that I want my man back at Baronsford where we can look after his recovery.”
Truscott nodded and climbed into the carriage.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to ride into the village with you,” Grace said to Truscott. She moved forward and put her hand on the door.
Truscott looked from Hugh’s face to hers. “I believe you’d be better off staying with him.”
Hugh’s fingers trailed down her arm and he took her hand. She looked up at him.
“You’re going back to Baronsford with me,” he said softly, waving the driver on.
* * *
Hugh’s words thrilled her and left her speechless.
Grace looked down at the powerful hand encasing her trembling fingers. She felt the warmth of his touch radiating up through her arms, touching her heart. She gazed into his eyes and saw no animosity, only tenderness. She’d seen it before, when he first thundered into the glen, holding her as she shivered after the attackers ran off.
“I want you safe at Baronsford,” he said again. “With me.”
Remembering what she said to him this morning, on top of the violence she’d just faced, her emotions flared.
“I’m sorry I lied to you,” she managed to say. “I never intended to hurt you or anyone. But as I’ve come to know you . . . when I walked into Amelia’s rooms . . . my heart ached . . . knowing . . . how responsible—”
“Don’t,” he interrupted, turning Grace to face him.
His hands touched her arms, her shoulders, finally cradling her face.
