“Aye, sir.” The edge to her voice had the hairs prickling on the back of Quentin’s neck, and he suddenly felt sick. Had the bastard attacked this beautiful girl, once he had her in his charge?
Her eyes sharpened on Quentin. “No, he didn’t assault me.”
Quentin sucked in a relieved breath. He abhorred anyone who hurt those smaller and weaker than themselves, but something more powerful than principle revolted at the idea of Kit suffering such horrors. “But he’s the man you’re hiding from.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Aye.”
“Why?”
She was back to watching him as if she expected him to eat her alive. “I’ve told you enough.”
He had no right to push her. Beyond the right of someone who felt a burning need to protect her. Quite how burning was rather a surprise, although he’d always been a lad with a powerful sense of justice.
Right now, he’d like to take a horsewhip to Kit’s stepbrother. Even though Quentin was yet to learn what the bastard had done. It was enough that he’d frightened this gallant girl and placed that haunted look in her eyes.
“Who else knows Kit the stableboy is really Christabel the runaway lady?”
“Mr. Laing, obviously.”
Quentin noted that she didn’t deny his description of her as a lady.
“He’s not your uncle?” But he’d already guessed that.
“No. He was my father’s head groom.”
More evidence, should he need it, that Kit came from society’s upper echelons. Humble crofters didn’t have head grooms.
“He’s a good man.”
“Aye, that he is.” For the first time since Quentin had started this interrogation, he caught a hint of a smile on her face. “He put me on my first pony, not long after I could walk. While I was growing up, nobody could keep me out of the stables. Joseph was always kind to me.”
“So a natural choice when you needed help?”
She frowned. “I told you I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
He rose and threw some more peat on the fire. “You may as well tell me everything, Kit. We could be stuck here for days on end, and we’ll need to talk about something.”
He was sorry he’d been so flippant, when she lurched to her feet and regarded him in dismay. “Days on end? Surely not.”
“Sit down,” he said wearily. “I told you you’re safe.”
She regarded him for an uncertain moment before subsiding back onto the stool. “We don’t have anything to eat.”
He smiled with what he hoped was reassuring confidence. “Let’s worry about that if it turns into a problem. At least there’s plenty of peat so we won’t freeze.”
“If you hadn’t found this hut, we could have died out there,” she said, her expression somber.
“Don’t think about that.”
“Lucky you remembered this place.”
“I love Glen Lyon and I know it well. The Douglas family is a close one. There are frequent visits in both directions between Hamish and his sisters’ families. I’m his sister Prudence’s oldest son. My father’s estate is in the east near Perth.”
“Do you have brothers and sisters?”
As he spoke of his background, Quentin saw her nervousness ease. He supposed it must be a relief to shift the attention away from her plight. Except his attention wasn’t away from her plight at all. He hoped if he told her something about himself, she might return the favor.
“Yes, two brothers and three sisters.”
“And you love them?”
A smile curved his lips. “They’re a blasted nuisance most of the time. Two of my sisters are engaged. One’s still in the schoolroom with my brothers.”
“I should have known,” she said. “You’re so good with Andy and Will. It’s clear that you’re used to dealing with children.”
Now that was interesting. It seemed Kit had been watching him, too. “At least I’m used to dealing with my brothers and sisters. I’m fond of the little terrors. I’m sure they’d like you.”
She made a strangely wistful gesture. “I would have loved brothers and sisters. You’re lucky.”
He was. Luckier by far than this jittery girl. “Laing came to Glen Lyon two years ago. That was when your father died.”
She went back to looking like she contemplated the end of the world. “Neil, my stepbrother, took over running the estate until I was old enough to take charge. Laing couldn’t stomach him as a master, so he found this post at Glen Lyon.”
Shock shuddered through Quentin and had him rising to his feet and staring down at the slight woman opposite him. The woman with the unassuming air and the shabby work clothes. The woman who seemed to have convinced everyone except him that she was a humble stableboy.
“By God, I know who you are.”
Fear glittered in her beautiful eyes, as she jerked to her feet once more and backed away. “I told you who I am.”
“Aye,” Quentin said with an edge. “Kit, also known as Christabel, who has a rare gift with horses and bairns, and a stepbrother who deserves a good thrashing.”
“That’s right,” she said, continuing to watch him warily. And with good reason.
One of Quentin’s hands slashed the air. “But you didn’t tell me that you’re the Earl of Appin’s daughter.”
Chapter 4
Quentin saw her attention focus on the door. She tensed up, ready to scarper.
“Don’t try it, my lady.”
“Don’t call me that,” she said through stiff lips. He thought she’d been pale before, but now she was almost transparent.
“You’re heiress to a fortune.”
“Aye.”
“One of the greatest in Scotland.” He struggled to gather together what he recalled of the Urquhart family and title. It wasn’t much. “And you’re set up to become countess, because it’s one of the few titles that can run through the female line.”
“I am the countess,” she said, still in that horrid frozen way. She didn’t even sound like Kit anymore. Joseph Laing’s nephew had always been unusually well-spoken for a servant, but now she sounded like she attended a royal reception. All tight vowels and cut-glass consonants. “I’ve been the countess since Papa died.”
Quentin frowned in bewilderment. “So tell me – what the deuce is the Countess of Appin doing as my uncle’s stableboy? I hadn’t heard anything about you going missing.”
“I suspect Neil is keeping my disappearance quiet to avoid a scandal.” She slumped in front of him, suddenly looking exhausted and frightened and defeated. It was as if someone had snipped the strings that held her up. “Please, don’t tell anyone.”
He resisted the urge to take her arm. She didn’t yet trust him enough to let him close. “You have my word.”
Startled, she stared into his face. “You mean that?”
“You know I do.”
“But you don’t know why I’ve done this hare-brained thing.”
His hand swept through the air. “You must have your reasons – and good ones. I can imagine life as Hamish’s stableboy is a good deal more arduous than life as the Countess of Appin.”