Home > The Highlander's Christmas Countess(9)

The Highlander's Christmas Countess(9)
Author: Anna Campbell

The cynicism that twisted her lips made his heart ache. She was older than he’d originally thought her, but she was too young to look like that. “I’ve been happy at Glen Lyon.”

Which meant she hadn’t been happy at Appin. Of course she hadn’t been. If she had, she’d never have taken such appalling risks with her reputation and her person.

“I assume Hamish and Emily know who you are.”

“Aye.”

“Anyone else?”

“I haven’t told anyone, but I sometimes think Mrs. McCluskey might have guessed. That I’m a girl, at least.”

Mrs. McCluskey, the housekeeper, was one of the cleverest women Quentin knew. She was smart enough to have twigged that the new stableboy wasn’t all he appeared to be.

“You can’t hope to carry on this masquerade indefinitely,” he said. “If I noticed you’re not a boy, other people will, too. And as you say, the scandal will be horrendous.”

Kit still watched him as though he was a snake about to strike. “It’s only until Christmas.”

“What happens at Christmas? Do the fairies come down the chimney to save the princess?”

As he’d hoped, that made her smile. He’d noticed that when Kit wasn’t scared out of her mind, she liked to laugh. Yesterday during the sledding, she’d been bright and vivid and full of life. Quentin hated to be the person who dulled her light.

“I’ve spent the last two years wishing the fairies would come and save me. I don’t think they exist, even at Christmas.”

“Sit down and tell me.” He waved toward the stool. “You must know you can trust me.”

She didn’t move, and the eyes that traveled over him remained old beyond her years. His growing certainty that she was in serious trouble firmed. “Why would I know that, Mr. MacNab? Because you’re charming and handsome, and because you’re powerfully curious to get me to spill my secrets?”

To his mortification, he blushed. “You’ve been watching me.”

She shrugged. “You’re very easy to look at, but as my old nurse used to say, handsome is as handsome does.”

“I think you should tell me because I want to help.” Self-mockery turned down his lips. “Not to mention, I’m powerfully curious about what would drive one of the richest women in Scotland out of her silken bower and into my uncle’s stables.”

“I’m not one of the richest women in Scotland. I don’t have a penny to my name, unless my stepbrother allows it. And believe me, he never allows it.”

Quentin started to develop a healthy dislike for this unknown stepbrother who sounded like a domestic tyrant, at best. At worst, Quentin suspected the bastard had done something heinous to put the fear into Kit’s bluebell eyes. He could see this girl had been bullied. How badly, he hoped to find out. But whatever lay behind her terror, he was already on her side.

“So what happens at Christmas?”

She sighed and at last subsided onto the stool. “I become one of the richest women in Scotland.”

Something she’d said earlier came into focus. “You turn twenty-one, and you take control of your inheritance.”

She nodded. “And Neil Maxwell’s rule at Appin will come to an abrupt end.” Her tone was flinty, incongruous in such a slight figure, but enough for Quentin to recognize the steel that existed beneath her soft skin.

Of course she was strong. And brave.

Admiration tinged his voice as he returned to the other stool. “Good for you. But couldn’t you hold out safely at Appin, if it was only a few weeks until you’re free?”

She studied him with a hint of hostility. He didn’t appreciate it. Kit might have called him charming and handsome, but he began to suspect that in her book neither word counted as a compliment.

“You’re determined to get my story out of me.”

“Would it be so bad to confide in me?” He paused. “I’ve worked most of it out already.”

She arched her eyebrows with an aristocratic disdain no stableboy had ever possessed. “Have you indeed?”

He rose and threw some more peat on the fire. The flaring light revealed her face as a combination of beautiful shapes. Again he wondered how anyone had ever believed this girl to be a male.

“Neil Maxwell likes being in charge of your fortune, and he knows you hate him, so he’s well aware that his days of access to the Urquhart coffers are limited. The looming danger of Christmas spurred him to do his best to get his hands on the money. He tried to force you to marry him because once he did, he gained permanent control of your fortune.”

Quentin prayed that Neil hadn’t used violence against the girl. Her skittishness hinted that he had, although she’d said he hadn’t. Perhaps the threat of violence had sparked her escape and masquerade.

“Neil didn’t want to marry me. The real sticklers wouldn’t approve, although it would be legal, I suppose. Neil has political ambitions and doesn’t want whispers of a vaguely incestuous marriage to tarnish his chances. Instead, he cooked up a scheme with one of his odious friends. The friend got me and half the money and Neil got the rest.” Her dry tone did nothing to hide her loathing for her stepbrother or for his machinations. “I’m sure if Neil could get his hands on everything, he’d try, but he’s a gey canny laddie and he knows half of the Urquhart money is better than none.”

“Is he young?”

“He’s twenty-eight. He’s always hated me.”

“He’s jealous.”

“Aye, I suppose so, although he’s far from penniless in his own right. He’s inherited a substantial property in the Borders. I was twelve when my father married his mother. She didn’t like me either.”

“You were close to your father?”

A range of emotions crossed her face. Grief and love mainly. “Aye.”

“No wonder she didn’t like you, especially when you grew up to be a beauty.”

She cast him an unimpressed look. “Right now, I doubt if you can tell what I look like when I’m dressed as a girl.”

Quentin shot her a straight look. “I can tell.”

She surged to her feet, and her gaze fluttered towards the door. How he cursed himself for frightening her again.

He waved at the stool. “Sit down, Kit. I told you you’re safe.”

The wariness was back. “I have no reason to trust young men.”

“Perhaps not, but you can trust me.”

When he made no move toward her, she sucked in a shaky breath and sat down again. “I look too much like my mother for Lady Maxwell’s convenience. My father loved my mother. He didn’t love my stepmother, but he needed a lady for his domains and he hoped that she might be a mother to me.”

“I’m sorry. You must have been so unhappy, and missing your mother besides.”

“Aye. It wasn’t too bad while Papa was alive. He and I always got along well, and Neil was away at school and university for a lot of the time. I escaped to the stables when I could.”

It sounded like a lonely childhood, but Quentin forbore from saying so. He gained the impression that Christabel Urquhart, Countess of Appin, was a proud wee thing. She’d loathe knowing that anyone pitied her.

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