The Highlander Is All That (Untamed Highlanders #4)(71)

For his part, Jamison was learning to hold his own with the powerful personalities in the company, which was saying a lot. Esmeralda had almost come to terms with the unconventional marriage of her youngest charge, although she still occasionally had fits of the vapors.

Hamish suspected this happened when she imagined she was not the center of attention.

At any rate, a broken axle this close to their goal was frustrating as hell.

If Hamish had his way, he would unhook one of the horses and ride bareback straight to Clovelly. Unfortunately, he had no idea where Elizabeth was living. Only Helena knew, because she’d visited once, and though she’d tried to give directions, the little town was convoluted, like an ouroboros, and no one could really understand the route. She would have to show them.

“Doona worry,” McCloud said, slapping him on the back. “We’ll find Lady Elizabeth soon.”

Hamish nodded to the Scotsman. “I know. But I just have this feeling. She needs me.”

“Of course she needs you,” the earl said blandly. “All women need their men.”

“It’s no’ that. I feel as though she’s . . . in trouble.”

Moncrieff and Darlington exchanged a glance. “It has been my experience that one should listen to those feelings,” the duke said.

“I agree.” The earl tapped his lip. “Perhaps Hamish should go with the women into Woolfardisworthy. Then he and Helena can head straight for Clovelly. That way, he can set his mind at ease today.”

“I should go along too,” Jamison said. “As added muscle.”

They all surveyed the boy. Though he was young and healthy, he was hardly muscled.

But Hamish liked Jamison, and assistance would be welcome if necessary, so he nodded.

“I’m far more menacing,” McCloud grumbled.

“That you are, my friend,” the duke snorted.

“Perhaps I should go as well.”

“And leave me here alone with Darlington?” Moncrieff jested.

“We could leave the servants,” James said.

“Bah.” The duke frowned. “We want it done right.”

“Come along then,” Lady Helena called from the coach. “What is the plan?”

Clearly, the countess was impatient. But then, Hamish had learned, women who were increasing often were.

“Darling,” James gushed.

“Don’t darling me,” she snapped. “What is the plan?”

The duke stepped forward and took charge as dukes were wont to do. “Lady Helena, it has been decided that the working carriages will go on to Woolfardisworthy and send back help while you escort Mr. Robb to Miss Claire’s house. Mr. Jamison and the good Mr. McCloud will go with you.

McCloud grimaced at his friend. “Since when have I been good?” he muttered.

The duke clapped him on the back. “A figure of speech, my man. A figure of speech.”

As much as these fellows amused him, Hamish was more than a trifle impatient—being so close to Elizabeth and all—so when Lady Helena barked, “Let’s get to it then,” he was more than happy to snap into action.

It took a moment for everyone to rearrange and then the coaches set off in a long line, leaving the duke, the earl, and a handful of servants next to the wrecked carriage.

“So annoying,” Lady Helena said as they trundled down the road. “I hate being held up.”

“As do I,” Hamish offered, but she merely glowered at him.

“Are you feeling all right?” McCloud asked. Apparently they’d been friends long enough that she would allow such an intimacy.

Or not. She glowered at him too.

McCloud merely grinned and patted her hand soothingly. “We’ll be there soon.”

But they weren’t. The Hobby Drive was rough and unfinished and jostled the coach terribly. By the time they reached the bluff overlooking the seaside town of Clovelly, it was full-on dark, which made it that much more difficult for the countess to point the way.

In the end, they had to stop at one of the other cottages to ask for directions.

And that was when Hamish heard it. The sound that made his blood go cold and his hackles rise.

A scream, wafting on the tangy sea breeze through the night.

A voice he recognized beyond all others.

Elizabeth.

Without a moment’s thought, he leaped from the coach and set off running in that direction.

*

“What are you doing here?” Elizabeth snapped at Twiggenberry, though it was a purely rhetorical question. She knew damned well what he was about.

His lip curled in a sneer. “I think you know, Elizabeth. You are coming with me. Now.”

She took a step back. “I most certainly am not.” She shot a glance around the small room and caught sight of the fireplace poker by the hearth. Before she could lunge for it, he caught her arm and towed her toward the door.

She fought with everything in her, but she was not nearly strong enough to break away.

“Here now. What is this?” Miss Claire’s stentorian tones rocked through the cottage.

Twiggenberry paused in his retreat. Winded from their tussle, he gasped for breath, still holding Elizabeth tight. “I am taking my bride,” he announced.

Miss Claire sniffed. “You most certainly are not.”