The Highlander's Christmas Countess (The Lairds Most Likely 8)

Neil was looking haggard. He must know this last gambit had failed, but he wasn’t yet ready to admit defeat.

“I can still kill the swine you married.” Another scandalized mutter rose from the watching crowd as Neil raised his sword, but Quentin was close enough to see that most of the fight had gone out of him.

“You can try,” he said evenly, his hand tightening on the old-fashioned sword’s basket hilt.

To his surprise, he found an unlikely supporter in the blond Adonis at Neil’s side, who while pretty, was clearly nowhere near as powerful a character. “By God, I’ve had enough of this. You’ll hang if you kill anyone, and it’s more than likely I’ll hang with you. To hell with that idea, Neil. Let the snotty little cow go. I don’t fancy a wife who’s been hanging around in the stables for the last month, even if she comes gold-plated. The devil knows what she’s been up to since she left Appin. She’s probably spread her legs for every lout she’s met on her travels.”

An appalled hum rippled through the crowd, as Quentin leveled his sword at the man’s throat. “You will apologize for that, or I’ll kill you where you stand.”

Neil might have braved it out, but Lord Bogle wasn’t made of such stout stuff. He went pasty white, gulped for air, and spread his leather-gloved hands in surrender. “Sorry, old man. Sour grapes for losing out. Didn’t know what I was saying. Your pardon, my lady.”

Neil surveyed the room with wild eyes, but he must have realized that even with six bully boys to support him, he couldn’t prevail. With a furious hiss, he lowered his sword and shoved it back in its scabbard. “You’re welcome to the damned termagant. Any man who takes on Christabel Urquhart is destined to live in misery.”

“And I was always so terrifically fond of you, Neil,” Kit said with poisonous sweetness.

“Get out,” Quentin said implacably, even now holding his blade at the ready. He didn’t yet trust Neil to make the sensible choice and leave.

Hamish and Fergus stepped up to seize Neil’s arms, just in case he decided to make some last act of defiance, but by now, Quentin read acceptance of failure in the man’s expression.

“I should lock you up for disturbing the peace,” Hamish said grimly.

At last, Quentin lowered his sword and held his hand out toward Kit. With a choked sob, she dived straight for him. She wrapped her arms tight around him and buried her head in his chest.

He twined his arm around her and kissed the top of her ruffled dark head. Relief flooded him in such a powerful tide that his head reeled.

They’d won. By all that was holy, they’d won.

“It’s over, sweetheart.” As he looked around the room, he read a similar relief on every face that the confrontation ended without bloodshed. And with Kit safe and where she belonged. “You don’t have to be frightened anymore.”

When Kit turned in Quentin’s hold, he didn’t let her go. After the terror that had gripped him when he feared Neil might prevail, he couldn’t bear to have her out of reach.

“Just throw them out, please, Hamish,” she said, her voice unsteady. “The scandal is going to be bad enough anyway, without bringing the law into it. And I don’t want anyone here to get hurt.”

His arm remaining around Kit, Quentin watched as Hamish and Fergus marched Neil across the ballroom. Her odious stepbrother tripped and cried out as Hamish hauled him roughly across the floor. Then Quentin and Kit joined the other guests, who flooded into the hall to watch Neil ejected from Lyon House. Neil stumbled down the flight of stone steps and landed on his knees in the snow.

“And don’t come back,” Hamish said, as Neil’s cohorts rushed out after their leader.

“You have no right…” Neil protested, struggling to his feet with Bogle’s aid, before one of the ruffians decided to try and help as well. The man slipped on the icy surface and all three went down in a jumble of legs. The air turned blue with cursing.

Jeering laughter rang out from the audience who observed events through the huge windows. Quentin wasn’t surprised to note that Neil looked livid as he staggered to his feet. It was no news that Kit’s stepbrother suffered from overweening pride. His self-importance would never recover from tonight’s comprehensive defeat, and now his undignified exit from Lyon House. In the space of a few minutes, the bastard had changed from a menace to a clown.

Good.

Quentin joined Hamish on the wide front steps and spoke in a ringing voice. “My wife and I intend to travel to Appin in the next few days. You will be gone from the property by then – and don’t think to ransack the place in the meantime. If you do, scandal be damned. I’ll prosecute you to the full measure of the law.”

“I deserve better than this,” Neil spluttered, as another of his men hoisted him to his feet with more success than the last attempt. “I’ve devoted myself to the Appin estate.”

“Devoted yourself to feathering your own nest, more like,” Kit said, her voice colder than the freezing air as she stepped up beside Quentin. “You’ve been fiddling the accounts for years. Nothing you’ve done has been a secret. You always forgot that the people of Appin owe their loyalty to me and not to you. There’s ample evidence to have you up on trial. So don’t try and help yourself to anything extra before you go. You’ve stolen more than enough from me over the years. If you’ve any sense, you’ll go back to your lands and stay there.”

“Bravo, my bonny,” Quentin murmured, taking her hand in his.

Until now, he’d seen Kit in many guises, from stableboy to irresistible lover. But at this moment, with a touch of awe, he recognized the centuries of command that ran through her bloodline. She was truly the Countess of Appin at last.

“Curse you. Curse every one of you. And curse that slut, the Countess of Appin. May she rot in hell,” Neil bit out.

Quentin surged forward to give the brute the thrashing he deserved, but Kit caught his arm. “No, let him go. He’s angry because we’ve triumphed.”

“It would give me immense satisfaction to knock the teeth down his throat, then kick his filthy rump back to the Borders.”