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

She glanced up to meet somber hazel eyes and realized that he, too, recognized the real danger they’d been in last night. Hamish and Laing were talking about earlier snowstorms and the grooms had gone outside, so she risked a whispered thank you. He dipped his ruffled head in an imperceptible bow.

***

When the summons arrived to attend Lady Glen Lyon in her parlor, Kit was cleaning tack in the stables. It was late afternoon of the day that she and Quentin had been rescued from the hut. In view of her trials, she’d been given some time off, but after a huge breakfast and a couple of hours’ sleep, she’d woken wanting to do something useful.

Cleaning tack was one of those endless jobs that never seemed to be done and most of the grooms hated it. But Kit rather liked sitting alone in a warm room, breathing in the rich, leathery smell of the saddle soap. She certainly loved watching the harness turn all gleaming and buttery soft. And one thing was for certain – none of her colleagues were likel

y to volunteer to help her, so she was safe from discovery for a little while.

When Emily’s maid Polly found her, the girl was flustered and annoyed. “I’ve been all around the houses looking for you.” Polly had come up to Glen Lyon from London after the laird’s marriage, but all these years in Scotland and four years of marriage to the head gamekeeper had done nothing to soften the Cockney in her voice.

Kit put down the bridle she worked into suppleness. “Well, I didn’t know, did I? What is it?”

Polly sent her a displeased look, fitting from a lady’s maid to a lowly stableboy. “None of your sauce now, young Kit. Her ladyship wants to see you quick smart, so tidy yourself up and get over to the house.”

Panic tightened every muscle in Kit’s body, and her heart began to race. Since her first day here, when Laing had presented her to Emily and Hamish as the runaway Countess of Appin, she hadn’t been inside the family’s apartments. This order to attend the laird’s lady struck her as alarming in the extreme.

“What does her ladyship want?” Kit asked nervously, standing and shoving her hands in her pockets so Polly wouldn’t see how they shook.

Polly frowned. “She didn’t say.” Which was clearly also a source of displeasure. “And it’s not for you to ask. So have a wash and get over there. I’ve already been looking for you for half an hour.”

Had her stepbrother come? Was the game up?

Stuck in the back room of the rambling stable complex, Kit wouldn’t hear if someone arrived. When Polly left, she wondered if she should steal a pony and take off for the hills. At the very least, she could hide in the hut where she’d slept last night.

She made herself suck in a deep breath to steady her swimming head and told herself to settle down. She’d learned to save her trust for the few people who deserved it. So far she trusted Laing. And Hamish and Emily had done their best all these weeks to keep her secret and provide a haven. And last night, she’d trusted Quentin.

If Neil turned up, she couldn’t imagine that the Douglases would merely hand her back to him without a qualm. They’d be more likely to hide her somewhere secure. After all, it was only a few days until Christmas and her freedom from her stepbrother’s tyranny.

Still, she was almost sick with apprehension when she climbed the steps to the laird’s opulent apartments. No visitors had arrived at Glen Lyon House, but perhaps Neil had written. A communication from Appin could be the only reason Emily would call her in.

When she entered the high, airy room with its view over the beautiful sea loch and the ring of surrounding hills, now cloaked in white, only Emily and Quentin waited for her. That did little to soothe Kit’s fears, and once the footman who had shown her the way had gone, she stepped forward.

“Is it Neil? Has he found me?”

Emily cast a curious glance at Quentin. “I’m to assume that the Countess has told you her secret?”

Kit turned to Quentin, startled. “You didn’t tell Emily you know who I am.”

He shook his head. At her arrival, he’d stood as a gentleman should for a lady. She had a sick feeling that his good manners were more likely to arouse suspicions about her identity in the people of Glen Lyon than anything he said.

“I’ve only just arrived.” He resumed his place in the carved oak chair beside the blazing fire. “Anyway I swore I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

Emily sat on the window seat. She indicated for Kit to sit next to her. “That’s a relief. This makes it easier to say what I need to.”

Kit stayed where she was, dread pounding in her veins. “Has Neil written?”

“No. You’re still safe.” The reassurance in Emily’s smile went some way toward easing Kit’s agitation. “I’m sorry if I gave you a fright.”

A flood of relief made Kit’s knees loosen like wet string. As she crossed to sit beside Emily, she released the breath she felt like she’d been holding since Polly had found her. “I nearly took off.”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t.” Emily directed a disapproving frown at her. “We’ve already had quite enough search parties out after you.”

“It was my fault that we were caught in the blizzard,” Quentin said. “I had my doubts about the new stableboy’s identity, and I wanted to get him – her – alone so I could ask some questions.”

“Kit’s disguise didn’t fool you?” Emily settled shrewd eyes on him and to Kit’s surprise, debonair, self-confident Quentin MacNab blushed to his ears.

“I was never convinced that she was a boy. I knew for a fact she wasn’t, once I dug her out of the snow after the sled turned over.”