Kidnapped: His Innocent Mistress. Nicola Cornick

Balfour.’

      ‘When you are quite ready, Graham,’ Langley said crossly. He had already mounted the box and efficiently tied his own horse’s reins to those of the poor old nag.

      Graham pulled an expressive face. ‘I apologise for Langley,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘I fear the climate in the north suits him ill. He is in a permanent bad mood.’

      ‘He is lucky it is not raining,’ I said. ‘This is fine weather for these parts.’

      ‘But cold,’ Graham drawled. ‘Always so cold, Miss Balfour. And on the rare occasions that it is warm the mosquitoes bite. Langley, poor fellow, is fatally attractive to the mosquito.’

      It seemed to me that if Neil Sinclair was a handsome knave, then Arlo Graham was the smoothest gentleman this side of the Tweed. But both had one thing in common. They were well aware of their own attractions. Lieutenant Graham certainly did not require me to join the ranks of his followers, being his own greatest admirer.

      We set off at a decorous trot. After we had covered but a few yards, Langley enquired irritably whether Lieutenant Graham could not hurry it up a little, for the coach was in danger of running us over. Arlo Graham sighed, but speeded up slightly. It also meant that he had to tighten his arms about me as I sat in front of him, to ensure that I did not lose my balance. This was by no means an unpleasant experience, but I found that rather than dwelling on Lieutenant Graham’s most respectful embrace, I was thinking of Neil Sinclair’s rather less deferential one. Not that I needed to worry that either of these two were likely to catch him, for the one would end up shooting at shadows and the other would do nothing so strenuous as chasing criminals. So it seemed it was left to me to have a few severe words with Mr Sinclair when I next saw him.

      After about ten minutes we clattered across another wooden bridge, passed a dark and silent lodge house, and found ourselves on a wide sweep of drive before the Old House at Glen Clair. I was home.

      Chapter Five

      In which I meet my family and receive a less than warm welcome from my uncle.

      Although it could only have been nine o’clock, there were no lights. The house crouched silent like a pouncing cat. I shivered.

      Lieutenant Graham dismounted and helped me down. He strolled across to the door and tugged on the iron bell-pull. It came away in his hand, so he knocked. I heard the sound echo through the house like a distant roll of thunder.

      ‘Are they not expecting you?’ he enquired.

      I was saved the complicated explanations as the door sighed open with a shuddering creak. A tiny pool of light fell on the step.

      ‘Who is it?’

      Lieutenant Graham checked at the sound of so sweet a female voice. Then the lady holding the candle stepped forward, and we all saw her for the first time.

      Quite simply, she was beautiful. She was perhaps a year or two older than I, and she had corn-gold hair curling about her face, and deep blue eyes. I heard Arlo Graham catch his breath and saw him draw himself up very straight. Lieutenant Langley, who had presumably abandoned the poor old horse in the stables, came scrambling up the drive with my portmanteau in his hand, and practically pushed Graham out of the way in order to make a handsome leg.

      No doubt my cousin Ellen always had such an effect on all men. I was seeing her for the first time too, of course, but I was not a man. My feelings were vastly different, consisting of envy and admiration in almost equal measure.

      ‘Madam! I…’ Graham cleared his throat. ‘I have escorted Miss Balfour to you. There has been an accident on the road…’ His voice trailed away. Had he been knocked on the head by one of the ceiling beams—a distinct possibility, given the dilapidation of the entrance hall—he could not have looked more stunned.

      ‘There were smugglers on the road,’ I said, seeing that Lieutenant Graham had lost the power of speech. ‘How do you do? You must be my cousin Ellen. I am Catriona Balfour.’

      She smiled at me, the sweetest smile I had ever seen. I remembered Neil Sinclair saying that Ellen was delightful, and I felt a fierce rush of jealousy and an even fiercer one of shame a second later—for how could I hold such a sweet creature in dislike?

      ‘Catriona!’ She could not have seemed more pleased to see me had we already been the best of friends. To my surprise, she came forward and hugged me warmly. ‘I am so glad that you are safe here! We were afraid that you were lost.’

      ‘The carriage was late arriving at Sheildaig,’ I said. ‘And as I mentioned, there were smugglers on the road.’

      I saw her glance quickly over her shoulder and draw the gauzy spencer more closely about her throat.

      ‘Smugglers! How terrifying!’

      ‘Nothing to fear, ma’am.’ Langley stepped forward. ‘They are considerably less terrifying with a musket ball through their throats.’

      Ellen gave a little scream of horror.

      ‘Pray, stop frightening the ladies, Langley,’ Arlo Graham said. ‘Madam, there is nothing to fear. We will protect you to the death.’

      ‘Well,’ I said, ‘let us hope it does not come to that.’ I waited for them both to take the hint and leave now that all was safe, but neither gentleman moved. Both were staring at Ellen, who was standing, head bent shyly, looking at nothing in particular. I realised that I would have to be plainer or we should be there all night.

      ‘You must excuse me, gentlemen,’ I said pointedly. ‘It is late, and I have some hunger after the journey. Thank you for your aid, and I will bid you goodnight.’

      Lieutenant Graham woke up at that. ‘Of course, Miss Balfour.’ He looked at Ellen. ‘But which of you is Miss Balfour?’

      ‘My cousin,’ I said irritably, ‘is Miss Balfour of Glen Clair, being from the senior branch of the family, Lieutenant. I am Miss Catriona Balfour of Applecross.’

      Graham bowed—first to Ellen, then to me—as precedence demanded. ‘Then I shall hope to call on you both tomorrow,’ he murmured, ‘to enquire after your health.’

      ‘Please do,’ Ellen said, smiling with luscious warmth.

      ‘I shall call, too,’ Langley piped up.

      ‘Oh, good,’ I said. I shut the door in their faces and turned to my cousin. ‘I am sorry to disturb you so late in the evening—’ I began, but she shook her head, smiling.

      ‘Oh, Catriona, pray do not apologise! We keep early hours here at Glen Clair, for Mama is an invalid and Papa…’ Her voice trailed away. ‘Well, you shall meet him presently. Now, you said that you were hungry.’ She slipped her hand through my arm and drew me along the stone-flagged corridor.

      We passed two doorways, the oaken doors firmly closed. With each step the house seemed to get darker and more and more cold. I felt as though I was being sucked into the very depths, and shivered.

      ‘There is no money for candles nor fuel for a fire anywhere but in Mama’s bedroom,’ Ellen said apologetically.

      She opened a door and I found myself in a cavernous kitchen with a scrubbed wooden table in the centre. Ellen put the candle down on this and scurried off into the pantry. She returned a moment later with half a loaf of bread, a slab of butter and a thin sliver of unappealing cheese. She looked as though she were about to cry.

      ‘I am sorry,’ she said, staring at the cheese as though she expected something to creep out of it—which it might well have done. ‘It is all we have. Mrs Grant, our housekeeper, brings food from Kinlochewe on a Tuesday, and she will be with us on the morrow, but until then…’

      ‘This will do me fine,’ I said heartily, reaching for the rusty old knife I had seen on the dresser. I managed to hack a bit of stale bread off the loaf and smeared some butter on it. After a moment’s hesitation I also decided to risk the cheese. It was strong,