Claimed by the Laird. Nicola Cornick

only took the one word from her to halt them. She spoke sharply and with such an edge of authority that they all fell back. For a moment Lucas could focus on nothing but the hot flare of pain in his ribs. Then as it dulled to an ache, he drew in a labored breath.

      “Here...”

      She was helping him to sit; his back was against the wall of the cave. It was cold and damp, but the solid rock helped to steady him. Her touch was gentle but firm. He sensed she was between him and the men, shielding him, protecting him. He felt a wave of shame that he could not defend himself and a fierce, hot tug of emotion toward her that he did not understand.

      The silence in the cave was absolute, but the atmosphere still simmered with violence. Lucas could feel it in every cell of his body. He could sense, too, some ripple of feeling in her that belied her confidence.

      Fear? No. She was not afraid of these braggarts and bullies.

      Revulsion.

      Lucas’s heart bounded. Extraordinary as it was, he sensed in her a hatred of brutality.

      The smugglers’ words made sense now. This was why the more bloodthirsty amongst them had not wanted her to know of his capture.

      They were afraid she would save him.

      He felt as close to her as though he could read her thoughts, closer, as though he shared the sensations and emotions that drove her.

      He had never felt like this before. He hated the intimacy of the feeling and he hated that he did not understand why he felt it. Most of all he hated his own powerlessness.

      “Begging your pardon, ma’am.” One of the men sounded abashed, like a naughty schoolboy, but there was rebellion beneath his brusque apology. “We caught him on the track above the bothy. He was following us—”

      “Spying,” one of the others put in.

      “We need to get rid of him.” There was a rumble of agreement.

      “Over the cliff,” the first man said. “Now.”

      “Is that so?” Unlike the men, her voice held no trace of a Scots accent. It was low and smooth, as rich and soothing as honey. She truly was a lady born and bred.

      “Stand back.” There was a rustle of skirts as she shifted beside him. Lucas could not rise as he was once again pinned by the large boot of one of the men, which was lodged in his aching ribs. The boot pressed harder and he sucked in his breath on another wave of pain.

      “If you could restrain your tendency toward violence, please.” She sounded weary now but the boot eased its pressure a little.

      Her hand was beneath Lucas’s chin. He imagined she was turning his face to the light. She wore no gloves; her skin was soft and her fingers felt gentle against the roughness of his stubble. For a moment they brushed his cheek in a sweet caress. Lucas felt a shiver down his spine of something that was not fear. He fought it back angrily. His life was on the line and all he could think about was her touch.

      Get hold of yourself, Lucas.

      “What sort of a spy would be caught so easily?” There was mockery in her voice.

      “A bad one,” one of the men said dourly.

      “Or an innocent traveler,” the woman said. Her tone was sharp. Her hand fell. Lucas sensed she was sitting back on her heels.

      “Innocent or not, the sea is the place for him,” the man growled. He seemed to be the spokesman. The others were content to let him talk. “It’s the only thing to do, ma’am.”

      “Nonsense.” She sounded angry now. “Our quarrel is not with the likes of him and you know it.”

      “And you know he’s a danger to us.” The man was curt. “We’ve no choice.” He was standing his ground and the others supported him. Lucas could smell their stubbornness and their fear. It was in the air and on their unwashed bodies as they pressed closer. They wanted him dead.

      He knew the woman could feel it, too. One false step and they would both be in trouble. It was extraordinary to sense with absolute certainty that she was on his side.

      “No one will know,” the man said. “Who’s to miss him?”

      “Only he can tell us that.” Her voice betrayed no feelings, nothing of the quick, careful calculation Lucas could sense behind the words. “Perhaps it’s time to learn a little more about him.” Her hand touched Lucas’s arm, conveying a warning even as her tone warmed into mockery again. “What’s your name, handsome?”

      “Lucas,” he said. He was aware that as repartee went it was far from sparkling.

      One of the men laughed. “We could spoil his pretty face. That would teach him a lesson.”

      “Don’t you dare,” the woman said. Her voice was light. “I need something nice to look at around here.” Her words were dismissive, as though he counted for nothing. Lucas hated being treated so casually, but he could see how clever she was. She made him seem unimportant, no threat.

      “What’s your other name?” she said.

      Lucas cleared his throat. “Lucas Ross, ma’am,” he said. “At your service.” It was only half a lie.

      “Your speech is as pretty as your looks.” Her voice was cool. “What are you doing in Kilmory, Lucas Ross?”

      “I’m after a job,” Lucas said. “At the castle. Footman. I’ve come from Edinburgh.”

      “Fancy city manners,” one of the smugglers said, and it was not a compliment.

      “I want to be a butler one day,” Lucas said.

      “Let us hope you live long enough to achieve your ambition.” The lady sounded dry. “Where are you staying?”

      “At the inn in the village,” Lucas said. “I booked a room and ordered supper. The landlord will notice if I don’t return.”

      “Tom McArdle won’t give us any trouble.” Another of the smugglers spoke this time. “Very likely he’ll dispose of your belongings for us. Where do you think he gets his whisky from, laddie?”

      The others gave a low rumble of laughter. They were closing in again now, going for the kill. Lucas knew he had not made a strong enough case to be allowed to live. There would be no loving wife to miss him, no parents and no siblings. He should have invented a few and told an affecting story of how they depended on him. His lips twisted into a bitter parody of a smile.

      “We’re wasting time.” One of the men hauled him to his feet.

      “Wait.” The woman spoke again, the sharpness of authority back in her voice. “You are too hasty, my friend. Another body around here will bring the gaugers back down on us faster than a sniff of the peat-reek, and the dragoons with them. Have you forgotten that it is only a six-month since the last time?”

      Another body...

      Lucas felt his blood run cold. She was speaking of Peter.

      The silence prickled with tension. Lucas waited, all his muscles wound up tight. He heard the shift and mutter of the men all around him.

      “That was nothing to do with us.” The leader sounded defiant. “We know nothing of it.”

      “Whether it was your doing or not,” the woman said patiently, “two bodies draw unwanted attention. Do you understand me? Besides, if Mr. Ross here has applied to work at the castle, too many people will know who he is. We cannot take the risk.”

      “Be damned to it.” The man’s patience was exhausted. “I say he dies and the others stand with me. We can get rid of the body so they’ll never find it.”

      “Enough!” Lucas heard her move, heard the unmistakable click of a pistol being cocked, heard the intake of breath as the men froze into immobility. He felt a shiver of fear,