The Seduction Of Elliot McBride(40)
Author: Jennifer Ashley

Stacy, of course, knew about this rifle and had a similar one of his own. What Stacy did not know about was the telescopic device Elliot had ordered before he’d gone back to India the second time. Snipers in the American Civil War had used such devices to bring their game into view—enemy officers rather than deer or bear.

Elliot had fitted the scope to the rifle before he’d left the house. McGregor had been fascinated with it, making Elliot promise to bring it with him the next time they went to McPherson’s. McPherson would be green with envy, McGregor said, with glee.

Elliot lifted the rifle and sighted through the scope, the bright moonlight bringing the hanging bag of foodstuffs into sharp focus.

It still hung where Hamish had left it, full and untouched. Squirrels and birds would get it if he left it through tomorrow, but tonight, in the dead of night, Stacy might just come out for it.

Wind sighed in the trees, and scraps of clouds drifted overhead. The weather here, so close to the sea, was ever changing. A few miles north of McGregor’s estate, the land curved and headed for the utmost north of Scotland and the stretch of water to the Orkneys.

Juliana would like a summer journey to the Orkneys, to watch from the boat as they slid past the Old Man of Hoy, standing sentinel over the islands. Elliot imagined her on the boat’s deck, the wind in her fiery hair, her eyes filled with wonder as she stared at the tall pile of rock.

There were so many wonders in the world. Elliot wanted to show them all to Juliana.

His perch was cold, but he welcomed the wind. It erased the stifling heat of India from his brain, not that the Punjab couldn’t turn bone cold in the winter.

Archibald Stacy. When the man had arrived in the Punjab with his young Scottish wife, looking to make his fortune, he and Elliot had resumed the friendship they’d begun in the army. When Mrs. Stacy soon died of typhoid fever, Elliot had nursed Stacy through his grief.

Then they’d met Jaya, the kin to princes of one of the native states. Elliot had not fallen in love with her as Stacy had, but Elliot had been young, lonely, and virile, and at the time, he thought he’d never make enough money to see Scotland and Juliana again.

Then when Jaya had played her game to make Stacy believe she preferred Elliot to him, Stacy had gone mad with rage. Elliot had been surprised. Stacy had always spoken of Jaya with indifference, having deeply loved his wife. Stacy had given no indication he’d been in a hurry to replace the first Mrs. Stacy, and so Elliot hadn’t realized the man’s true feelings.

They’d quarreled, and Elliot had relinquished Jaya back to Stacy, who’d promised to marry her. Elliot had thought the matter resolved.

Not long after that, Elliot and Stacy had been tramping together in the hills far to the north, never knowing that a tribal skirmish in the remote passes to the Afghan lands had begun. That was where Elliot had realized that Stacy still held a grudge, and held it with a vengeance.

The Highland moon sank behind the mountains, swallowed by the light that began so early in northern summers.

Strange that the sun stayed up so long in these latitudes but the air remained cool, while in the tropics, the sun sank quickly but the heat lasted far into the night.

As long as the darkness remained, Stacy never emerged, and the bag of food still hung untouched.

He doesn’t like my Judas goat. Elliot allowed himself an inward smile. My Judas ham.

As the sun climbed out of the sea, Elliot lifted his rifle, aimed, and fired one shot. The rope holding the bag split and the bag fell with a thump to the path.

Elliot skimmed out of the tree, fetched the bag, and walked the few miles to McPherson’s to give the contents to McPherson’s grateful dogs.

Juliana stepped out to the kitchen garden with her basket, determined to fill it with the runner beans she’d spied yesterday. She looked up after picking the first handful to see her husband, clad in a short indigo jacket and dark pants that clung to his legs, walking up from the westward hills.

He was bareheaded, carried his rifle over his shoulder, and was followed by a long-haired red setter.

Chapter 17

Juliana watched Elliot come, her feelings a mixture of anger and relief. The shot that had awakened her at dawn had terrified her. Mahindar and Hamish had gone to investigate and returned saying they’d found nothing. No Elliot, no intruder, no bag of food, nothing.

Juliana had not been able to sleep again, fearing bloodshed and Elliot gone forever. Now she was sandy-eyed and a bit annoyed that Elliot should stroll casually through the garden gate as though nothing was wrong.

As Elliot neared her, Juliana admitted even in her anger that in the foreign clothes Elliot lookedquite delectable. His tanned skin gave him an exotic touch, and the trousers, hugging him to his ankles, outlined every muscle of leg and buttock. The short jacket gaped open over a thin white shirt, which fit snugly to his tanned chest.

Juliana cleared her throat. “Good morning, Elliot.”

Elliot lowered the rifle and stood its butt on the ground. “You’re out early.”

“I was awakened early. By a shot.”

He nodded. “That was me. But the only casualty was a bit o’ twine.”

Juliana closed her eyes, letting out her pent-up breath. “Elliot.”

Elliot touched her cheek, and she opened her eyes to find him gazing down at her, his gray eyes warm. “There was no need to worry, lass. I’m very good at taking care of myself.”

“That might be true, but…”

“I hoped I’d find you in bed.”

Juliana’s heart jumped then settled down to a hurried thrum. She tried to shrug. “Vegetables still grow in this garden. They’ve gone a bit wild, but they’re here. I thought I’d gather some. To help Mahindar cooking for everyone.”

Babbling helped, but she could not stop gazing at his taut thighs and the thick bulge the trousers didn’t bother to hide.

Elliot waited until she’d run down. “Where is Priti?”

“With Mahindar. Helping him with the goat.”

“Make sure she stays with him or his family every moment of the day and night. Is Hamish here?”

“Banging around in the scullery. I don’t think he ever sleeps.”

“He’s a lad.” Elliot rubbed his chin, where golden whiskers had sprouted in abundance. “But I’ll draw my own bath. Never mind.”

Elliot made no move to go inside, however. He remained on the path, his hands on the barrel of his rifle.

“Elliot, you do know there is a dog following you, don’t you?”