Under Winter's Control: Thieves of Winter, #3

By Kirsten S. Blacketer

A defiant lady at the mercy of an indifferent thief withholding a compromising secret.

 

During the most anticipated ball of the season, Lady Katherine Reddington vanishes without a trace. Several months later, the jewels she wore that fateful night appear in the possession of the Earl of Norwich. But where in the devil is Lady Katherine?

Monty's sole mission is to locate Lady Katherine and restore her to the care of her brother, Edmund. After months of chasing every clue, the sudden appearance of the jewels gives him a new lead and a headache. Monty ventures north into Scotland, where he encounters the very conflict he has been desperately trying to avoid. The temptation of his closest friend's sister.  

***This is the third book in a series. Each book focuses on a unique relationship taking place during the same time frame.***

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kirsten S. Blacketer
• Release date: Dec 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9781311881922

Kirsten S. Blacketer

Kirsten S. Blacketer is a multi-published indie author of both historical and contemporary romance. When she’s not writing, she homeschools her two children and enjoys time with her family. In those moments of freedom, she devours romance novels while sipping a glass of wine. Age has only shown her that writing villains can be just as fun as heroes. Her next life goals are to write a New York Times Bestseller and one day have Adam Driver play a starring role in a film version of one of her books. A girl can dream, right?

Book preview

Under Winter’s Control

Book 3 in the Thieves of Winter Trilogy

Copyright © 2016 Kirsten S. Blacketer

Published by BlackShip

Cover Design: The Midnight Muse

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

First Electronic Print, April 2016.

Chapter One

Detective Monty Kilgrave braced himself against the cold burst of Highland air. If I ever make it back to London, I am going to tell Winter to go to hell. He shivered as he trekked through the snow toward the inn.

He took a drag from the cigarette tucked between his lips and savored the burn as it warmed him from the inside. Pulling his wool jacket tighter, he crossed the village in search of shelter and a hot meal.

The gentleman at the train station had informed him the Gilded Lily offered the best lodging in town. Monty sighed. He had been living like a vagabond for the last four days. At this point, he would sleep on a pile of hay in a warm barn, so long as it was not in motion. He did not normally mind traveling by train or carriage, but practically living on either for the past week had him cursing modern engineering.

Edmund had sent him on a wild chase in search of information to locate and return his sister, Lady Katherine Reddington. The memory of her sweet smile haunted him.

Lady Katherine had always been a lady of irreproachable grace and charm, from the top of her chestnut curls to the tips of her delicate feet. He had been taken with her from the first moment they met. But she was the Earl of Winterbourne’s sister...and he, well, he was not even close to being able to reach her.

When she disappeared, Monty fought in desperation to find her. He had even broken a few laws with the aid of Edmund and Simon. It had been at her brother’s request—no command—that he search for Lady Katherine. Not that Monty did not want to find her quite the opposite, but it bothered him to be under Edmund’s direction.

He snubbed out the cigarette and glanced down the street. A misty fog settled in, heralding the arrival of another snowstorm. Monty grimaced. If the weather at the inn a few days ago were any indicator, they were in for a hell of a storm.

The feisty innkeeper and her loud sister had complicated their plans. He had gratefully left Simon and Edmund to deal with the ramifications of the sisters from hell when they uncovered their plans. Monty preferred to be alone, and fortunately, the journey north had been fruitful.

He had stopped in Edinburgh to speak to the jeweler who had sold the jewels to the Earl of Norwich. It seemed as though he was only the intermediary selling the jewels for a man who had purchased them from a widow who was traveling to Dunloch. The Highland village sat tucked away and quiet. It baffled Monty how a widow from such a place would have the jewels in her possession.

Fortunately, the train ran directly into Dunloch from Edinburgh. The end of the line. Monty prayed he would not have to travel further by carriage to search for this widow. His back protested at the thought of a carriage combined with the condition of the roads, if they were even passible.

Monty glanced up to see the frost-covered sign for the tavern. He exhaled a plume of white before opening the door and stepping inside.

The raucous chatter and noise of the tavern nearly knocked him back. Monty flinched against the auditory assault. He had expected a quiet oasis, but it seemed the town boasted little entertainment save for this...central hub of the village.

He wove his way through the crowd and settled on an empty stool at the bar. Rubbing his hands together to alleviate the stiffness in them, he scanned the tavern.

Ladies danced with half-drunken men. Laughter and conversation spilled through the room.

Monty grimaced as one man bumped into him. He shrugged it off when the bartender stopped before him.

What can I get for you? he asked, his thick Scottish brogue making it difficult to understand him over the din.

A pint and a room, Monty shouted in reply.

There are no rooms left, the man said as he poured a pint of ale and then slid it across the bar.

Are there any inns in town? Monty asked.

The Scot nodded. Aye, but they are full up as well. This bloody storm has caused quite a commotion. Best I can offer is the hayloft in the barn and some blankets.

Monty nodded. That will do. As long as it is not a bloody train or a damned carriage.

Anything else?

Something warm to eat.

With a nod, the man walked away, leaving Monty to his thoughts. A sudden wave of exhaustion made Monty exhale sharply. Edmund would have to reimburse him well for suffering through this wild chase.

The bartender returned with a bowl of something resembling stew and a few slices of bread. Monty thanked him and slid several coins across the bar.

As he ate, the meal warmed him, but he could not shake the chill creeping along his spine. A glance over his shoulder showed several men watching him from the corner. He nodded and returned to his meal.

He wondered if he should wait until morning to locate the widow. Exhaustion settled on him as he finished his meal and nursed the ale. Perhaps morning would be best. He motioned for the barkeep.

I am searching for Mrs. Thorpe. Do you know where she lives?

Aye, she lives in a wee cottage just on the edge of town. He smiled wide, showing teeth through his bushy ginger beard.

Thank you. Monty stood and put another coin on the bar.

Aye, she is a hard worker. We would be lost if she were not here. He pointed at the far corner of the room.

Monty spun around to see a woman’s back turned, a white cap on her head and wearing a dark green and brown plaid gown. She seemed engaged in an animated discussion with a patron.

Who is she speaking with? Monty asked.

That is Hamish McClintock, laird of clan McClintock. He shook his head. He has taken a liking to Mrs. Thorpe since she showed up nigh on six months ago. Comes here every night and requests her company.

They watched as she backed away from the laird, but the laird reached out and pulled her back until she lay splayed across his lap. Monty glimpsed chestnut hair as her cap tumbled off. It could not be.

Aye, been that way for the last few weeks now. Poor woman keeps telling him no, but he is quite adamant. The bartender turned his attention to Monty, who tried not to stare at the woman struggling to free herself from the laird’s embrace. How do you know her?

The familiar tilt of Lady Katherine’s profile flashed as she attempted to stand. Her petite nose, full, ripe lips, and flushed yet flawless cheeks betrayed her identity. There was no denying it. Mrs. Thorpe was Lady Katherine. Leave it to her to play with fire by pretending to be a widow.

Blinded by fury, Monty gritted his teeth and lied through them. She is my sister.

Before the bartender could respond, Monty pushed through the crowd and stared at the couple.

Let her go. He clenched his hand in to a fist.

What did you say? The laird stared at him with amusement.

The woman on his lap turned to face him, her eyes wide with panic and fury. Monty? she