The Stolen Mackenzie Bride

by Jennifer Ashley

  He saw Mary flash him a look of gratitude. Audrey clung tightly to her sister as both ladies hurried to the gate Malcolm led them to. A carriage waited on the other side.

  The Scottish sentries guarding the small gate pretended to not even notice them. Mal had already bribed them lavishly with coin and whisky. Naughton had the door of the carriage open, rugs and flasks of hot coffee inside to fortify them.

  “There you go, young Audrey,” Malcolm said, handing her into the coach. “Settle yourself in. Now, then, Mary.”

  Mary put her hand in Malcolm’s, her fingers warm through gloves. Malcolm added his grip to her elbow, savoring her brush of scent as he helped her up into the carriage. He felt her tremble, but the look she flashed him told him it was from exuberance, not fear. She was embracing the adventure.

  Mal stepped back so Jeremy could leap inside. The ladies had taken the seat facing forward, and Jeremy landed on the rear-facing seat with a rush of breath. Malcolm climbed in and sat down next to Jeremy, opposite Mary.

  Naughton slammed the door, and the carriage listed as he and the footman climbed to their perches. Then they were off.

  Mary’s eyes were sparkling, her face flushed. She’d never done anything like this, Malcolm would wager, nothing remotely forbidden. Mal was so used to looking for the most amount of trouble he could find that he barely noticed the thrill of it anymore. He simply did what he wanted, devil take those who didn’t like it.

  Mary, on the other hand, had been an obedient daughter her entire life. She was very conscious of this breach of obligation.

  No turning back now, lass. Once you’ve the taste of wickedness, ye want it always.

  The four of them said nothing as they clopped through the quiet streets of the city. The backstreet taverns were rollicking, but the main streets were nearly empty, everyone who was anyone at Holyrood tonight.

  The minister lived in a little house in a quiet lane. He was waiting for them, and in his drawing room, with his wife and servants to witness, Audrey and Jeremy were married. Malcolm stood behind Jeremy, and Mary behind her sister, Mary’s eyes welling with tears as Audrey made her vows in a clear voice.

  Jeremy looked suddenly less youthful as he turned Audrey’s face to him and kissed her lightly on the lips. He’d just gone from youngest son, kicking around waiting for his life to begin, to a man responsible for a wife.

  Mary caught Malcolm’s eye, and flushed a berry red. Whatever her thoughts were, Malcolm was certain he’d like them.

  Malcolm didn’t let the happy couple linger, for which Mary was grateful. Mary shared his urgency, wanting Audrey gone before their father discovered what was happening. Any moment now, Aunt Danae would realize that Mary and Audrey weren’t coming back from the withdrawing room, and the hunt would begin.

  Malcolm chivvied them to the carriage, pushing Mary into it with his hand on her backside. When she turned to him in outrage—no one would dare ever touch her thus—he only gave her an unabashed wink.

  “Cheek,” Mary said decidedly as she settled on the seat next to Audrey.

  “Aye, and a fine one it is.” Malcolm yanked the carriage door closed, bracing himself as the vehicle rocked forward and away. He half fell to the seat facing her, his face creased with mirth.

  Mary knew she should be most offended that Malcolm had touched her in an inappropriate place and then made a pun about it. But she wasn’t. She wanted to laugh and laugh. She was breaking rules she’d upheld all her life, and enjoying it. Tomorrow she’d become obedient Mary again, but tonight she would revel in her madness.

  The carriage rolled through streets that were still quiet. Charles’s grand ball would blaze on for hours longer.

  They moved to another city gate and easily out this one too. The Scotsmen on guard glanced inside, saw Malcolm, and stepped out of the way. Did he have every sentry in Edinburgh in his pocket? At the moment, Mary couldn’t be too unnerved by that. She was only thankful he did.

  The carriage rattled down lanes that led to the docks and the shipping yards, then past those and into emptiness beyond. At the end of a tiny fishing wharf, well past the main dockyards, a small ship rocked in the darkness and rising mist.

  Mary couldn’t see much of the vessel in the shadows, just that it was masted but small, though plenty of figures moved on its decks.

  “We’re going to France in that?” Jeremy asked in alarm.

  “That is probably the most seaworthy craft on the waters,” Malcolm answered as he threw open the carriage’s door. “It will take ye there safer than any frigate.”

  Jeremy looked doubtful, but Malcolm didn’t give him time to argue. They piled out of the carriage, Audrey clinging to Jeremy’s hand.

  A tall man in a kilt, the plaid thrown around his shoulders, climbed the short plank from ship’s deck to the wharf. His stance, his walk, was Malcolm’s, and as they neared him, Mary realized he was Malcolm’s brother Alec, whom she’d seen on the night of Lady Bancroft’s ball, when she’d first encountered Malcolm.

  “There you all are,” Alec said. He looked different tonight, haggard and pale, his eyes lacking the sparkle she’d spied in them when he’d stood so arrogantly at Malcolm’s side. “Gair’s about to go without you.”

  “The devil he is.” Malcolm’s scowl flashed, then he put his hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “On you go, children. Make your good-byes quick.”

  Audrey turned in a flurry of skirts and flung her arms around Mary. “My dearest Mary,” she said in a choked voice. “Oh, but I’m going to miss you.” She quickly kissed Mary’s cheek with lips cold from the wind, then she seized her hands. “Don’t go home,” she said desperately. “Come with us.”

  Mary’s heart lurched, the temptation of doing just that having swirled through her all day. She made herself shake her head. “Don’t be silly. Someone has to break the news to Father and Aunt Danae. They will be frantic until they know you’re safe.” And Mary, no matter what she would sacrifice to bring Audrey’s happiness, could not with good conscience let her father lose two daughters in one night.

  “But they will be so angry,” Audrey said, worry in her eyes. “Oh, I should not go. We’ll go home, own up. When they see how happy I am with Jeremy—”

  “Absolute nonsense, and you know it,” Mary said crisply. “Papa would try to have the marriage annulled, and I did not go through all this to have you married and unmarried in one evening.” She held back her tears with effort as she kissed Audrey’s cheek. “I will smooth things over here, you write me when you’re settled, and I’ll persuade Papa and Aunt Danae to go to Paris for a visit. Papa will be used to the idea by then, and much more forgiving.”

  Mary spoke with conviction she did not feel. Her father could become so very angry, and it was difficult to predict what he’d do in his fury. He might storm across the channel and drag Audrey home, never mind that Jeremy’s authority, as Audrey’s husband, would now supersede his. That technicality of law was all they had at the moment to hang their hopes on.

  The bellow of the ship’s captain cut through the air. “Get yerselves on board! I’m casting off now.”

  Malcolm ran down the gangplank to the ship’s deck as Jeremy gently pried Audrey from Mary’s arms. Audrey was weeping. Jeremy, taking charge of her, led her down the gangplank, and Audrey sank against him, already transferring her trust to him.

  Malcolm made his way to the captain, who stood in the stern, plaid like a flag in the wind. The same sharp wind brought Malcolm’s words to Mary. “You’ll take care of them, won’t ye, Gair?” Mal put his face close to the hard-eyed captain’s. “If any harm comes to them—any at all—I’ll cut your balls off. You’d look funny without your bits, wouldn’t ye?”

  The threat, given with cheerfully voiced menace, made Gair flinch. “Ye paid me, Mackenzie,” he said, sounding hurt. “Ye know I’m your man.”

  Mal put a hand on Gair’s shoulder. “Ye better be. You know I’ll find ye, no matter where ye roam.”

  “Mal.” Alec, his pl
aids making him a lump of blue in the swirling mists, reached his brother. “Thank you.”

  Mal said nothing, but a moment later, the two were clasping each other in a tight hug.

  Mary watched them with a full heart. Mal would miss Alec the same gripping way Mary would miss her sister.

  She pulled out of her musings when she noticed that Mal and Alec were somehow growing smaller, disappearing into the mists. The ship’s men had slipped the moorings. The slap of oars Mary couldn’t see came to her, as the ship slowly made its way toward open sea.

  Mary cupped her hands around her mouth. “Malcolm!”

  Malcolm’s head came up, then his voice cut through the fog. “Gair! Ye rat-tailed bastard!”

  Next came a heavy splash, followed by Gair’s rumbling laughter. Then Alec: “Mal, are ye daft?” and Audrey’s half-muffled cry.

  A dark form was bobbing through the water. The mists thickened as the wind died, and through them Mary could just see Mal swimming strongly for the wharf.

  “Help him!” Mary cried.

  The very thin, red-haired retainer called Naughton jumped from the carriage and headed her way, as did the footman who’d been waiting for them in the shadows of the abbey. A couple of fishermen, who’d been readying their boats for the next day, also thumped down the wharf to help. The fisherman and coachman splashed into the water to grab Malcolm and haul him, dripping and coughing, to shore.

  “Malcolm!” Alec’s voice boomed across the water, full of worry.

  “He’s here,” Mary shouted at him. “Go!”

  She heard Alec curse, then the bulk of the ship grew even smaller, until it vanished into swirling darkness.

  Naughton and the others pulled Malcolm up to the wharf. He gained his feet but shivered heavily, his lips already blue.

  Mary pulled off her velvet cloak and draped it around his wet body. Cold radiated from him, like death waiting to wrap its fingers around him.

  “Are you mad?” Mary demanded as she tried to settle the too-small cloak around him. “Why didn’t you stay on the ship?”

  “And leave ye behind?” Malcolm gave her an incredulous look and shook his head, teeth chattering. “Not bloody likely. I’m going nowhere without ye, love. Not ever again.” He shuddered, pulling the cloak and then a dry plaid Naughton brought about his shoulders. “Get us home, Naughton,” he ordered. “That water was bloody cold.”

  It never occurred to Mary, when the carriage pulled up in front of Malcolm’s tall Edinburgh house, to demand Mal return her cloak, now sopping wet, and have his coachman deliver her to her front door. Malcolm had coughed and shivered—and cursed—all the way home, and Mary now descended with him, following his entourage into the house. He’d gone to a lot of trouble for her and Audrey, and she needed to make certain he was all right.

  No one but servants appeared to be home. Half a dozen of these hurried to light a fire or do other things to assist their master, but Malcolm held tightly to Mary as she supported him up the stairs of the narrow, many-storied house.

  Mal started throwing off cloak, plaids, and clothes as soon as the door closed on his chamber. Mary knew she should turn and leave, wait in the hall or in a drawing room below, but she couldn’t move. The more of Malcolm’s body came into view, the more fixed in place she became.

  Mary had never in her life seen a man without any sort of clothing. Her father never left his bedchamber unclad. Even if he rose from bed in the deepest night, Lord Wilfort donned a thick dressing gown that covered him from neck to ankles, with a cap on his shaved head.

  Malcolm’s naked flesh was not what Mary expected. Instead of the softness she’d felt whenever she walked next to Halsey, she saw only firm strength in Malcolm.

  Aunt Danae kept a collection of small bronze statuettes of male nudes that she hid in her room and forbade Mary or Audrey to look at. The sisters had, of course, sneaked in to see them. They’d marveled at the form of the male body, speculating on whether the bronzes were true to life.

  Mal could have posed for them. His taut skin fit closely over an armature of muscle. Malcolm’s chest, as well sculpted as the artist’s bronzes, was dusted with dark red hair, which was repeated on his arms and strong legs.

  Only the plaid around his middle kept Mary from seeing all. She was dismayed at her twinge of disappointment when Naughton came to Mal’s side with a thick blanket.

  Malcolm noticed Mary’s interested gaze, and his return look made her flush.

  “Get that blanket around me,” Mal growled to Naughton. “Before I pull off this tartan. The water was icy, if ye ken what I mean.”

  Naughton, who heretofore had been lugubrious, snorted a laugh. Malcolm snatched the blanket and wrapped it tightly around his body. The very wet plaid fell from beneath it, and Mal shoved it away with his well-formed bare foot.

  “Fetch Mary some coffee and make sure she’s warm,” Mal commanded as he turned from Naughton. “Why isn’t that fire roaring yet?”

  “I’m all right,” Mary said. She followed him, not liking how stark his face was. “You need to get warm. Come here.”

  She took Malcolm by the blanket-clad arm and steered him to a settee that was pulled before the fire.

  As with the other furnishings in this room, the couch was gilded, had finely embroidered upholstery, and looked as though it had come straight out of Louis’s palace at Versailles. The rest of the room went with the furnishings—painted and gilded paneled walls, high ceilings decorated with ornate moldings, paintings of landscapes or portraits that could have been done by Flemish artists of the last century. Definitely not what Mary had pictured the inside of a savage Highlander’s home to be.

  Malcolm let out a sigh as he sank down to the cushions. As Mary turned to see whether the coffee or hot water was on its way, Mal grasped her hand and pulled her down onto the settee next to him.

  “I’ll be all right,” he said. “So will Audrey.”

  Mary swallowed the lump in her throat. “If I hadn’t thought she would be, I’d never have let her go.”

  “I know.” A droplet from Mal’s hair trickled across his cheek like a tear. “Ye did a fine thing, Mary, trusting me. I’ll never let harm come to her, and neither will Alec. Not as long as we live.”

  Mal’s slicked-back hair, dark now with water, revealed all of his face. This close, with growing firelight touching him, Mary could see that under his tan, light freckles brushed his high cheekbones and feathered up onto his forehead.

  She touched one.

  Mal’s solicitous expression vanished. His eyes went warm as he brushed back her hair with a heavy hand, and pulled her against his damp, blanket-clad body.

  Chapter 14

  Mal smelled of salt and his mad plunge into the sea. He ought to be dead, diving into cold water like that, but no. He’d made for shore, confident that there would be hands to pull him out, and he hadn’t been wrong.

  His absolute self-assurance came to Mary in the vibrations of his body, and the strength of his kiss as he leaned to her and took her mouth. He parted her lips, Mal stroking her cheek with his thumb, opening her to him. The sweep of his tongue was hot, also tasting of salt. Mary wanted to clasp this feeling to herself and never let it go.

  But when Mal drew away, licking across her lower lip before he pulled back entirely, she saw a flash of vulnerability in his eyes. This man ached deep inside, despite his devil-may-care arrogance.

  Malcolm touched Mary’s lower lip, his brows drawing together as he studied where he touched. His fingertips were amazingly gentle.

  Mal started to bend to her again, but a thin, pale hand holding a steaming cup came down to them, and Naughton cleared his throat.

  “Your coffee, sir,” the man said. “And for my lady. And some bannocks to sustain ye.”

  Malcolm straightened up without embarrassment, one tightly muscled arm uncovered. “Thank ye, Naughton.”

  He seized a flat cake from a pile on a plate, stuffed half of it in his mouth, and poured coffee down after i
t. A far cry from the fastidiousness of Halsey, who took minute bites, dabbing his lips with a handkerchief after every mouthful.

  Mary had heard of bannocks, of course, but never tasted them. Their Scottish cook was instructed to prepare only English food, or French.

  She broke off a corner of one, popped it into her mouth, and chewed. Oats, the warm taste of fat that held it together, and the tang of something she couldn’t identify met her tongue. She swallowed, licked her lips, and reached for more.

  “Like it, do ye?” Malcolm asked her, eyes twinkling.

  “Indeed,” Mary said, surprised at herself. “It is quite tasty.”

  “Our chef is one for a hearty bannock. Gifted, he is.”

  She glanced at him as she chewed another chunk of bannock. “You keep a chef?” she asked after she swallowed. “Not a cook?”

  Mal briefly studied the ceiling in exasperation. “My father is a bloody duke. Nothing will do but he has fine chefs hauled over from France and forced to make heaven out of Scottish recipes. Me dad will have nothing but the best. Though Will brings most of the furniture. Will likes his comfort, though I’m guessing the king gives it to him in exchange for him going away.”

  So perhaps this settee beneath her was straight from Versailles. Mary regarded it with more respect.

  Malcolm lifted his cup and took another long swallow of coffee. Then he held it out to Naughton, who was flitting about shaking out Malcolm’s sodden clothes.

  “This is plain,” he said.

  Mary had no idea what Malcolm meant, but Naughton appeared to.

  “Yes, sir. Until ye feel better.”

  “I do feel better. I’d be even hotter inside if you added a drop.”

  Naughton gave him a look of disapproval but fetched a decanter of amber liquid from a marble-topped demi-lune table. A warm odor leeched from the decanter when Naughton removed the crystal stopper and dolloped some of the liquid into Malcolm’s cup.

  “Lady Mary’s too,” Malcolm said.