The Highlander's Excellent Adventure (Survivors, #8)

by Galen, Shana

  The wink was roguish and unexpected from a man who had the look of a barbarian with that long hair and the scratchy beginnings of a beard. She liked barbarians just fine.

  “To tell ye the truth, I wouldnae have bothered with the English if my mother had nae insisted.”

  Ines wanted to ask why his mother wanted him to marry an English lass—er, lady.

  “She’s English, and my uncle, the laird, has had nae end of trouble with the English. Lady Charlotte thinks if I marry an Englishwoman it will be a boon tae the entire clan. She’ll blister my ears when I return withoot a bride.”

  Ines’s own ears felt blistered at his words. He needed an English bride. Not only English, it seemed, but a lady. She was neither of those things. No wonder he didn’t look at her. So much for her fantasies about marrying Duncan Murray.

  Duncan was still speaking, something about the trouble the laird had in the past with English soldiers, but Ines was not listening again. Yes, Murray’s mother, Lady Charlotte, had wanted him to marry an English lady. But it now appeared that eventuality would not come to pass. He was returning home without a bride or a betrothal. Ines had always said she wanted to pick her own husband, one with the PED (Passion-Excitement-Danger) qualities she prized. She’d already escaped one marriage and she didn’t think she was so lucky as to be able to escape a second. But if she could not have Murray, a marriage for her would have to be years in the future. She wanted to experience the world a bit first. She wanted to kiss a man like Duncan Murray and perhaps a few dozen others before she decided who she would tie herself to permanently.

  The problem now was how to make Murray realize he should kiss her. She couldn’t tell him since she was pretending she couldn’t understand him. Perhaps she could use nonverbal communication...

  Ines made a show of yawning and covering her mouth prettily. When he didn’t seem to notice, she did it again.

  “But ye must be tired, lass. I’ll see ye tae yer chamber.”

  He had secured them separate chambers. Hers was at the top of the stairs and to the right, and his was on the other end of the first floor of the inn. He’d certainly made sure he was far away from her. Now he took her arm and escorted her up the stairs. Ines’s heart pounded so loudly she couldn’t hear a word he said, if he even spoke. He’d drank quite a bit of whisky but didn’t seem the least bit impaired. That was too bad because she’d been hoping he would stumble, and she could catch him. And then they’d look into each other’s eyes, and he wouldn’t be able to resist ravishing her.

  They had almost reached her chamber and there’d been no sign of stumbling or hints that a ravishing was coming. Well, if he wouldn’t fall into her arms, she’d have to fall into his. At her door, she took the key from her glove and inserted it into the lock. Then she opened the door. He couldn’t kick it open now, but she was willing to forgo that part of the fantasy. She turned to tell him goodnight and pretended to trip and fall forward.

  If all had gone as she’d wanted, she would have fallen into his arms. Instead, his hand shot out, caught her elbow, and he righted her with one easy motion. Damn his strength and agility!

  “Careful, lass,” he said, still holding her at arm’s length. “Goodnight.”

  She glared at him and at his puzzled look, finally managed to parrot his “Good night.” And then he was gone, and she closed the door behind her and wondered just exactly how everything in her life always went wrong.

  STRATFORD

  Stratford had little hope the posting house in the distance would yield him any more answers than the last three where he had stopped. But the light was fading, his horse was tiring, and he could use a drink before going on. He didn’t like that Emmeline had managed to get ahead of him. As a single rider, he should have easily overtaken the coach. The problem was he couldn’t be absolutely certain she was on it, so he had to stop at every inn or public house the coach might have stopped at to inquire after her. So far no one remembered her.

  That didn’t discourage Stratford. At most of the stops, the coach would not have paused long enough for the passengers to disembark. But eventually the passengers would be allowed down for refreshment and personal needs. He simply had to find the posting house where the coach had paused and hope Emmeline had stepped out and been seen. He slowed, tossed his reins to the groom who hurried out to greet him, and ordered a fresh horse. “Did the mail coach stop here?” he asked.

  “Which one?” the groom asked. “One headed north stopped about an hour ago.”

  Finally! Good news. “Was a young woman among the passengers? Dark hair, blue eyes...”

  “I can’t say, sir. I didn’t see the passengers. Mr. Miller will know.”

  Stratford followed the groom’s eyes toward the low building a few yards away. “Mr. Miller is the proprietor?”

  “Yes, sir. We have another coach scheduled in a quarter of an hour, so he might be supervising in the kitchen. He’ll hear if you call for him.”

  Stratford thanked the groom and entered the dark public house, his eyes surveying the room for any sign of a Mr. Miller. The room was empty and though Stratford thought it rather gauche, he called out for the man.

  But instead of a male reply, he heard a woman’s muffled voice and a pounding on the wall. “What the devil?” he muttered, moving closer to the sound of the pounding. “Who is there?”

  “Open the door!” the voice called out. “Let me out of here!”

  Stratford realized the sound of pounding did not come from behind a wall at all but from behind a door. A chair had been placed in front of the door, ensuring it remained closed with the occupant inside. Stratford looked about for the elusive Mr. Miller, but the man was still absent. With a shrug, Stratford moved the chair aside.

  The door swung open and a woman tumbled out, followed by a jumping blur of brown-and-white fur.

  What the devil had he unleashed? He had the urge to push the woman and animal back into the closet, but she stumbled right into him, and when he righted her, he looked down into the bright blue eyes of Emmeline Wellesley.

  “Miss Wellesley,” he said, trying to ignore the dog jumping at her side.

  “Stratford?” She glanced down at the dog, which he identified as a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel. “Hush.” But the attention only seemed to encourage the spaniel, who began to bark and run around them in circles. Emmeline said something else, but he couldn’t hear over the din of the animal.

  “Pardon?”

  “I said, what are you doing here, but now I realize you must have been sent to look for me.”

  Her supposition was close enough to the truth. “And it seems I’ve arrived just in time.”

  “What?”

  “I said—oh, for God’s sake.” He bent, lifted the spaniel into his arms, and the animal quieted. “Do you want to explain what you were doing locked in a”—he peered over her shoulder—“storage closet with a spaniel?”

  “Not particularly,” she said, crossing her arms over her generous bosom. If she’d been wearing a cloak earlier, she had shed it, and now she wore a simple white muslin dress. It was modestly cut, but it couldn’t quite hide her lush figure.

  “Not even a cursory explanation? After all, I’ve been riding all day. I think after all the trouble I went to find you, I deserve that much.”

  “Oh, you do, do you? Perhaps no one has ever explained to you that when someone runs away, they generally do not want to be found. So forgive me if I do not thank you for doing precisely what I did not want.”

  Ah, yes. This was the Emmeline his aunt complained about, the one full of fire whom Stratford saw all too rarely. The dog licked his chin and Stratford wrinkled his nose. “And to think I always said you were no trouble.”

  “I am no trouble because, as usual, I am not your concern.” She started away from him, crossing the room of the public house, and stepping outside. Stratford followed.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Continuing my journey,” she said, looking this wa
y then that for a groom.

  “Oh, no you are not. You are coming back to Odham Abbey with me.”

  She shot him a look that said over-your-dead-body, and Stratford hoped she did not possess any weapons else his life might actually be in danger. At that moment, the groom reappeared leading a horse, and Emmeline walked right up to him. “Thank you,” she said. “I will take this animal.”

  Stratford could not blame the man when his mouth dropped open in shock. He had known Emmeline was a force to be reckoned with. He had seen her take on her mother and more than one suitor, but she was clearly in a mood now, and pity the man or woman who stood in her way.

  And that man was obviously him. “Wait a moment!”

  The groom, hand half-extended to give over the reins, paused.

  “The lady and I need a word. If you’ll excuse us.”

  “We do not need a word,” she said.

  “We do,” he said. He looked down at the dog in his arms then over at the groom.

  “I’ll take her, sir,” the groom said. “She’s a real beauty.”

  Stratford handed the dog to the groom who immediately crooned to the spaniel and brought her over to a patch of grass where the dog seemed relieved to be able to...well, relieve herself. Aware the groom was still nearby, Stratford lowered his voice. “Listen, Emmeline—”

  She sighed. “This is the part where you tell me I cannot take this horse and I must come back with you and what will people say and think and so on.”

  “Exactly.” There. She could be reasonable.

  “And what I will say to you, Stratford Fortescue, is I no longer care. I am not returning. Not with you. Not with anyone.”

  “Emmeline, be reasonable,” he said, hoping that he could will her into behaving logically.

  “Stratford, I am being reasonable. This is how a reasonable person behaves when she has been pushed to the brink of sanity and made to attend event after event whereupon she is maligned and insulted and ignored. What I might argue is that it is not reasonable for that person to keep attending said events.”

  Stratford could see her point, though her logic was twisted. “Then have that conversation with your mother.”

  “Don’t you think I have? She will not listen. And of course, neither will you. You are not my brother. Our families are friendly, but you have no authority over me.”

  “And yet I feel as though I have an obligation to be certain you come to no harm.” That was part of the reason he had come after her. The other part was the rare chance to spend time alone with her. They might have known each other for years but he could count on one hand the number of times they had ever shared a private word. “Don’t be difficult.”

  That was the wrong thing to say. He saw it in the way her eyes immediately narrowed.

  “Difficult, am I? Wanting my freedom makes me difficult?”

  “Emmeline, I thought we were friends.” He would explain and appeal to her reason. “There’s no reason for all this trouble.”

  “Do you know why I was never any trouble when you escorted me about Town?”

  Stratford did not like the look in her eyes.

  “Because I felt sorry for you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Hot anger flooded through him. She felt sorry for him? The perpetual wallflower, the spinster of three and twenty, the woman who couldn’t secure a beau if she tried, felt sorry for him?

  “I did. Because you did not want to be there any more than I. And you were as pathetic as I because we both did whatever we were told and dutifully followed the rules. Well, sir, I am done following the rules.” She made a move toward the horse, and Stratford grabbed her arm.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” She gave his hand on her arm the most disdainful look he had ever seen. He could almost feel the heat of her loathing. “You are clearly distraught.” That seemed to be putting it mildly. “Therefore, I will ignore your insults. But I draw the line at allowing you to take that horse and ride away.”

  She stepped closer to him, so close he could smell the lemon scent he always associated with her. Her eyes were so brilliantly blue that he almost needed to squint. “Oh, yes, I am.”

  She snatched her arm from his grip and made an unsuccessful attempt to put a foot in the horse’s stirrup. The horse shied away.

  “And just where will you go?” Stratford asked, clasping his hands behind his back to resist the urge to shake her until she listened. “It will be dark soon.”

  She didn’t look at him, but her shoulders stiffened.

  Ah, he had hit a chink. Now to exploit it. “Do you have blunt to pay for a room at an inn? Not that any inn will accept you. A lone female? Any decent inn will assume you are a fallen woman and not want you under their roof.”

  She still did not turn to face him, but he could almost hear her thinking.

  “I’ll stay here then.”

  Time to wrench a crowbar into that chink and open it wide. “This is not an inn. There are no rooms to let, and if you haven’t coin to pay for food and drink, the proprietor will not let you stay.”

  “We’ll see about that,” she said, and Stratford had no trouble believing she would bend the proprietor to her will. His strategy teetered on failure.

  “Emmeline,” Stratford began. She glared at him over her shoulder. “Miss Wellesley,” he said sharply. “Clearly this is not a decision to make without more consideration and discussion.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  He ignored her. “I propose we inquire as to the location of the nearest inn, stop there for the night, and discuss this further in the morning, when we are both feeling refreshed and clear headed.”

  “I won’t change my mind,” she said.

  But she already had. When he’d arrived, she wanted to escape him as soon as possible. Now she was tacitly agreeing to go with him. “Of course not, but at least you will be rested and fed. Wait here while I secure another mount and inquire about the inn.”

  He started toward the groom then realized he didn’t trust her not to mount his horse and ride off while his back was turned. He took the horse’s reins and brought the animal with him.

  The groom was more than happy to give him the location of a good inn, which was not the nearest but was close enough to reach before full dark. But before he went to saddle another horse, he gave the dog he’d been playing with a baleful look. “What will you do with the dog, sir?”

  Stratford stared at the spaniel. He hadn’t considered the dog in his plans. But, of course, if this was Emmeline’s dog, they must take her with them. “She can ride with me,” he said.

  The groom nodded and gave the dog one last affectionate pat on the head. Stratford made his way back to Emmeline and informed her of his plans.

  “That’s not my dog,” she said.

  Stratford frowned. “I assumed she was yours since you were trapped in the broom closet with her.”

  Emmeline’s cheeks colored and she looked down. Now this was an interesting development. He had rarely if ever seen Emmeline blush. “It’s a long story. She was—er, foisted upon me.”

  “Then you don’t want the dog?”

  The groom was leading another horse toward them and gasped. Emmeline gave him a look from the corner of her eye. “I did not say that. I can’t leave her to fend for herself.”

  “Oh, miss!” the groom began. “If the dog isn’t yours, might I have her? She’s a beautiful dog, and she’ll be well cared for. I had one just like her when I was a boy, but she died a few years ago of old age.”

  Emmeline looked at Stratford who shrugged. Then she cleared her throat. “Will you promise to take good care of her?”

  “Yes, miss!”

  “You will feed her and exercise her and all the other things one must do for a dog?”

  “Yes, miss!”

  Emmeline gave the groom one last long look. The man straightened his shoulders. He must be ten years her senior, but she was undeniably in charge. “Then you may have her.” She bent, took the dog into
her arms, and handed the spaniel to the groom.

  Stratford closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. This was why Emmeline was still unmarried. She was impossibly dictatorial, though she had a regal way of going about it. Still, no man wanted to be treated like a subject to the queen, and most men were no match for her. He’d watched her at countless societal gatherings over the years. She could dismiss a man with a single look. The braver men abandoned her when they realized she had a mind of her own and was not afraid to express it. As he mounted his horse and steered the animal in the direction of the inn, Emmeline right behind him, Stratford noted that she was unlikely to marry any time soon, if ever.

  Why that thought should please him was a mystery better left unexplored.

  DUNCAN

  Duncan rose early, as usual. He hadn’t been able to accustom himself to the hours the English kept in Town. Highlanders were always up with the sun as were soldiers, and he was both. He’d slept hard and heavy, a dreamless sleep that left him feeling refreshed this morning. And yet as he made his way down to the public room, where a gray-haired woman hummed to herself as she dusted chairs and wiped down tables, Duncan couldn’t stop himself from looking just a little too long in the direction of the door leading to Beatriz’s chamber.

  Though they did not speak the same language, he couldn’t help feeling she had wanted more than a curt good night the evening before. The way she’d looked up at him with those dark, brown eyes made him want to kiss her full lips. But he was probably imagining things. He’d just spent weeks in London, trying his damnedest to catch the interest of just one lady, any lady, and he’d failed spectacularly. Though he wouldn’t admit it publicly, his pride was bruised. He didn’t need to damage it further by soliciting rejection from a woman who had no choice but to stay with him.

  There were lasses in Scotland who would be more than happy to catch his interest. They would not call him a barbarian or back away when he walked into a room as though he were some sort of murderer after their blood.