by Meara Platt
“Don’t ask me about the kiss, Nicola.”
“Why not? Am I supposed to pretend it meant nothing to either of us?”
“It was an unfortunate mistake.”
“No, it wasn’t. Don’t you dare make less of it.”
“Then I won’t. But don’t you dare believe it changes anything.”
It had changed everything, but she wasn’t going to argue with him while they were running for their lives. “I think I’ll brush out my hair and knot it into a braid,” she said, licking her lips and trying to keep her heart from breaking.
She sighed as his warm breath tickled her ear. His taste was now on her lips, the masculine warmth of his mouth mingled with the bread and ale he’d washed down earlier with his soup. The taste of him lingered and made her hungry for more of him.
He was no longer inclined to talk, so she kept up her own chatter because she’d cry otherwise. The kiss they’d shared was not a mere “anything.” He’d opened his heart to her and if that was not a sign of love from this man, she did not know what was. He obviously hated himself for his moment of weakness and was now fortifying his barriers against her. “Um, the wind is strong on the water and nothing else will hold my hair in place but a braid.”
“That’s a sensible idea.” He drew away and rifled through their packages until he found the new comb and ribbons.
She took the comb and chose a ribbon of forest green velvet that would not clash with the color of her hair or gown. To her surprise, he turned away and fixed his gaze once more on the stairs. “John,” she said, not bothering to hide her irritation. He wanted to forget the kiss ever happened. She wanted to remember it forever. “I’m fully dressed. Why the sudden need for propriety?”
He muttered something unintelligible under his breath. She realized he was still angry with himself for giving in to his desire, but she had enjoyed their moment and was not going to be shamed into denying it. “We are running for our lives. If Somersby and his men catch up to us… the point is, we may not survive this chase. I’m not going to die wishing I had told you how I feel about you. I suppose my feelings for you are obvious now.”
Indeed, how much more obvious could she be? She would have allowed her gown to slip to the floor and not been ashamed to stand naked before him. He was the one who held it up to maintain her propriety even while he kissed her with scorching passion. “Don’t make me feel lesser for it. Please, John.”
His back was still turned to her, so she could not tell what he was thinking.
But it felt as though he was scowling fiercely.
“I’ll help you climb back on deck when you’re ready. Just call out to me.” He took the stairs as though still being chased by Somersby and his men. Or chased by demons that he was desperate to outrun.
Perhaps he was merely running from her.
Perhaps he would always run.
She wasn’t going to worry about that now, for his kiss had revealed the truth.
She mattered to him.
JOHN CLIMBED ON deck and stood beside Valor, stroking the stallion’s neck as he gazed across the loch waters. The mist had lifted and only remnants of its cloudy haze remained in spots along the shore. He allowed the gusting wind to blow over him and cool him down. Him. Not the stallion. He was the one whose blood was still on fire.
Nicola had a way of smashing through his barriers. For years, he’d been able to hide the effect she’d had on him because they were never left alone. But being on the run and forced into close quarters with the girl was a disastrous combination.
This was only the beginning. They had several days of travel before reaching Edinburgh, assuming Somersby and his men did not interfere with their plans and force them to take another route. But there was no sign of him or his hired ruffians yet. He’d been watching the distant shore for riders.
Nor was there sign of a boat following them.
“John,” Nicola called to him, popping her head out of the hold. She struggled to clamber out while holding onto the skirt of her gown and at the same time trying to keep the wind from whipping several loose strands across her face into her eyes.
He lifted her out with ease, holding onto her waist to steady her as the boat rolled over the waves. She held onto his arms and smiled uncertainly up at him. “Thank you.”
She looked pretty with her hair bound in a loose braid down her back and her body draped in the simple woolen gown that she filled out to perfection. “How do your boots fit?”
“They’re a little stiff, but I’ll manage.” After a moment, Nicola blushed and moved to the railing to look out over the water.
John held back, folding his arms across his chest as he watched her. Captain Grant approached him. “Pretty wife, m’lord.”
John nodded.
“Newlyweds?”
John nodded again. “A month.”
He wasn’t eager to chat with the captain, but he’d referred to Nicola as his wife when first engaging the captain and his boat, and he was not about to change his story. He had hoped the old Scot would mind his own business, but perhaps he was having second thoughts about helping him and Nicola. After all, the man had his sons with him and did not wish them to think he was aiding in the ruin of an innocent young lady.
Nicola was quality and it showed.
John did not blame the man if he was having second thoughts about carrying them to Inverness. They were traveling without baggage or servants. They had no carriage. Just one horse they shared. It was obvious they were on the run; the only question in the captain’s mind had to be the reason for their running away. John had no desire to embellish their lie, but he had less desire to be tossed off the boat.
He was about to fabricate a few more details when Nicola’s cry of alarm put an end to their discussion. “John, look! On the shore.”
“Damn.” Somersby and his men hadn’t been fooled for long. They were on the road to Inverness, obviously riding hard to intercept them. But at the same moment Nicola spotted them, they’d spotted Valor penned on deck. John quickly drew Nicola away from the railing and then turned to the captain. “Those men are dangerous. Sail this boat to the opposite shore. Now.”
“But m’lord.”
“Captain Grant, those men will kill us all. You and your sons will not be spared. My wife will not be spared.” Lord, he’d referred to Nicola as his wife and it felt so natural and easy. “I know you suspect that it is her family riding to stop our elopement, but I assure you, it is nothing of the sort. Let us off now. We’ll never make it to Inverness alive.”
As though to prove his point, the riders on the shore began to fire their weapons at the boat. Fortunately, their shots fell short, but the captain needed no further convincing. “Hamish, Malcolm! Keep down, lads.” He grabbed the rudder and steered the boat toward the southern bank of the loch.
John sighed in relief, knowing they would gain another few hours’ lead on their pursuers, who hadn’t the means to cross this body of water but had to ride around it. They’d need all the advantage they could gain, for their route on this side of the loch would not be an easy one. Inverness was out of the question now. They had no choice but to ride southward through the mountains. Once over the mountains, the trails would become open roads, but it would be days before they reached those flat, well-traveled paths.
Perhaps days before they ate hot food, for he would not dare light a campfire. The smoke from any fire would be seen from a distance and its scent would travel for miles.
He glanced at Nicola.
The girl was pale and frightened, but her resolve was strong. She would do her best not to slow him down, but Valor would be weighed down by her extra weight. At least she was slight and slender. Nor could John ride at breakneck speed while holding her in front of him in the saddle.
Captain Grant drew his vessel up beside an old dock that appeared ready to fall into the water. Most of the boards were splintered and several had fallen off completely. John hoped the dock would hold under Valo
r’s weight, but to be safe, he jumped off the boat and tested the remaining boards. “Come, Nicola. It will hold you.”
He wanted her safely off first, for her clothes and boots needed to remain dry. He and Valor were not likely to be so fortunate. He helped her off and then carefully led Valor, moving slowly and testing every step. The dock creaked and swayed, but held. “Thank you, Captain Grant,” Nicola called out as John was about to lift her onto the saddle.
“Good luck to ye and yer husband, m’lady. Godspeed.”
John wasted no time in riding into the mountains and out of sight of the loch. He’d have to rest Valor from time to time, but there were many streams in the mountains. Water would be plentiful and so would the sweet, meadow grasses. Valor could graze to his heart’s content. Sustaining himself and Nicola was the problem. They had no choice but to survive on the meager bread and cheese he’d brought along. However, they might pass a croft or two, or a small village, along the way. He’d restock their provisions whenever the opportunity presented itself.
The day had turned sunny and the sky was a deep azure as they made their way through the mountain foothills. The air was warming and now held little chill. He hoped they’d make significant progress, for the good weather was not likely to hold for long and he wished to put as much distance between them and Somersby as he could.
Despite the danger they faced, John’s sense of contentment returned. Although he and Nicola spoke little, he felt comfortable with her. Perhaps it was because he’d known her ever since she was a little girl. But it was more than that, for he’d known many women over the years. With Nicola, he felt as though he was with someone who understood him as no one else did or ever could.
He was thankful that she did not appear to resent him for the kiss that should never have been. Yet, she had every reason to be angry with him over his behavior.
He was still angry with himself, certainly angrier than she’d ever been.
Perhaps that was what Nicola’s brother Julian had meant after he’d fallen in love with Rose Farthingale, that John would know when the right woman came along for him. That John’s heart would recognize her and there was nothing he could do about it.
He’d never felt like this with anyone but Nicola.
He’d known her for years and always saw her among her family, playing with her younger siblings and yet also at ease with the elders. They were six siblings in all, Nicola the eldest among the girls. Their household was chaotic and joyful, and they’d welcomed him into their home.
Nicola had always treated him as though he belonged, even when he was taciturn and surly, which he was often. But she never took offense.
Whenever he looked at her now, he saw warmth, love, comfort.
“We’ll have to stop every few hours to rest Valor,” he said, clearing his throat and trying not to sound like a man who was falling in love. To be precise, trying not to sound like a man who’d already fallen deeply in love. “Let me know if you need to stop sooner.”
“Thank you, John. But it won’t be necessary. I’ll manage.” She turned slightly to glance at him as they rode. “I think we ought to read through Somersby’s secret book whenever we rest Valor. The more you or I can retain in our memory, the better.”
He nodded. “I had planned to do just that. Let me sort through it first. I’ve had more experience in these matters than you. I’m more likely to decipher it faster and know what’s important.”
She pursed her lips, obviously not liking his suggestion. “I found it. And I’m not a ninny. I’m good with puzzles and know how to keep accounts.”
“I’m speaking of experience with smugglers. I have no doubt of your cleverness. But since you’ve never been a smuggler, I don’t think you’ll understand all the references or their significance.”
She glanced at him again. “Are you saying that simply to mollify me?”
He cracked a grin. “No, I’m saying it because it’s true. You’re one of the cleverest women I know. Far more intelligent than most men, too.”
“Nicely said, John.” She cast him an impish smile. “But you’ve never been a smuggler either.”
“I have, but only in service to the Crown.”
Her annoyance with him seemed to melt away, just as the mist had melted off the lake waters earlier in the day. “Truly? What did you smuggle? Can you tell me about those missions?”
He saw no harm in passing the time this way. He’d confide some of his earlier adventures since they were several years in the past and not likely to put anyone in danger if a name or two slipped out. “Which would you rather hear first? The mad monk of Ballymena? Or the harlot of Honfleur?”
She shook her head and laughed. “They both sound intriguing. What were each of them smuggling?”
“Irish whiskey was the mad monk’s contraband. The harlot was actually a French countess who traded any French products she could put her hands on. Lace, perfumes, wines.”
Nicola frowned. “But those seem harmless enough. Why assign you to bring down their operations?”
“They each took their profit and put it toward bringing down the English monarchy. Had they kept their ill-gotten gains for themselves and lived purposeless lives of luxury, they would have attracted no one’s notice. But their wealth was used to purchase weapons, train mercenary soldiers, and generally stir hostilities. The mad monk was building an army of Irishmen to invade England. The countess was working for Napoleon, supporting his spy operations.”
Nicola turned slightly in the saddle once more to look at him. Her eyes were wide and she was obviously eager to hear more. “John, how did you disrupt their plans?”
“The mad monk was easy. We set him up so that it would seem I was a sympathizer to his cause. English soldiers gave chase one night and cornered him in one of the smuggler’s caves. I ‘happened’ along and rescued him from capture. Instant trust. I was able to penetrate his circle of rebels to the highest levels and bring them down.”
“I still don’t understand.” She nibbled her lip in contemplation. “Did they have no issue with your English accent?”
“They might have, had they not believed I was Irish.”
Her eyes rounded in surprise and she gasped. “You pretended to be Irish? Your accent must have been very good to fool everyone.”
He nodded. “It was.”
She smiled and rested her head against his shoulder. “I knew it would be. You are remarkable. And how did you fool the French countess? By pretending to be French?”
He laughed lightly. “No, my French is good, but my accent is not. Irish mercenary was my role.”
“Irish again,” Nicola murmured. “What don’t I know about you? Did you grow up in Ireland? It seems obvious that you did, for it is no easy thing to fool a native speaker and you managed to have the mad monk and his cohorts completely taken in.”
He shrugged. “I spent time there.”
She turned in the saddle again to gaze up at him. “But something terrible happened there. Didn’t it?”
He cursed silently, wishing he hadn’t spoken to her at all about his missions. That was a mistake on his part. But Nicola had a way of putting him at ease and making him let down his guard. She understood him almost better than he understood himself.
In truth, he wasn’t complicated.
He wanted revenge on the man who’d killed his parents and left him for dead. He wouldn’t rest until he’d found the villain and exacted his vengeance. It should have been easy enough to pick up that old trail even now, for it had been a brutal crime against an English emissary and that emissary’s wife, and not something the Irish locals or those on his father’s staff would ever forget.
John had spent his life training for this confrontation. He was now a grown man in the service of the Crown. He was an earl, no less, and had the highest connections. But he’d been surprised by the difficulty he’d encountered in gathering information. Everyone he spoke to, English and Irish, used the same excuse. They couldn’t recall,
for the deaths had occurred over twenty years ago. He understood that, but to have nothing at all? Not so much as a kernel of a clue. That was troubling. It spoke of conspiracy. It spoke of a purposeful cover-up.
Nicola put her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready. I’m sorry if I distressed you.”
“No, brat. You didn’t.”
The worst part about seeking revenge was the possibility that he’d never achieve it. The villain could be dead by now. The thought that a cold-hearted murderer might have died a natural, peaceful death tore John up inside. He’d carried this dark rage inside of him for all these years and meant to unleash it on the culprit when he found him.
Nicola lifted her head off his chest and looked up at him again. “Your heart is beating so fast, it’s pounding a hole through your chest.”
He frowned at her. “You’re mistaken.”
“Very well, dismiss my concern. But I’d like to point out that I found Somersby’s secret book in the matter of a day. So why won’t you trust me to help with whatever else is obviously troubling you?”
“I don’t need your help,” he said, his jaw clenched with tension. He did not want Nicola anywhere near that investigation. He wasn’t going to do the decent thing and turn his parents’ killer over to the authorities. He was going to rip the man’s heart out and toss it to the carrion birds to eat.
She squirmed on his lap, shifting her position to better look him straight in the eye. “You don’t want my help. That is very different from not needing it. I think you do need me badly.” She emitted a breathy sigh. “I wish you’d let me in. I know I can help you.”
“How? By meddling and getting yourself killed?”
“Would it be any worse than the predicament we’re in now?”
He supposed not, but this was his quest for vengeance. His alone and he was not going to risk Nicola’s life to achieve it. “I’m torn apart with worry over you, brat. I need to keep you safe. Just let me do that.”
She shifted once more, now turning her back to him, unaware of the turmoil she was causing him with her every little movement. “Very well,” she said, the hurt evident in her voice. “But I am not a lump of clay. I have feelings and protective urges too.”
