The Highlander's Princess Bride

by Vanessa Kelly

  “I’ll be happy to put a ball through yer skull, ye grunter, so shut it,” the thug growled.

  Blair flushed but held his tongue.

  “Come on, you,” their captor said, jabbing his pistol at Victoria.

  “Best do what he says,” Alec said in a calm voice.

  Victoria managed to stand, even though her knees were wobbling like jelly. As she moved to the door, Alec and Constable Gow exchanged quick glances. She guessed that it meant they’d take action if an opportunity presented itself.

  She hoped they would have the chance.

  After carefully descending from the carriage, Victoria cast a quick glance around. Her heart plummeted straight to the ground.

  The coachman and groom were kneeling in the grass under the watchful eye of several exceedingly unpleasant-looking men. There were five in all, including her captor. They all carried pistols, but for one fellow who stood off to the side. That one had a rifle trained on the coachman.

  The thug shoved her away from the carriage and toward the woods. She immediately stumbled over uneven ground and almost fell, catching herself just in time.

  “Keep your bloody hands off her,” Alec growled as he stepped out of the carriage.

  “Or ye’ll do what?” sneered her captor. “Now get ye doon on the ground and keep yer bloody mouth shut.”

  Alec and the two lawmen lined up against the carriage. Her cousin looked ready to kill someone with his bare hands.

  “What do you want?” Victoria asked as calmly as she could.

  The thug grabbed her chin and gave her a gruesome leer that showcased his rotten teeth. The sour stench of moonshine hit her like a slap, and she had to swallow hard to keep her stomach in place.

  “What do ye think, lass?” She winced in pain when his grip tightened on her face. “Aye, yer a pretty piece. We’ll be takin’ our time with ye, I reckon’.”

  “The hell you will,” said Alec. He launched himself at the closest brigand, catching him off guard. The man’s pistol discharged as he and Alec fell heavily to the ground. Sergeant Blair staggered backward against the side of the coach, clapping a hand to his shoulder.

  Constable Gow started to charge forward but came up short when Victoria’s captor pointed the pistol at him.

  “I wouldn’t.” The thug wrapped his other hand around her neck, all but choking her. She scrabbled ineffectually at his thick fingers as her vision started to blur. Desperately, she wheezed in air.

  She heard scuffling and then a loud groan. When the man holding her tightened his fingers around her throat, she felt her consciousness slipping away.

  “Fer Christ’s sake, Mack, let her go,” snapped a loud, irritated voice. “Yer all but stranglin’ her.”

  She was suddenly released. Victoria staggered and went heavily to her knees. She braced her hands on the snow-covered ground, sucking in air as she tried to clear her head and settle her racing heart.

  When she was able to look up, she wished she hadn’t. Alec was sprawled facedown on the ground, still as death. The man he’d attacked, his face covered in blood, was struggling to his feet with the help of one of the other men.

  Victoria started to crawl toward Alec, terror for him propelling her forward.

  A massive hand clamped down on her shoulder. Her captor locked her against his side.

  “It’s all right, miss,” Gow said. The constable was on his knees, trying to assist the sergeant. “He’s just unconscious. He got hit with the butt of that fellow’s pistol.” He glared up at Alec’s assailant.

  “Aye, yer friend will wake with naught but a headache.” The man then gave Victoria the most blood-chilling smile she’d ever seen. “Ye, however, willna be so lucky.”

  “If you harm her, we’ll hunt you down and kill you,” Constable Gow said in a cold voice.

  He was a courageous young man, but there was very little he could do to help. Aside from the pistols pointed at him, he had his hands full with the sergeant, who was bleeding and seemed barely conscious.

  “Ye’ll have to find us first,” the man replied. “But ye won’t.” Then he glanced at Victoria and her captor. “No more dickin’ about now. He’ll be gettin’ impatient for her.”

  “Seems a shame we canna have a little fun with her first,” said her captor. His massive hand moved down to her hip, holding her tight as he ground himself against her. Victoria had to swallow the bile that rose in her throat.

  Underneath her fear, a consuming rage was building and a disbelief that this could be happening to her again. She’d killed a man for trying to take her against her will. That time, it had been an accident, but this time, if she got the chance, it wouldn’t be.

  “That’s up to him to decide,” the other man barked. “Ye ken he told us not to harm her, or have ye forgotten?”

  The thug loosened his hold. “I remember.” Muttering curses, Victoria’s captor spun her around and began marching her away from the road, deeper into the woods.

  “Where are you taking me?” she demanded in the strongest voice she could muster.

  “Ye’ll find out. I wouldna be in too much of a hurry to meet him. He vowed to be the end of ye.”

  She’d guessed what would happen at the end of this grim little march. Still, receiving confirmation almost took her out at the knees.

  “You do know who I am, don’t you?”

  “Dinna care,” he said, shoving her forward.

  She recovered and glared at him. “I’m the Earl of Arnprior’s fiancée. And if you harm me in any way, the earl and his entire family will make it their lifelong mission to hunt you down and kill you.”

  She saw a hitch in his step. “We ain’t from around these parts, you daft bitch. No one will ken who we are.”

  When she started to argue, he gave her another shove. “Shut yer trap and keep walkin’, or I’ll pull yer skirts up and shag ye anyway.”

  Victoria turned her eyes forward and kept walking.

  The woods were thinning, and sunlight filtered down through the feathery branches, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. A wintry scent filled the air as her feet crunched through a thin crusting of snow and pine needles. Birds darted overhead from branch to branch, twittering away in joyous peeps.

  It was a beautiful day, the Highland air crisp and invigorating. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the irony of it. She would never see Nicholas again or have the chance to walk with him through these beautiful woods secure in the knowledge that she’d finally found the place she truly belonged.

  With him.

  They walked for another minute or so before breaking through into a small glen. Though they weren’t far from the road, it felt completely isolated.

  No one would be coming to her rescue.

  “It’s about damn time,” Fletcher said from off to her side.

  Simply hearing that dreaded voice firmed her resolve. She would do whatever she needed to survive or go down fighting.

  Turning, she faced her enemy.

  Fletcher stood at the edge of the wood, dressed for riding, and several horses were tied up to trees. Her nemesis and his merry band of thugs had come by horseback.

  “Do you really think Sergeant Blair and Constable Gow will not realize who is responsible for this?” she asked.

  He walked forward to meet her as casually as if he were out for a little stroll. His cold, utterly satisfied smile sent a chill down her spine.

  “Those idiots are barely capable of remembering their own names,” he said. “Besides, Sergeant Blair already believes you’re guilty. He’ll think you’ve met a just and convenient fate at the hands of ruthless thieves.”

  “You know Captain Gilbride will not believe that.”

  Fletcher shrugged. “He will not be able to prove anything.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “You were staying at the inn last night, as was Alec. You were seen in Arrochar with the two lawmen who were instructed to bring me to Glasgow to stand trial for murder. Everyone knows you
wish to see me hang. Do you really think you’ll get away with this?”

  “I’m already on my way back to Glasgow,” he said with a negligent wave. “The innkeeper saw me drive off in my carriage this morning, shortly after Sergeant Blair set off to fetch you. There was no point in me waiting, you see, since you had no choice but to return to Glasgow.”

  He circled around her as he talked, taking obvious delight in tormenting her. “My servants will swear I arrived in Glasgow well before nightfall. And in the meantime, your captors will be long gone. They know their business, Miss Knight. I made certain of that before I hired them.”

  Her head swam as the extent of his madness struck her. That he would take such risks and put such an elaborate plan in play was mind-boggling.

  “Why?” she asked hoarsely. “You’ve won. Isn’t it good enough for you to drag me back to Glasgow to face trial for murder?”

  Fletcher leaned in, practically spitting the words into her face. “No, it is not. I want revenge for my son.”

  “And bringing me forward on a murder charge isn’t revenge? Destroying my reputation and my life isn’t enough for you?”

  His pockmarked face turned a mottled red. “You already escaped justice when the magistrate refused to lay charges after you murdered my son. Even the blasted court official in Glasgow said that while he feels compelled to investigate, you’ll probably escape conviction again.”

  Victoria shuddered at the hatred in his voice and on his face.

  “You have too many friends in high places, damn you,” Fletcher said.

  “You mean like my father, the Prince Regent?” Victoria said, giving him as cold a smile as she could muster.

  “Wut?” Mack said from behind her.

  She glanced over her shoulder, taking in his consternation. “That’s right. My natural father is the Prince Regent. If anything happened to me, I cannot imagine the depth of his distress.”

  “That’s a bloody lie,” Fletcher snarled, poking her in the shoulder with his pistol. “He doesn’t even know you exist.”

  Victoria swallowed against the fear squeezing her throat. “It’s the truth, and you know it.”

  “Listen ’ere,” Mack started.

  “Shut your mouth, or you won’t get paid,” Fletcher ordered. “And your companions won’t like that, will they?”

  When Mack subsided with a grumble, Victoria’s small ray of hope died.

  “Thomas was my only son and my heir.” Fletcher’s pale gaze was hollow and full of hatred. “None of my success means a damn thing now that he’s dead. You took my family’s future away from me, you bloody whore.”

  “Mr. Fletcher, I am sorry for your loss, and I truly regret your son’s death,” she said, struggling to remain calm. “But I assure you that what happened was an accident forced upon me by your son’s behavior. He was responsible for his death, not I.”

  Her words were obviously falling on deaf ears. Trying to reason with a madman was a fool’s errand—as his furious expression made clear.

  “No, you are responsible. And now I will be responsible for your death. Only then will my poor boy rest in peace.”

  “Mr. Fletcher, I beg you—”

  Two sharp cracks, one after another, echoed through the woods.

  “What the hell?” Mack growled, peering back toward the road. “Ye said no one would ken about this.”

  “It’s probably one of your men, shooting a prisoner,” Fletcher said.

  “You’d better hope not,” Victoria said through clenched teeth. “Lord Arnprior will see you all hang.” The thought of anything happening to Alec or the other men because of her...

  “Shut yer gob,” Mack said, shoving her again. “Enough of this bleedin’ palaver,” he said to Fletcher. “Get on with it or give her to me.”

  “I have no intention of watching you rut,” Fletcher said with disdain. “But indeed the day is fading, so I must be on my way.”

  He waved his pistol at Victoria. “Move over there.”

  She glared at him. “No.”

  Mack propelled her into a nearby stand of trees and shoved her down to the ground.

  “Any last words, Miss Knight?” Fletcher said as he positioned himself a few feet away. “Care to beg for your life?”

  She met his lunatic gaze as calmly as she could before finally closing her eyes. She thought of Nicholas, determined that her last thoughts be of him. God, she loved him. To never see him again . . .

  A pistol roared, but it wasn’t his. In almost the same instant, it was Fletcher who screamed and something wet splattered onto her face. Victoria’s eyes flew open to see him pitch forward, his mouth gaping and his eyes wide with shock. He went down like a felled tree, missing her by inches.

  “Bloody hell,” yelled Mack, whipping around to stare across the clearing.

  She followed his gaze and saw Logan Kendrick charging toward them like an enraged bull, pulling a second pistol from his belt. Without breaking stride, Logan fired again, and the thug crumbled to the snowy ground.

  Dumbfounded, Victoria stared at the bodies, blood staining the snow around them. Logan had shot Fletcher in the middle of the back and Mack in the center of his chest. The man’s aim had been astounding.

  On shaky legs, she started to clamber to her feet.

  “Let me help you,” Logan said gruffly. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, her mouth too dry to form words.

  “You’re sure.” He swiftly ran a concerned gaze over her, front and back.

  “Is he dead?” she finally whispered, pointing at Fletcher.

  Logan let go and rolled Fletcher partway over with his foot. Then he went down in a crouch to check the man’s wound and the pulse in his throat.

  “No, but he will be shortly,” he said. “There’s nothing to be done for him.”

  He rose and extracted a handkerchief from inside his coat and handed it to her. “Here, lass. You’ve got, ah, something on your face.”

  He meant Fletcher’s blood, of course. She swallowed hard and began scrubbing her face, sternly telling herself not to cast up her accounts.

  When she got back to Kinglas, she intended to find a quiet room and have a thorough cry. Or get sick, she hadn’t yet decided which.

  She tried to hand him back his kerchief.

  “Leave it on the ground,” he said.

  “How did you know?” she asked with a vague wave.

  He took her arm and started walking her toward the trees. “First things first. Back to the carriage, yes?”

  “Is Alec all right? There was a shot.”

  “Och, that was me, lass. Gilbride is as right as rain, aside from a sore head.”

  Her legs went weak from relief. “Thank God. And the others?”

  “Some ninny from Glasgow took a shot in the shoulder, but he should be all right. Old Tommy and that young constable are helping Alec keep an eye on the men who attacked you.”

  She glanced up at him, taking in his calm expression. Apparently, subduing ruthless villains might be all in a day’s work for Logan Kendrick. “You’re quite the hero, sir.”

  He flashed her a charming smile, looking uncannily like his older brother. “Are you sure you don’t want to marry me, instead of Nick?”

  She had to repress the urge to burst into hysterical laughter—or tears. “No, thank you,” she said in a quavering voice. “I only want him.”

  * * *

  Nick leaned over the stallion’s neck, letting the animal go flat out. Two grooms from the inn at Arrochar followed him, doing their best to keep up.

  Victoria needed you, and you weren’t there. You failed. Again.

  He forced the thought of past and present failures from his mind as he rounded a curve in the road. If Fletcher had gotten his hands on Victoria, then succumbing to fear wouldn’t help. And Nick would do any damn thing necessary to bring her back to Kinglas, including tearing the bastard limb from limb if he had to.

  The forest that marked the beginning of Arnp
rior lands rose before him, the road narrowing as it entered the trees. Nick slowed the horse, even though he chafed to do so. But breaking the animal’s leg—or his head, for that matter—would be the height of stupidity.

  As soon as Ben Munroe, the innkeeper of the Golden Thistle, told him that Fletcher had departed for Glasgow instead of waiting for Victoria, Nick had known something was very wrong. Just as suspicious, Ben had spotted Fletcher lurking behind the inn last night with a couple of disreputable characters. The innkeeper knew almost everyone from Glasgow to Edinburgh, so he’d recognized one of the men as a notorious smuggler. There was absolutely no reason for a wealthy, respectable man like Fletcher to be talking to a ruthless criminal unless he was up to no good.

  Acting on instinct, Nick had asked Ben for his best horse and two grooms, then set off toward Kinglas.

  He could only ride as fast as he dared and pray he wasn’t too late.

  A few minutes later, he spotted the carriage listing awkwardly at the side of the road, and his heart jumped into his throat. The coachman was crouching down to inspect a wheel, but the vehicle appeared empty.

  Too late.

  He’d just switched the reins to one hand and started to fumble for his pistol when Victoria and Alec came around from the back of the carriage. The shock and relief at seeing them had Nick almost dropping the reins. Not wanting to spook the carriage horses, he pulled the stallion to a halt some yards back and on the opposite side of the road. He swung his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground, hitting it at a run.

  Victoria flew toward him, her skirts hiked up to her knees and her face shining with joy. When she launched herself into his arms, he swept her up, spinning once with the force of their momentum. She peppered his face with kisses, sobbing, laughing, and talking all at once. Nick quietly held her, mashing her to his chest and sending a silent, heartfelt prayer of thanks to the heavens.

  “I thought I would never see you again,” she finally managed in a wobbly voice.

  Holding her with one arm, he untied her bonnet and tossed it to the road. He smoothed back her hair. “Hush, darling. I’m here now, and I’ll never leave you.”