She must have imagined that previous look of concern, because now his eyes were as hard as steel. No way he felt anything for anyone—except maybe his friend, Ian.
“I must go,” he said, turning to do just that.
“Wait!”
He looked back at her, his eyes bleary.
“Look,” she said quickly, before he could walk away again, “I need your help. I’m lost. Please don’t leave me out here alone.”
“Why should I help ye?” the man asked.
“Um, because you’re a gentleman?”
“I am no gentleman,” he said.
“Because you’re a nice guy?” she said, getting exasperated.
“I told ye before, I am not nice.”
Maggie released her breath in frustration. “Fine. Then who the hell are you?”
He stopped and swung back around, the black cloak arching like Batman’s cape behind him as the wind lifted it, his lips curved up in what could only be called a sardonicsmile. He bowed, one hand to his chest, his tone sarcastic.
“They call me the Piper, and I, dear lady, am a highwayman.”
five
After his dramatic pronouncement, the man turned and walked away again. Tears burned in Maggie’s eyes and she brushed them quickly away with the back of her hand. She refused to give in to the helplessness that rushed over her at the thought of being left alone in the Highlands.
“Well, that’s just fine then!” she shouted after him. She searched her mind for something really bad to call him that wouldn’t make him want to come back and do her bodily harm, but would make her feel better. A scene from one of her favorite movies gave her the ammunition she needed.
“Do you know what you really are, Mr. Piper? You’re a—a Mondo-dizmo—that’s what you are!”
He kept walking.
“And by the way,” she shouted after him, “love your fashion statement for the undead!”
A highwayman. The guy was delusional all right. That explained the mask, sort of, and the attitude. Too bad, becausehe sure was cute.
She turned away and surveyed the dying campfire. The problem was, the “highwayman” had been her only apparenthope of getting back to civilization. She ought to go afterhim. Rachel would.
Heck, Rachel would have already tackled the guy and kickboxed him into next week. The thought cheered her, only to be followed by an immediate letdown. She wasn’t Rachel. She was a chicken.
Maggie took a deep, ragged breath as the practicality that had seen her through Allie’s first date and Ellie’s first tattoo began to calm her down. Maybe it was better just to let the guy go. She’d report him to the cops or Scotland Yard or somebody, as soon as she got to a phone. After all, there couldn’t be that many guys in the Highlands dressed all in black, wearing a vampire cloak.
With his dark hair and mesmerizing green eyes, he remindedher of one of the heroes in her favorite paranormal romances. Of course, this wasn’t a romance novel, and just because he was a really sexy rogue, alpha-male type, it was always good to remember that in real life those kinds of guys were not usually heroes. They were usually the bad guys.
Which he obviously was, since he’d admitted to being a thief and had refused to help her and then left her to rot in the Highlands. Of course, he had caught her when she almostfainted.
And then left her to rot.
Maggie sighed. Yeah. Right. So maybe she should just forget about vampire boy and find her own way back to civilization. There were no heroes in real life. Well, not many. The ones that did exist sure weren’t lining up to do her any favors. She was on her own. As usual.
She gazed around at the beautiful wilderness surroundingher, and then looked up at the breathtaking sky, feeling infinitely insignificant. From the looks of the clouds gatheringabove, her insignificant self was about to get drenched. Again.
Suddenly drained of energy, Maggie sank to the ground and tried to think. How, in the space of a few hours, had she gone from enjoying a dream-come-true trip to Scotland to getting completely lost while standing still and becoming responsible for a man’s death? She leaned her head against her hands, her elbows propped on her knees.
Had it been her fault? And if so, how could she live with herself, knowing she had caused the death of another person? But he’d been shot—surely the man who had saved her couldn’t truly blame her. The memory of his irate, handsome face came back to her clearly.
Oh, yeah, he could.
Maggie sighed and glanced up. The sun might have risen, but its light had barely penetrated through the gray clouds above, casting a melancholy pallor over the land. She gathered the plaid blanket around her shoulders as a host of questions reverberated through her mind. She had almost fallen asleep, when the soft nicker of a horse permeatedthe fog around her mind and Maggie looked up. She grinned.
The drunk vampire had left his horse behind.
Quinn hadn’t gone far from the woman, just around several large stones, before he stumbled and fell facedown. He had a fleeting thought about leaving his horse behind before he passed out entirely, but wasn’t worried. Saint would never go far from him.
When he opened his eyes again, he felt as though a horse—a huge horse from the bowels of hell—had found him and kicked in his head, so miserably did it pound as he lay watching the red gold sun balance upon a distant mountain peak. For a moment, he had no idea how he had come to be in such a state, then he remembered—Ian and the woman and the despair that had driven him to his foolishoverindulgence.
It was the woman who stood out in his mind. He rememberedsome of the things he had said to her and was slightly ashamed. The girl had been scared to death and had turned to him for help, and he had frightened her all the more and then abandoned her. She was probably crying her eyes out right now.
Quinn sat up then, too quickly, and reached up with both hands to steady his head, feeling if he didn’t, it might fall off his shoulders. When he was fairly sure it would stay attached, he drew his legs up in front of him and leaned his forehead carefully against his knees. As soon as he could stand, he’d go back to the woman and retrieve his horse. She was certainly too timid of a lass to try and mount the stallion by herself.
He closed his eyes, and without warning, an image of her face when she’d first awakened danced through his mind. Blue eyes, the shape of a cat’s, the color of the Scottish sky on one of its rare days of sunshine, had gazed back at him, startled, afraid. And that mouth. That beautiful mouth.
What had she said her name was? Ah, yes, Maggie. Well, Maggie was lovely and scared and he had tried to punish her by frightening her with his drunkenness. A cloud of melancholysettled over him. Who was he trying to fool? The lass was not to blame for Ian’s death, he was. He raised his head, his breath catching in his throat as a sudden thought struck him.
He had only heard the gunshot and then seen Ian collapse.The lad might have survived. It was possible. Montrose’s men could have dragged him back to the duke’s well-known dungeon and left him there to die from his gunshot wound. The thought had the power to sober Quinn quickly. His heart began to pound harder as he dared to hope.
It would take time for information to leak from the hallowedhalls of Montrose’s manor to the glen, time that was too precious to waste. Perhaps he could sneak inside the laird’s household and find out what had happened to Ian. He shook his head.
Quinn MacIntyre was no more welcome in Montrose’s home than if the man had known he was the Piper. If he was seen on the duke’s property, he’d be arrested. And gettingthrown into the gaol with his friend would only ensure Ian’s certain doom, and his own, though he would prefer being in prison with Ian to doing nothing.
He rose from the stone and began to pace in spite of his throbbing headache. The satchel holding Ian’s bagpipes rode over one shoulder and bumped against his hip as he walked. He was getting ahead of himself, he knew that. Ian was probably dead.
But what if he wasn’t? What if God in His infinite mercy had deigned to save
his friend from death and give Quinn the chance to make things right?
All right, then. If Ian was alive, Quinn would need someone inside the manor, someone who wouldn’t raise suspicions. A woman possibly. A maid or cook.
Quinn slowly came to a stop. The lass had felt badly about Ian, he could see that, in spite of her harsh words. She wanted to make things right and if he gave her the chance . . .
Quinn smiled and headed back the way he had come.
Maggie lay under a big, black horse.
Using the wannabe vampire’s horse to make her escape back to civilization had seemed like a good idea, but the animal was taller than she’d realized, and when she put her foot in the stirrup, the dumb horse had started walking away.
Her foot wouldn’t come out of the stirrup. She’d had to hop sideways to keep from falling, and finally her foot came free and she fell flat on her back anyway.
The big animal decided to do a two-step back to the left and suddenly Maggie found herself staring up at the underbelly of the beast. Where she lay now, too scared to move, getting up close and personal with parts of a horse that should be housed in a very large pair of horse pants.
Great. This was just terrific. She closed her eyes. Maybe this was her payback for what had happened to Ian.
“So ye feel badly about my friend’s untimely demise?”
Maggie’s eyes flew open. The man in black knelt beside her, gazing at her. He looked a little more sober than he had an hour or so ago, but looks could be deceiving. And he must have switched into ninja mode, because she hadn’t heard even a footstep.
A crazy ninja-vampire-outlaw who could read her mind. It was official: She was losing it.
“Wh-what?” she stuttered.
“Before I left, ye said ye felt badly about your part in what happened to Ian.”
Oh, yeah. Good. No supernatural powers at work here. Maggie cleared her throat. “I do feel bad—badly—about the accident,” she said, looking up at him earnestly. “Get me out from under your horse, please?”
A glimmer of humor danced through his eyes and he stroked the stubble on his face with one hand. “Well, I dinna know about that, lassie. I think I need a few assurances first.”
Great. Chivalry really was dead. “Look, please believe me, I didn’t run out in front of your friend on purpose. I was lost and I stumbled down that hillside and straight into his path. If there is anything I can do to make amends—” she broke off, realizing how lame that was. What could she do that would ever make up for inadvertently causing anotherperson’s death?
“What would ye do?” he asked, his dark brows knitting together, not in anger this time, but in thoughtful consideration.He gazed down at her, his green eyes unreadable.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Anything. Whatever I could.” Maggie felt the tears start again. Darn, but she was a crybaby!
He frowned. “Ye would do anything?”
Maggie took a deep breath and swallowed hard. Next to her head, the horse’s feet shifted, and she hurried to answer.“Yes, I mean, anything within reason, but no matter what I might do, I can’t bring him back. I wish I could.”
“Ah, lass, ye might just be surprised at what the power of a willing heart can do.” He unfolded his arms, and his black cloak billowed behind him as he reached down and grabbed her by the wrists. His fingers were long and square, the skin roughened, callused, the hands of a man who worked for a living.
“Be still, Saint,” he said to the horse. The shifting of Saint’s feet immediately stopped and the animal stayed immobilefor the few seconds it took the man to pull her from underneath its belly. He helped her to her feet and his hands lingered for a moment at her waist.
“Er, maybe I need to rephrase that,” she said. “When I say I’ll do anything within reason, I mean—”
His hands fell away from her. “I know what ye mean, lass. I am no a blackguard, for all ye may think me one.”
Blackguard? Now that was a word you didn’t hear every day. But this was Scotland, after all.
“Now,” he said, staring down at her, looking much too tall and much too handsome, “if ye meant what ye said, I would like to apologize to ye.”
“Yeah?” she asked suspiciously. “Really?”
“Aye. I think I may have misjudged ye,” he said.
Maggie felt a wave of relief sweep over her. “You have? I mean, yes, you have!”
“Aye.” He took her hand, and she blinked as he brought it up to his chest, cradling it there, his gaze burning into hers. “I see now that ye are simply a damsel in distress, one with a gentle heart,” he said. “My apologies for my drunken behavior earlier. I was distraught.”
Maggie stared up at him, a ripple of something very nice dancing under her skin. When he finally released her hand, the loss of his touch was like the absence of the sun.
Aw, heck no, Maggie, you don’t like bad boys, not one little bit.
“That’s all right.”
“Ian and I have been friends for a very long time. He is like a brother to me. Ye can understand how seeing him shot down like a dog would be upsetting.”
Maggie nodded, all sympathy now that he was being nice. “Of course. Sure. I really understand. It was an awful thing.”
His green eyes shifted to the side and a muscle just above his jaw twitched. “I must ride and seek counsel from Rob Roy.”
Maggie hesitated before she spoke. "MacGregor? Rob Roy MacGregor?” He had mentioned the name of the historicalfigure earlier, pouncing on her in anger when she called the man an outlaw.
“Aye.” He nodded to himself, his eyes burning with a fanaticintensity. “Rob will know what to do.”
She blinked. “You’re talking about the Rob Roy MacGregor.”
A sudden smile lit his face, and Maggie’s knees melted. “Och, lass there is only one Rob Roy MacGregor.”
“The one who had a little tiff with the Duke of Montrose?” she asked, trying to ignore how green his eyes were—like the distant Scottish hills.
He laughed shortly. “Tiff ye call it? Montrose has accusedhim of stealing a thousand pounds from him! Called him an outlaw.” He shook his head. “Rob is no outlaw.” The man glanced back at her. “Ye will go with me.”
Maggie stared. Okay, the guy thought he was living in some other time zone and was definitely cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, but he was all she had.
Maggie smiled and started moving slowly backward, trying to put some distance between them. “You know, that sounds great, but I really need to get back to my friends. Hey, you wouldn’t live around here somewhere would you? Somewhere with a phone and a car maybe?”
He frowned, following her as she continued to edge away from him. “I dinna know what ye are asking, lass.” He shook his head. “So ye dinna mean what ye said, that ye would do anything to redeem yerself?”
Maggie felt the anguish wash over her again. “Of course I would, but what can I do? You said your friend was killed. I am so, so sorry.”
He raised one brow, his graveled voice still a little slurred, but steadier than she’d heard it since they’d left his friend behind in the mud. “Well, lass, it occurred to me that perhaps I was hasty in that assessment. Perhaps Ian was shot, but is still alive, and the duke’s men took him back to the manor for judgment.”
Hope quickened inside of her. “Really? Do you think that’s possible?”
He shrugged, one broad shoulder lifting beneath the thick black cloak. “We can only hope, until we find a way to know for certain.”
“How can we find out?” she asked, and without thinking,reached out and laid her hand on his arm.
Now a full-fledged smile spread across his lips, and Maggie felt stunned, melted, and destroyed, all in the same moment. He had been handsome before, but when he smiled, really smiled . . . he was simply gorgeous. Eccentric,but gorgeous.
She snatched her hand back. Maybe there was a way to find out if he wore black cloaks and masks all the time, or if this was just some kind of weekend g
ame he played. She frowned. Maybe he just had some kind of bondage fetish. That would explain the black and the leather and the sword. Oh, yeah, that would make the idea of hooking up with him lots better!
Maggie didn’t have much sexual experience, but what she did have was limited to the two fairly long-term relationshipsshe’d had after her parents died. Both times, when things started getting serious, her boyfriends had expected her to dump her sisters and start a new life with them.
The first time, the girls were only fifteen and it was a total no-brainer. The second time, they were eighteen and about to graduate from high school. Ellie and Allie had urged her to forget about them and marry the guy, but as far as Maggie was concerned, if there wasn’t room in his life for her sisters, he wasn’t the man for her. In any case, neitherof her boyfriends had been kinky. In fact, they’d been a little boring. This guy was anything but boring.
“Ye are following my thoughts exactly, lass,” he told her, moving closer.
“Um, I hope not,” she muttered. “What—what were we talking about?”
He frowned thoughtfully. “We will wait on going to see Rob. First, we must find out if Ian is alive. We will ride to Montrose’s home first.”
Maggie frowned and took a step back from him. Okay, things were weird, but that didn’t mean she was going to just take off across the countryside with him. Maybe all of this was a scam—Ian, the accident, all of it.
“Before, when you were, er, drinking, you said you were a highwayman. You were just kidding, right?” It was gettingwarmer now that the sun had risen higher, and she shrugged out of her jacket.
"Kidding? Ye talk strangely, lass.”
“I mean, were you, uh, jesting, when you said that you were a highwayman? You aren’t really wanted or anything, are you?”
His hand closed around her upper arm and Maggie pulled back, startled. He gave her a broad smile and tugged her toward his horse, seeming unperturbed. “I am wanted by many—all comely lasses,” he said.
Maggie frowned. “Look, who are you? I won’t turn you in or anything—I mean, as long as you don’t hurt me.”
Highland Rogue Page 7
