Wild Hearts

by Virginia Henley

  Tabby tried to keep her excitement under control. After Lord Cockburn's visit, she had-waited for him to return month after month. When it finally dawned on her that he was not coming back, her defenses stiffened to protect herself from vulnerability. She swore an oath to herself that one day she would settle the score with him. How cruel to raise up someone's hopes, then dash them down so thoughtlessly. Well, she was a child no longer. She was almost seventeen, and the thought of revenge warmed her heart. When Mrs. Graham led her into her sitting room and she came face-to-face with Maxwell Abrahams, she was taken completely off her guard. "Oh, I thought you were Lord Cockburn."

  Mrs. Graham's eyes darted to Maxwell Abrahams, and she saw that he had caught the significance of the child's remark:

  Though Abrahams's sexual preference lay in another direction, he was nevertheless a collector of objets d'art and appreciated beautiful things for their own sake.

  "This gentleman is Mr. Maxwell Abrahams"— she turned to him—"and this is Tabby Lamont. Exactly as I promised, is she not?"

  "She is everything and more, my dear Mrs. Graham. I have come as a supplicant, my dear Miss Lamont. Would you indulge an old gentleman's fancy by dining at my home this evening?"

  Tabby, never having received an invitation to dine out before, quickly said yes before he changed his mind.

  Mrs. Graham stepped between them. "Wait outside," she ordered Tabby. When she was alone with Abrahams, she said, "I cannot allow her to leave with you. I'd never get her back."

  "God rot you, woman. If it's money you want, I'll pay you now."

  "Not just money, dear sir, not just money. A written offer of marriage, showing your intentions are honorable, would relieve me of responsibility should there be questions and inquiries about this... maiden." She emphasized the last word. "Her moral welfare is in my hands, and I am accountable, orphan though she may be."

  He could see that he was going to have to capitulate to gain his desires, at least for the present. However, Mrs. Graham could present problems for him, and problems had to be dealt with.

  "I have a very important piece of business to transact in Edinburgh Saturday, and I need the help of a ravishing female," announced Paris.

  "Then by a process of elimination, it will have to be me," Damascus piped up.

  "Rubbish!" snorted Shannon. "I've heard so much of it from you lately, I'm becoming a connoisseur of rubbish."

  Paris turned from the two girls who were arguing and said, "Venetia, you are the perfect choice to accompany me to a society wedding."

  She eyed him cautiously. "After the fling, beware the sting. Just how dangerous is this piece of business?"

  "Oh, if it's dangerous, I'll do it, Paris, please," begged Alexandria, ever the tomboy.

  "I know you would, sweetheart, but you are too young. Venetia, you must know I would never jeopardize your safety. 'Tis a simple matter, really. You will attend the reception with me. It's being held at one of the banqueting halls at Holyrood Palace. You must leave the moment the bride leaves, no matter how much you are enjoying yourself. I'll have six of my men accompany you. Make your way quietly to a big house on Princes Street close to the castle. When I quit this house, it will be your signal to ride like the wind with as much clatter as you can muster down the Royal Mile out of Castle Hill, past St. Giles Church and into the Canongate. By this time, you will have been very likely stopped by a troop of soldiers. Here comes the part you will love. You must play the role of the outraged beauty having her whereabouts questioned by common soldiers. Give them the dressing-down they deserve, tell them you are simply on your way to your uncle's town house for the night and be sure to let them know that Uncle Magnus is an Earl of the Realm."

  "I'm to act as decoy while you get away." Venetia nodded as she memorized the instructions.

  "Why couldn't I do-it?" pouted Damascus, putting her chin in the air.

  "Your tongue isn't sharp enough." Paris laughed.

  "Mine is," asserted Shannon.

  "Yes, sweetheart, but you always want to do things your own way. You can't be trusted to follow orders, can you? Besides, I'll need you here to receive my prisoner."

  "What exactly is this piece of business?" she demanded.

  "A kidnapping for ransom."

  Paris had to restrain himself all week: A dozen times he wanted to rescue the Lamont girl before she committed herself to the disastrous marriage, but he knew Abrahams would never pay a ransom for a female, unless that female was his lawful wife. A wedding celebrated in front of Edinburgh's leaders of society would obligate him to retrieve a stolen bride at almost any cost.

  The banqueting room at Holyrood Palace was hot and overcrowded. Resplendent in violet-colored velvet doublet ablaze with a crest outlined in emeralds, Paris looked a slave to fashion. The lovely young bride, smiling shyly, seemed lost in the vast assemblage of unfamiliar faces. Then she saw him, and her eyes lit in recognition. Her heart fluttered in her breast as he swept her from head to foot with his piercing green eyes. A quick finger to the lips and a negative shake of his head warned her not to speak to him. Anger rose up in her, and a strange desire to deliberately disobey him began to grow, but to her consternation she found that she dare not goad him. Then Lord Lennox was introducing him to Abrahams.

  "I am honored by your presence, Your Lordship," Abrahams greeted him smoothly. "My only regret is that we've never done business together. Perhaps now that we have met we can rectify that situation."

  Paris lifted his glass and toasted lightly. "To our future dealings." He moved off into the throng so he could study Abrahams. He was small, in his mid-fifties, with a distinctly evil air. The formal black wedding attire made him seem most sallow and sinister. His eyes were hooded and shrewd, and Paris realized he would have to be sharp to come out ahead in any transaction with the man. Then Paris turned his attention to the bride. He caught his breath at the loveliness before him. He cursed himself for never giving her a thought. In the two years since he had seen her, womanhood had blossomed. The curve of her cheek against the cream lace made his heart beat thickly, and the Titian tresses, just the color of his own, sent desire flooding through him. Her round breasts swelled temptingly above the neck of the wedding gown, and as he lifted his eyes from her bosom, he got the full blaze of her amethyst gaze. They looked at each other, her eyes darkened to violet, her lashes lowered and her shoulders drooped. He reluctantly broke his gaze. and made his way over to Venetia, who was holding court of her own. "I'm leaving now. Remember your instructions."

  When he climbed in the casement window on the third floor of the mansion on Princes Street, the velvet and jewels were gone. He wore a rough leather jacket with his weapons in his belt. Leather jackboots came halfway up his thighs, and all identifying badges and devices had been removed. He grinned as he realized he had picked his moment well, for the young bride was just being helped to remove the heavy lace wedding-gown. As the motherly maid lifted off the garment, a button caught upon one of Tabby's curls, and the servant clucked and gently untangled her. She stood in exquisitely embroidered pantalets and gasped as a tall figure swung into the chamber. Her maid, Mrs. Hall, stepped protectively between them, ready to do battle for her newfound charge. She was a small, plump woman with gray hair and merry eyes, but they held a fierce challenging light at the moment.

  Paris laughed. "Gently, mother. The lady knows me.'

  "I know you for a damned rogue," she hissed, and he was pleased that she had remembered his nickname.

  Mrs. Hall spoke up. "Ye canna come in here. 'Tis my young mistress's wedding night. Her husband is impatiently awaiting her this-very moment."

  Tabby, forgetting her tantalizing state of undress, added, "I thought you would come to see me but not this way. My husband will kill you— perhaps I should let him."

  Her words amused him. He laughed until the cords in his neck stood out, brown and strong.

  Fear sprang into her eyes. "Hush, keep your voice low!" she begged. "Mrs. Hall, please don't inf
orm on him, he will only stay a moment." She raised liquid eyes to his in supplication. "My lord, your last visit brought me nothing but misery. Please, I beg of you, don't spoil things for me now."

  He was dazzled by her youthful loveliness. Never in his life had he wanted a prize more than this one. "Spoil things?" He raised an eyebrow, dark as a raven's wing. "You want this marriage?"

  Her eyes glowed. "Of course, 'tis a dream come true. You know how many years I waited to be rescued from that place. I will be grateful to Mr. Abrahams for the rest of my life. He is my savior. Look"— she threw open the wardrobe door—"all these beautiful dresses were made for me. I've been living here for a week, to prepare for the wedding. It has been like heaven. The food! You wouldn't believe the food. I can eat as much as I want— he doesn't mind. I even have my own maid, Mrs. Hall. Mr. Abrahams delivered me from my purgatory. I feel I'm in paradise. He is the most generous man in the world, just like a fa—"

  "Stop it," he ordered. "Dammit, he is not your father, wake up!"

  Her eyes widened in fear. "Please don't shout, he will come in here."

  "With my man's knife at his throat, he is hardly likely to do that. Mrs. Hall, pack her some clothes— one bag only," he cautioned.

  "What are you doing?" she gasped in disbelief.

  "Kidnapping you." He grinned, and his eyes sparkled.

  "You cannot. You wouldn't! Oh, God, not when everything is so perfect." She wrung her hands in distress. He was ignoring her plight. She could see that her words would never sway him from his determined course. Her distress turned to anger at the sheer arrogance of the man. "I shan't go with you! Take yourself out the way you came in," she ordered.

  "Will you dress, or will I take you in your underdrawers?" he said, smiling.

  She went faint with shock as she realized that she stood arguing with him in a state of undress. Her hands trembled as she tried unsuccessfully to cover her half-exposed breasts from his avid gaze. "You are serious! You monster! Have you seen the beautiful bed I have to sleep in, with silken sheets?" she demanded.

  He looked at her coldly. "Tabby, that is not the bed you will be sleeping in tonight. All things have to be paid for."

  "But don't you see, the price is so small. He is giving me everything, and I am just giving him myself. It is the only thing I have to offer. It is the only reason I was chosen. I am willing to pay the price in return for all this," she explained.

  He was astounded that anyone could be so innocent. He had expected gratitude, relief that he had come to rescue her; instead, she was begging him to let her stay!. He took her firmly by the arms. "Lass, you are too ignorant to even conceive of what it will be like." He had no intentions of being more graphic. She was like a fragile flower that could be crushed so easily. He realized he must protect her from herself as well as from others.

  She fell to her knees before him. "Please, please, I beg of you not to take me. I could bear not having the pretty dresses and the big house and the servants, but the food! Do you know I've been hungry all my life?"

  She had evoked such tender feelings deep within him, he felt both surprise and dismay at himself. It was a long time since he had been soft with a woman. He covered his vulnerability toward her with gruffness. "Enough, wench," he warned, pulling her to her feet.

  Her eyes blazed purple. "Rogue- Cockburn, damn, you to hell! I should have known it was an omen for trouble when you fumed up at the wedding. I have only laid eyes on you three times, but those three encounters have turned out to be the unhappiest days of my life," she admitted wretchedly.

  Mrs. Hall fell to her knees. "My Lord Cockburn, I didna recognize ye, sir. Please forgive the disrespect she shows Your Lordship. She-is just an ignorant lass!'

  He grinned at the older woman to lessen her fear, "Can you ride, Mrs. Hall?"

  "I'll ride. And willing, too. If ye left me behind, ye'd have no alternative but to silence me, since I can identify ye."

  He frowned, annoyed that they thought him the villain of the piece, while Abrahams was the benefactor. "It is best she have a guardian who will be able to swear she still has her precious virginity." He looked at Tabby and mocked, "As soon as I collect your ransom, I will return you to the most generous man on earth!"

  Her eyes closed for a moment as she finally realized her plight. Suddenly, she was frightened, really frightened. He was a law unto himself. Ruthless, savage, the outward layer of civilization so thin, she could see the brute male animal beneath. Mrs. Hall helped her into a woolen dress and brought a hooded cloak for each of them.

  Paris studied her for a moment. She looked frightened enough to start screaming her head off once they were outside. "Give me a scarf or a stocking," he directed Mrs. Hall. "I'll have to gag you until we are out of Edinburgh," he apologized.

  Tabby's eyes were like saucers, and her lower lip trembled. He murmured Iow, "Trust me, lass, I'd not harm you."

  "I... I don't know how to ride," she whispered.

  "You don't think I'd give you a horse to escape on, do you?" He chuckled as he gagged her with a silk scarf. He didn't use the window this time but calmly walked down the long flights of stairs as if he owned the house. All inside were well trussed and gagged, but he knew they wouldn't remain so long, once his men quit the house. He was gratified to see Venetia and her escorts riding up Castle Hill toward him. When she reached his side, he told her to wait until the guard was called before beginning her dash down the hill. Paris put his fingers to his lips and whistled sharply. When Troy rode up leading Paris's horse; Tabby found herself being lifted by one enormous redhead and passed up to the saddlebow of an equally enormous redhead. Fear of both the horse and the man held her paralyzed.

  "Troy, I'll meet you at Dalkeith Palace. Take her. quickly." He had been confident his men would encounter no difficulties. His second-in-command, Ian Argyle, was like an extension of himself and could be trusted totally. Ian and his men quit the house at last, sheathed their swords and mounted up silently.

  "We'll ride to Bothwell's Castle at Crichton. Its only eight miles off, and they'll never, catch up with us in eight miles. Being the King's High Sheriff, they won't dare enter his castle and challenge him." He grinned. "Throwing suspicion upon my friend Francis grieves me, but Bothwell boasts so damned much of his hospitality, I think you should sample it. I'll branch off before we get there." He signaled to his youngest man, Sandy. "Take this woman and her baggage to Magnus Cockburn's town house. Guard her well, for she can identify us. Tell my sister Venetia that she is to travel to the castle with her tomorrow. We cannot have her slowing us up tonight."

  There was a hell of a commotion going on in the house behind them. Paris gave the signal for his men to follow him. As they galloped off through the city, he knew that soon a troop of soldiers would be summoned from Edinburgh Castle, and wondered wryly which of his friends was on guard duty tonight. Soon they had left Edinburgh behind. They mounted a steep hill, and Paris held up his hand to stop. He listened carefully. Yes, he could hear the ground thunder with hoofbeats. To the east lay the sea, to the south lay Bothwell's lands and Crichton Castle. They gained the crest of the next hill where he drew rein and waved his men on past him, thundering down into the valley. He turned right and headed for Dalkeith, which was ten miles on the other side of Edinburgh but still twenty miles from home.

  Paris rode directly to Dalkeith Palace where the ivy grew thick on the walls. He rode quietly up to the postern-gate where the guard on duty was his own clansman, who let him enter without question. Troy awaited him in the bailey with his small troop. His large body obscured the small passenger clinging on behind.

  Paris grinned at his brother. He felt great relief that they had pulled it off without incident. He went up to his captive to lift-her down. "She's still gagged, you great fool."

  "Truth to tell, I tried to take it off, but she bit me," Troy admitted sheepishly.

  Paris reached up and removed the gag from Tabby's mouth. She sagged from fatigue. Numb with cold and terror
, her mind shrank from what these brutish men might do to her. "She didn't bite me," mocked Paris accusingly.

  "The thing is"—Troy smiled with his explanation —"I'm such a sweet-looking lad, the lassies take advantage of me, while you look like such a cruel bastard, they are all afraid of you."

  As Paris lifted her down, her breath stopped in her throat with fear. He could feel her body trembling beneath his hands and heard a half-sob escape her lips. She winced because the unaccustomed ride had made her sore. He lifted her to the saddle of his own mount, and she clutched the pommel desperately. Worn out from the wedding, she was now near exhaustion with fear, cold, and the wild night ride. He swung up behind her, knowing she would-be warmer and more secure in front of him than clinging on behind. One word to the men, "Cockburnspath!" before he left them far behind.

  His horse knew its way across country almost as well by night as it did by day. There were two ranges of hills between Dalkeith and home, the Moorfoot Hills and the Lammermuirs. Sometimes the ground was uneven and strewn with boulders as they rode what seemed like mile after endless mile. Curving ever upward between hills, through woods and shallow rivers, they rode on into the night. The moon, playing games, would hide behind a cloud, turning the countryside black and sinister, then it would sail back out to touch everywhere with its silvery, mysterious light.

  "Where are you taking me?" she asked, afraid of the answer.

  He glanced down at her upturned face and gently whispered:

  "And see ye not yon bonnie road that winds about the fernie brae? That is the road to fair Elfland where thou and I this night maun gae."

  He spurred through a stand of firs at so reckless a speed, it took the Iast of her breath away. He was quoting poetry, begod! He seemed completely indifferent to her plight.