Tamed by a Highlander

by Paula Quinn

  Mairi tried desperately to wrench around and get a look at Captain Sedley. He sounded nervous, a wee bit desperate—like a man who was guilty and about to get caught.

  For a moment she forgot her anger and prayed Connor heard it too.

  “Mister Thatcher is the man who stabbed me in St. James’s Park.”

  Mairi closed her eyes and poked Connor in the hip for saying so much.

  “He claims to have things to tell me after I’ve seen him fed. Drummond,” Connor called out. “Take our guest to the lodgings the MacGregors occupied while they were here and get him something to eat. I will speak to him later.”

  “What does he wish to tell you?” Sedley asked, doing his best to mask his nerves.

  “We shall soon find out.”

  Mairi heard the grin in Connor’s voice. What the hell was he about? She didn’t ask him as he toted her away but leaned up over his back and glared at William of Orange’s captain. Harry Thatcher didn’t need to know the name of the man who paid his sister. Mairi already knew it.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Connor, fer heaven’s sake, put me doun! We need to discuss this!” Mairi said, having calmed down a bit.

  Aye, Connor thought, stopping and setting her on her feet just before they reached the stairs. “We need to discuss many things like—”

  “Did ye take note of Captain Sedley’s reaction to Harry Thatcher?”

  He looked down into her sparkling eyes and realized what he’d just done and why. He’d walked away from his attacker and the man behind it to deal with her first because she meant more to him than his own life. He smiled at her, thankful that she put his life before her anger over whatever the hell he had done.

  “He knows who Thatcher is and what he did.”

  She nodded, then looked around her to make certain no one could hear. “Did Thatcher recognize him?” She returned a brief scathing gaze to him. “I couldna’ see fer myself.”

  He wanted to kiss her and to hell with anyone watching. He really needed to remain focused. “He didn’t seem to know him at all. He likely never saw Sedley before this day.”

  “He didna’ need to,” she said. “Sedley would not have paid a woman to do what a man needed to do without seeing her brother first.”

  Did he hear her right? “What a man needed to do?”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Well, ye are a big brute, Connor. Although I dinna’ know why she simply didna’ kill ye in her bed… or in yers.”

  He shook his head and laughed. “Who’s bed?”

  “Linnet’s. But never mind that fer now. What do ye intend to do about yer friend Captain Sedley?”

  His friend. All at once the bare truth hit Connor like a wave. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, but Nick had tried to have him killed.

  “Right after he leaves no further doubt that he is guilty, and before I bring him to the king, I intend to ask him why.”

  Silence clung between them for a moment before she finally spoke, her voice soft and filled with compassion. “I am sorry, Connor. Betrayal is painful.”

  “Mairi.” He lifted his hand and traced his knuckles over her flawless cheek. “I didna’ betray ye. What do I have to do to prove that to ye?”

  “Ye could have told me about Linnet and how ye made love to her the same night ye told me that I had meant everything to ye.”

  So, that was the reason for her anger. Hell, didn’t she know by now that she was the only woman who truly made him feel like a man? “Aye, I left the tavern with her. ’Twas after ye defended Oxford. I wanted to get ye out of my thoughts, but I didn’t make love to her.”

  “Why not?”

  Hell.

  He could have told her that he had changed his mind because he wanted it to be her bonnie face beneath him, but she had enough trouble believing a word he said. He would be honest with her and let the stones fall where they may. “Because Colin punched me in the mouth when I stepped outside.”

  She smiled, delighting him to his soul. “Fortunately fer ye, I have a much more understanding nature than Colin does. Since this took place while we still hated each other, I canna’ be angry with ye.”

  “We didn’t hate each other.” He smiled taking her hands in his and pulling her to him. “Admit that ye loved me while ye were being spun on yer toes by Oxford.”

  “I wanted to fling my daggers at ye each time ye opened yer mouth.”

  He moved in closer, bending his mouth to hers. “How about now?”

  Her mouth was soft, yielding for the briefest of moments before surrendering to him fully. Gathering her up in his arms, he crushed her to him, spreading his tongue over hers, his hands over her back.

  “There he…”

  Henry de Vere’s voice trailed off into stunned silence before the queen cleared her throat.

  “Captain Grant?” she asked as he released Mairi and turned to her. He looked at his mother standing next to her, then away from the slight smile she wore at the sight of Mairi in his arms.

  “Yer Majesty.”

  “Captain,” she said while he bowed to her. “Lord Oxford is quite distressed over your manhandling Miss MacGregor.”

  Connor flicked his gaze to the dotard and vowed to punch out his teeth later.

  “Have you spoken to Miss MacGregor’s father about courting her?”

  “When I was two and ten, Yer Majesty. And then again at five and ten, and once more two years after that. He gave his blessing.”

  Mary of Modena smiled at him so sweetly he felt the urge to bow to her again. “I saw no manhandling.” She spread her gentle gaze over Mairi. “Did he treat you poorly?”

  “He didna’, Yer Majesty,” Mairi told her.

  Her answer seemed to take the wind out of Oxford. In fact, the man looked like all his organs had just fallen at his feet and a slight wind would knock him over.

  “I was mistaken then,” he announced, albeit a bit weakly. He cared for Mairi, truly. Connor felt a twinge of pity for him as Oxford turned without another word and left.

  “In the future, Captain Grant,” the queen said, pulling his attention back to her, “court her with a bit more discretion. Miss MacGregor, have you eaten?”

  Mairi shook her head and smiled at Connor over her shoulder when the king’s wife scooted her away toward the Banqueting Hall.

  “Come, Lady Huntley,” she called in her lightest Italian-accented voice when Connor’s mother remained behind to kiss Connor on the cheek.

  “Marry her and make us all happy already, will you?”

  “Lady Huntley?”

  “Just behind you.”

  Connor watched them go, then looked up the stairs to the lodgings above. He intended to take Mairi as his wife, but first there was something he needed to do.

  It was time to find out if the man he’d called friend for the past seven years had truly betrayed him. He climbed the stairs and walked the long hall like a man on his way to a hanging. If his suspicions were correct, Sedley would come to the vacant MacGregor lodgings to quiet Thatcher before he had a chance to speak with Connor. Sedley had no way of knowing for certain if Thatcher could identify him, but a guilty man wouldn’t risk it. But even if he were mistaken and Sedley didn’t come, Connor knew he’d had enough of England’s halls, filled to the brim with deceptive tongues.

  In that, it didn’t matter if Sedley was guilty or not. Connor wanted to go to a place where no suspicion of a brother or friend existed. He wanted to go home.

  He came to the chambers and opened the door. Thatcher sat on a small stool wiping his brow with shaky fingers. A few inches away, Drummond leaned against the window cleaning his fingernails with the tip of his knife, with Connor’s boots placed neatly on the floor beside him. Both men looked up when he entered.

  “Where’s Edward?”

  “Getting him his last meal,” his lieutenant told him, glancing at their prisoner. “I say, let him die on an empty stomach.”

  “He has likely suffered many days without food already,�
�� Connor said, crossing the room. “Men who kill fer coin are not usually wealthy.”

  “He had twenty silver. I’d say he’s been eating well.”

  Connor shook his head, coming to stand in front of the stool. “His sister left England with the coin.” He squatted and set his level gaze on Thatcher’s. “Isn’t that correct?”

  “Aye.” Harry nodded. “She might have gone to France.”

  Drummond grunted. “He still insists he does not know who paid her.”

  “Perhaps”—Connor stood and turned to his lieutenant—“he’ll remember better on a full belly.” He’d done wretched things in the service of his king. He was done with that, as well. Let others say what they would. Highlanders were not barbarians, and he would not send a starving man to the gallows. “I said I would see him fed, and fed he will be. But not yet. Go find Edward and tell him the food can wait until after Thatcher has seen the king.”

  Drummond left without question and Connor made a mental note to put to the king a request for Richard’s promotion. His men would need a new captain when he left, and someone who would be hard on Colin.

  He waited until Richard was gone and then took his place against the window. “Turn yer stool around to face me, Thatcher.”

  He watched blandly as his prisoner did as commanded.

  “Will I be hanged?”

  “Ye stabbed me and then dumped me in refuse.”

  “Aye.” Thatcher swallowed and wiped his brow again. “I should be hanged. I’ve done sinful things.”

  Connor looked at him. He didn’t want to be speaking or be distracted when Sedley arrived. “Ye’ll have time to confess to a priest. Fer now ye will be silent. Soon, another soul will enter this room. When he does, ye are not to turn around. Do ye understand?”

  Thatcher nodded but did not speak again. They had to wait only a quarter of an hour before the latch on the door rose from its hinge. Connor pushed off the window, holding his finger to his lips. He hurried to stand behind the door when it began to open.

  Connor watched with anger and sorrow vying for preeminence within while Nick Sedley peeked his head inside.

  Seeing Thatcher alone, he entered the room and produced a dagger from his pocket. Connor shut the door and leaped for him at the same time. Sedley didn’t have a chance to turn around before Connor looped his arm around his neck from behind and wrenched the dagger from his hand.

  “Why, Nick?” he growled against his friend’s ear while he held the dagger to Sedley’s throat. “Why did ye want me dead.”

  “Grant!” Nick choked back his stunned disbelief. “What are you saying, old man? I only came to—”

  “Save it.” Connor pushed the sharp edge of the blade closer. “Tell me why? Did William order it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “She said he was Dutch.”

  Connor looked over Nick’s shoulder at Thatcher staring at both of them.

  “My sister… she said the man who paid her was Dutch.”

  “He may as well be,” Connor said, drawing blood. “Now”—he yanked Sedley closer, twisting the captain’s arm up behind his back—“ye’ll tell me why ye were willing to see me dead. How ye managed to sit at my table and laugh with me after ye had paid twenty pieces of silver to have me killed.”

  “Gilles.” Sedley choked against Connor’s arm crushing his windpipe. “Ye were asking questions about him.”

  “Questions the prince didn’t want answered.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Ye didn’t have to.” Connor whirled himself and Sedley around to face the door. “I should kill ye right here, but ye’re going to tell the king everything. Thatcher, get the door!”

  Harry leaped from his stool and hurried to open the door. He collapsed to the ground before he drew his next breath, a knife protruding from his neck. Connor stood just as lifeless with Sedley secured in front of him while a figure appeared again from the shadows in the hall and flung a second dagger. There was no time to move before the blade met its target deep in Sedley’s chest.

  Kicking the door shut, Connor carefully lowered Sedley to the floor. The assassin had to be caught, but someone else would have to do it.

  “Nick.” He held his friend in his arms and looked desperately at the hilt rising and falling with Nick’s shallow breaths. The wound was fatal. There was nothing he could do.

  “Forgive me, old friend.” Nick managed to clutch Connor’s coat as he whispered his last words. “We are… both of us… at the mercy of our masters.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Mairi stood at the far western wall, her eyes fastened on the dancers circling the center of the Banqueting Hall. Particularly on Connor, his palm aloft and pressed against his mother’s. Hell, but he was handsome and polished in his military garb. She couldn’t wait to see him in a plaid. Every lady in the hall had spared him at least one glance tonight already. Mairi tossed them all haughty smiles. He was hers, and let them hate her for that.

  She had behaved like a child when she’d heard about Linnet. Even if he had slept with the trollop, it was before they reunited. She had put him through hell and she was sorry for it. Never again would she mistrust him. He had done everything to prove that he loved her. He continued to forgive her when she doubted him. He put up with her stubborn, oftimes sour tongue. He told her everyday how bonnie she was to him.

  He’d built her a house.

  The past two days had been difficult for him, poor man. A dear friend had betrayed him and then died in his arms. The king had been sympathetic but had refused to give Captain Sedley a soldier’s burial. The Baronet of Aylesford, Sedley’s father, was asked to leave Whitehall with his family. James listened to what Connor had told him. Sedley had not acted on his own. Connor was to be killed because he was asking questions about Admiral Gilles. The order came from above—from Sedley’s master.

  But still the king had refused to act against his nephew, his daughter’s husband. The proof did not exist, thanks to the men who could have provided it being stabbed directly in front of Connor. And to Connor not seeing who had flung those knives.

  A heavy blow that had been for him. But Mairi was unsure if it was the king’s inaction or his subtle rebuke about his captain’s inability to protect his prisoners that had formed the creases above Connor’s brow for the last pair of days.

  He caught her eye and smiled, laying waste to her heart as if it were the first time she ever looked upon him. If he was wounded, she would heal him. She no longer cared if he asked her to stay here in England with him or not. She wasn’t going anywhere, save wherever he was.

  “Nobles.” The king appeared at her side, breaking away from his previous conversation with the Baron of Sedgwick. “They are stuffy, dim-witted beings, the lot of them.”

  Mairi smiled up at him. She hoped he would be a strong king, for he had not only political battles ahead, but religious ones, as well. “Ye are not only courageous, but ye are also wise, Yer Majesty.”

  He chuckled. “You have a spark to you, Miss MacGregor. I like that. The queen is fond of you also.”

  “As I am of her.”

  “I was tempted to knight you when you had William squirming the night I left for Camlochlin.”

  “I would insist on ye making me a high admiral or nothing at all.”

  The king laughed, spreading his gaze out over the crowded hall. “And him?”

  Looking to where the king motioned with his cup, Mairi spotted Colin cutting through the crowd, his sharp hazel eyes beneath his hooded mantle were fastened on them both. It was the same mantle each member of the militia wore. He must have picked it up at home and brought it back with him. She didn’t worry that any nobles in attendance would recognize him from one of their raids. The militia never left anyone alive.

  Her brother wore his cloak well, drifting in and out of the crowd like a shadow, without notice. She loved him very much and she didn’t want him to join the king’s army, but she
knew his sharp mind and supreme skill would serve a greater purpose here than in Camlochlin. “In a year or two, he will be more devastating than the plague.”

  King James eyed Colin with interest and then nodded to him when her brother reached them and offered the king a slight bow.

  “Ye have interesting guests, Majesty.”

  “Oh?” the king inquired as the dance ended and Connor returned.

  “Aye.” Colin’s lips curled around a covert smirk while he angled his head in the direction from whence he just came. Mairi followed his gaze and found Lord Hollingsworth engaged in quiet talks with the Earl of Derby. “According to some,” he continued, “the Duke of Monmouth intends to return to England in the near future.”

  “We’ve heard rumors of this,” the king said.

  “Ye may now count it as fact. I didna’ hear the name, but someone’s son is to meet the duke when he arrives. Ye have traitors in yer midst, Yer Majesty.”

  King James blinked at him, then passed a hard look to the two English lords. “Did they say where the duke would be landing? How many ships he brings with him? Do they support or oppose Monmouth’s return?”

  “ ’Tis hard to say”—Colin shrugged—“but give me a few days. It shouldna’ be difficult to find out.”

  The king studied him for a moment, as if trying to come to some sort of conclusion about him. Finally, he gave Colin’s upper arm a solid whack and set him to the task.

  “He’s ambitious,” James said, turning back to them. “In one evening he discovered more news about my enemies than my generals have gathered in a month.”

  Aye, her brother was good at such things, Mairi mused watching him go. When they were children, she’d often found him listening to one of Graham Grant’s tales of when he had infiltrated the Campbell holding and befriended each and every soldier while gathering information for Callum MacGregor’s infamous raid on Kildun Castle.

  “I like him,” the king said. “You should have seen him fight against Gilles’s men at Camlochlin. I thought he meant to take them all on alone.”