The Daring Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series)

by Carmen Caine

“There’s naught to forgive, my lord,” Liselle answered quietly.

  They began to speak of other things, and as the savory smell of meat filled the air to mix with their soft Scottish burrs, Liselle was suddenly struck by the peace of the place.

  The sun hung low in the sky to bathe the heather-covered hills and clumps of gorse in a warm red light. Already, the trees cast long shadows over the camp.

  Soon, it would be dark.

  She closed her eyes as a sudden cooling wind swirled the leaves above her head.

  Men laughed as they dumped their saddles on the ground, resting their heads upon them as pillows and sharing spirits from small metal flasks. As several of them began to sing, she wondered what it would be like to live such a life.

  Could she simply leave the Vindictam, the only life she had ever known?

  Did she have a choice?

  Caught in a strange fantasy, she stared into the flames, mesmerized by the burning embers, and let her thoughts wander a time before drawing back in disgust with herself.

  Òsti! Pascal was right! She was a fool, a bábia! No one lived a life of calm evenings promising only stillness and rest! And she had no choice, no unbreakable bond with Julian.

  She was an assassin for the Vindictam.

  And it was long past the time for her to steal a horse and return to Thirlstane before her absence was discovered.

  Julian had moved to have words with the scar-faced man on the other side of the fire. He wasn’t even looking in her direction.

  Liselle inched back.

  He didn’t react.

  She waited several moments, studying his strong profile. Santo Ciélo! The man was enticing, but she could no longer afford such diversions.

  It was time to leave.

  The moon had just risen and the stars were bright, providing sufficient light for riding. If she hurried, she could be in Thirlstane within a few hours.

  Assuming a bashful air precisely calculated to disarm the mountain of a man sitting next to her, she shyly murmured that she required a moment of privacy to tend to her lady-needs, and at his gallant bow, quickly stepped outside the circle of firelight.

  She didn’t waste a moment, knowing that Julian would not be fooled long.

  Darting under the birch trees, she made her way to the grazing horses nearby.

  With the highlanders using their saddles as pillows, she’d have to ride a horse bareback. It was not a particularly appealing prospect, but she was an excellent rider.

  Grabbing the closest horse by its halter, she’d taken only a step when a heavy hand fell down hard upon her shoulder.

  Instinct enabled her to lash out with a sharp kick, striking her assailant soundly upon the knee.

  It was Julian.

  “By the Virgin!” he swore, cursing at the impact. And then grabbing her about the waist, he tipped her over his shoulder to toss her upon her back.

  She landed with a grunt in the bristly undergrowth.

  He towered over her a moment before dropping to straddle her hips and grin. “Heaven have mercy, but it seems I’ve stumbled upon an imp from Hades!”

  The touch of his thighs threatened to send a strong ripple of desire raging through her, but she could not let herself think such thoughts. Diàmbarne! She was an assassin of the Vindictam and she must escape!

  He stayed there a moment, looming over her. The moonlight was bright enough to illuminate his stern brows, but his eyes were masked in shadows.

  And then he rose to his feet, and she leapt to hers, striking out once more.

  With lightning-quick reflexes, he caught her ankle in his strong hand and gave it a vicious twist.

  Gasping, she fell back again into the heather and gorse, scratching the palms of her hands.

  “Ruffian!” She scowled. For a drunk and scandalous lord, Julian Gray was exceptionally quick to react.

  “By the Virgin, ye are a wicked wench!” Julian swore. “I’m of a mind to tie ye up and leave ye here!”

  She grimaced. Her attempt to break herself free by brute force had failed miserably. Clearly, it was time to try another tactic.

  “And you would abandon a woman?” she asked, adopting a low, pleading tone as she permitted her voice to waver, just a little.

  She didn’t fool him for a moment.

  Julian snorted. “A woman? No. But a devil, yes,” he exclaimed, yanking her to her feet and pinning her wrists roughly behind her back.

  The movement had the effect of pushing her breasts tightly against his chest, and Liselle’s breath hitched at the unexpectedly intimate contact. Suddenly, it was difficult to focus once again.

  His face was easier to see now in the dim glow of the moon. His mouth was set in a grim line, but he didn’t seem particularly angry. And then he abruptly lowered his face to hers.

  Liselle could feel his hot breath upon her lips, and her every sense tingled. Would he kiss her again? She held her own breath expectantly.

  And then Julian whispered, “Ach, I’ll see ye off on the first ship I can find!”

  Disappointment flooded through her. And even though she had heard those words so many times in her life, they never failed to anger her. “You have no power to send me anywhere!” she snapped, with a haughty lift of her chin.

  “Oh?” he challenged, cocking a brow.

  They stared at each other, breathing hard.

  And then to her surprise, he looped his strong arm about her waist and heaved her over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

  Striding boldly back to camp, his strong voice roared above the highlanders’ raucous songs, “Do ye have some kind of sack, Ewan?”

  Laughter met this query, along with a few comments.

  “Aye, ‘tis a wee abduction, then!”

  “So ‘tis love, aye, Julian lad?”

  As Julian moved forward, Ewan blocked his way, his fair brows drawn together in alarm.

  “Sack?” he repeated with a stern jaw.

  “Aye! I’m putting her in it!” Julian bellowed in response and brushed him aside. “I dinna trust the lass!”

  “Ach now, Julian!” Ewan protested, shocked. “’Tis no way to treat a lady!”

  “Ye know not of whom ye speak!” Julian grated, tipping Liselle over his shoulder to plop her down in front of the fire. And placing his hand upon the top of her head in an aggravated gesture, he informed the highlanders, “This lass lives only to conspire and delve in continuous treachery! Dinna trust her!”

  Liselle had only time to send him an injured look before he grabbed her wrist once again and pulled her to where he’d propped his saddle against the trunk of a slender birch.

  “Aye, then. I’ll tie ye like a beast!” he grumbled, drawing a length of gray cord from one of his saddle bags. “Sweet Mary, but ye must eat only mules! How else could ye be so stubborn?”

  But she scarcely heard him.

  She was staring at the gray cord as a sudden image leapt into her stunned mind. She’d seen that gray cord before. It was unique, fine of make, yet strong, and the most distinct shade of gray. There had been a great length of it in his chamber at Sarlat.

  But more importantly, the picture in her mind was not of that. No, in her mind’s eye, she saw a gray Turk’s head knot resting in her brother’s hand.

  And then she knew.

  Santo Ciélo! But it had been plain for all to see!

  Catching her breath in awe, she looked up into Julian’s eyes and accused in wonder, “You are Le Marin!”

  Chapter Eleven – The Lauder Bridge Trap

  Julian’s eyes dropped to the gray cord in his hands and then back to Liselle in appreciation. There was little reason to deny it. He’d scarcely bothered to play a drunken and scandalous nobleman in her presence.

  “Aye, but aren’t ye a wee canny vixen!” he murmured softly.

  Closing his hand over her mouth, he pulled her away from the highlanders’ curious eyes, and once out of the firelight’s glow, caught her by the waist again to pin her against a tree.
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  His intention was just to speak with her, but the moment he felt her soft curves and the thump of her heart beating against his chest, he wanted only to ravish her lips once more with his.

  “We’ve a wee quandary now, lass,” he all but growled.

  Aye, and more than one.

  He should be concentrating on matters concerning Le Marin, but her soft beckoning lips were far more fascinating. Aye, he’d been thinking of nothing else from the moment he’d placed her on his horse in Channelkirk.

  “Let me go!” she demanded breathlessly. “You have no choice but to do as I say now! Else I will expose you!” She lifted her chin with an air of smug satisfaction.

  “Aye, so ye think to spread tales of Le Marin?” He cocked an eyebrow, his attention momentarily diverted from her delicious curves. “Do ye trust the Scottish court will believe such wild tales of Lord Julian Gray, once they discover those tales come from the lips of a Vindictam assassin?”

  She gave in at once. There was not even a moment’s hesitation. “As you wish then, my lord. I will say nothing.”

  Intrigued by the speed of her concession, he leaned close and asked with a low, intimate chuckle, “Why do I feel that I’ve just made a pact with the devil?”

  A hint of a laugh escaped her lips, and he could feel her breath upon his cheek as she replied, “Il Diàvolo, your devil, is more forgiving than the Vindictam, Lord Gray.”

  It was a warning.

  So why was he smiling like a daft fool?

  Her lips were perilously close, lips that could drive him to the brink of madness should he let them. And her eyes were like pools of liquid fire, filled with passion and with life. Eyes he could drown in.

  “What should I do with ye, lass? I canna leave ye wandering about, can I?” he mused aloud. Aye, not when he wanted to bury his face in her hair and taste her pouting lips from dawn till dusk. Shaking his head to clear it, he forced himself to say, “I should send ye back to Venice forthwith! Aye, the only place for ye is far from here.”

  Or perhaps … she might remain under his protection.

  The unbidden thought startled him, and he drew back sharply.

  He was a hot-blooded and passionate man, accustomed to dabbling with his fancies and blithely moving on with only a prickle of conscience where women were concerned. ‘Twas much simpler to leave afore either he or they grew too attached. But the mere thought of sending this one away already weighed too heavily upon his heart to ignore.

  She wasn’t easy to walk away from.

  And that was dangerous, particularly with this lass—one with blood ties to the Vindictam. With such ties he shouldn’t be walking, he should be running!

  “You have no power to send me away,” she was saying.

  But he ignored her words. Lifting his hand, he gently traced her bottom lip with his thumb. “Aye, but ye must be a siren,” he murmured, his heart beating an unsteady pulse.

  And then his lips brushed hers in the merest whisper of a kiss, and as she arched her back into him, he was undone.

  Hooking his hand behind her neck, he pulled her against him and sealed his mouth hungrily over hers, and as her lips opened to his in a tantalizing invitation, he caught his breath.

  A hot current of desire surged through him. Never had a mere kiss inflamed him so.

  And then her palms slid up his chest and he shivered. Mayhap the lass was the devil after all. Her touch held an unholy power.

  Mesmerized, he stood there as she wrapped her arms around his neck and lightly nipped his bottom lip. And then succumbing to the pleasure lancing through him, he slid his hands down over her waist and hips, and groaned, devouring her lips in a ravenous and greedy claiming.

  For several endless moments, they shared a mind-reeling passion, and then with a primal moan, he tore his mouth away and gasped, “No!”

  She pulled back, breathing hard.

  A shaft of moonlight fell upon them, illuminating her face and allowing him to see what he knew was mirrored upon his own.

  Passion. Attraction. Desire.

  And pure madness.

  He had to send her back to Venice. “Nay, I must send ye back to Venice!” he swore, brushing his forearm over his face.

  Grimly, he caught up the gray cord from where he’d dropped it, and quickly looped it around her wrists.

  She didn’t resist.

  Staring at her kiss-swollen lips, he could scarcely recall how to tie any kind of knot. He could think of nothing more than the want to claim every inch of her as his own.

  But finally, the deed was done, or so he hoped.

  Patting the knot, he peered down at her and whispered, “What spell have ye cast over me?” He caught her chin in his hand and forced her eyes to meet his.

  She didn’t answer him. She seemed equally disturbed in her own right.

  And then taking a deep breath, he turned away to collect his scattered thoughts.

  He had no choice. He must send her away. He’d not even be able to focus should he let her stay. And he needed his every wit about him if he were to outfox Pascal and Orazio in order to protect Dolfin. Aye, he had to send the lass away. When she was near, he could think of little else than her maddening lips.

  “Aye, I’ll see ye gone from here,” he said with a heavy heart. “I’ve no choice on the matter.”

  Silence met this statement.

  Suddenly suspicious, he whirled to face her.

  And then he swore.

  She was gone. And in a neat little heap by the tree lay the cord that he’d used to bind her wrists, severed by a sharp blade.

  “Liselle!” he roared even as he eyed the cord.

  It was a razor-sharp cut.

  Why hadn’t he thought to search her for weapons? And why did he find that such a thrillingly seductive thought?

  Dashing back into the circle of highlanders, he called her name again.

  Taking one look at his face, the highlanders arose to the man.

  “What is it?” their strong voices cried, accompanied by the rasping sound of steel as they drew their swords.

  Julian grimaced. “The lass,” he said. “She’s gone.”

  Aye, mayhap the wee imp had been playing him all along, and he should count himself fortunate that he hadn’t found her blade betwixt his ribs. But even as he thought it, he didn’t believe it. Assassin or no, the passion on her face had been as real as his own.

  “We’ll search for the lady at once!” Ewan announced crisply, sheathing his blade.

  Julian merely shook his head. “She’s more akin to a viper than a lady. I’d say beware, and watch your horses—” he cut himself short as a new thought suddenly popped into his head.

  Swearing profusely, he sprinted to where he’d tied his gray mare next to Ewan’s black charger.

  And then he swore even louder, uttering increasingly pointed epitaphs with each breath.

  Once again, she’d stolen his gray mare. But this time, she was clearly prepared. Whistling produced nothing.

  As the highlanders galloped in all directions, one of them brought Julian a saddled roan. He was at the point of telling the man there was little reason to pursue the minx. He only didn’t because he wanted to ride, to escape the frustration mounting up within him.

  Had she been toying with him all along? Surely, the passion in her kiss had been real?

  The wind was picking up by the time he reached the crest of the hill. Pulling rein, he peered in all directions. The moon shone bright, casting an eerie glow over the heath and the rolling hills spread out before him.

  Nothing moved. Liselle had disappeared like a wraith in the night.

  Knowing it was futile, he cupped his mouth anyway and let out another whistle, but it was a half-hearted one.

  Aye, Liselle was bold, brash, and meddlesome. But if she were riding across the heath in the darkness of the night, he’d want her on no other horse than his sure-footed gray mare.

  “Sweet Mary!” he swore, striking the pommel of his saddle
in aggravation. How could he still only want to protect her? Why was he worried only over her safety? Throwing his head back, he shouted, “Why? Why? Why?”

  As his cries echoed through the night, hooves pounded from behind, and he turned to see Ewan easing his horse up to him.

  “Don’t come near me!” Julian thundered as his young kinsman drew near.

  “Hold tight, cousin,” Ewan greeted him in a mild tone, ignoring his demand. “We’ll find her.”

  “Not if she doesna wish to be found,” Julian replied grimly. He closed his eyes, but her fiery kiss and the passion in her eyes filled his mind. Ach, was there no escaping the lass?

  “They say no herb can cure it, cousin,” Ewan said in a quiet voice.

  Julian gritted his teeth. He was hardly in the mood to chatter. Still, he cared for the brawny lad at his side, and so he forced his lips to reply, “Cure what, Ewan?”

  “Love,” Ewan said knowingly. “Ye love the lass, Julian.”

  Julian’s eyes flew open. “Nay, this canna be love!” His voice came out raw and hoarse. “Nay! Never love. ‘Tis more akin to hate or the result of some unholy spell! Ye dinna know the lass, Ewan!” Love? Pah! He was dedicated to the pursuit of women. He didn’t stay long enough to love them.

  “Aye, I’m told love is a cunning beastie,” Ewan continued with a mischievous twist of his lip.

  “I’ll never be so daft as to fall in love, Ewan!” Julian objected strongly, but his objection rang false even to his own ears. “I’m not a man to be captivated by a single lass! I’ll never make that foolish mistake!”

  And then he clamped his mouth shut, knowing full well that the more he protested, the more he sounded like a drowning fool.

  Ewan politely cleared his throat.

  Clenching his jaw, Julian wheeled his horse around. “Aye, I’ve no concern for the lass. Call your men. We’ll not find her, she’s gone. ‘Tis time to return to Edinburgh. Cameron needs us both.”

  And with a grim nod, he headed back to the camp.

  Aye, his gray mare would see Liselle safe. He had faith in the animal. She’d never failed him. And Liselle, no doubt, had some skill of her own.

  Aye, the lass would be safe.

  Halfway down the hill, Ewan caught up with him to say, “Ye’ve changed, cousin!”