The Highlander's Stolen Bride

by Melanie George

  She stopped him by laying her hand on his. “You need not explain. I have family that does not feel fondly toward me, either.”

  Without thought, Derek took both her hands in his and drew her toward him. The warm, sweet scent that rose from her skin made him ache to hold her. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “I know,” she murmured. “But I can’t help being frightened for you.”

  “Let me worry about myself. You just concentrate on relaxing. I can’t say that Castle Gray can offer you as much entertainment as London, but I’ll do my best.”

  “I was never overly fond of London. I always preferred the serenity of Cornwall, the long stretches of open spaces and the quiet beauty of the coast. Is Scotland like that?”

  “In some regards. My home overlooks the ocean high atop a cliff, but it’s far too dangerous for anyone to traverse, except those who know its perils.”

  “Like you.”

  He smiled. “Yes, I’ve been going up and down those cliffs since I was in short pants. The landscape can seem harsh to some.”

  “But it’s home to you, and that makes it special.”

  “I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”

  “That’s how I feel about Cornwall,” she said wistfully.

  Derek wanted to draw her into his arms and tell her that everything would be all right. “You’re homesick.”

  “At times, I miss it terribly. Some of the best days of my life were spent wandering the beaches and exploring the coves with Fancy.”

  “Lady Francine, you mean?”

  A smile filtered across Rosalyn’s lips. “No one ever calls her Lady Francine. She’s simply Fancy. She befriended me when I first came to Cornwall with my mother and stepfather. She’s bright and fun and generous. I don’t know what my life would have been like without her.”

  “I met her at Lady Dane’s. She seemed…a handful.”

  Rosalyn’s eyes twinkled. “That’s Fancy. I don’t know how Mr. Kendall will ever handle her. Fancy is not used to anyone telling her what to do. She’s very independent.”

  Derek chuckled. “I sensed that. But I wouldn’t worry about Lucien. He’s been through battles with far fiercer combatants. I’m sure he can hold his own.”

  “I don’t know. Fancy can be hardheaded—but never mean. She is the sweetest, most loving person I’ve ever known. Without a second thought, she risked her life and her home to take me in when Calder threatened me.”

  “She’s a good friend.”

  “The very best,” Rosalyn answered, pensively biting the edge of her lip.

  “She’ll be fine, Rosalyn. I know Lucien. He’s a good man. Wherever they may be, Fancy is in capable hands.”

  “I know,” she murmured. “And I must say, Mr. Kendall really has a great deal of fortitude.”

  “He definitely has that,” Derek remarked, resisting the urge to laugh. Lucien would get a kick out of hearing Rosalyn’s view of him. Of all the men in the Pleasure Seekers club, Lucien was the most mule-headed—fortitude was a nice way of putting it. “It sounds to me as though you admire your friend quite a bit.”

  “Oh, I do! Fancy’s always been so strong. There was nothing she couldn’t do if she put her mind to it.”

  Derek stroked his thumb absently along Rosalyn’s jaw. “You’re just as strong, you know.”

  A flush stained her cheeks, and Rosalyn looked down at her hands, shaking her head. “That’s very nice of you to say—”

  Derek tipped her head up. “I don’t say things just to be nice. Look how well you’ve held up with all the trouble your stepbrother has put you through.” Her face fell, and Derek wanted to kick himself for reminding her.

  “He’ll never give up, you know. He’s very tenacious,” she said.

  “That’s fine, because I don’t give up, either.”

  The way she looked into his eyes told Derek how very innocent she was, and he found himself taking a step closer, watching those beautiful eyes turn a darker shade of green, the urge to kiss her a growing hunger in his gut.

  Her soft breath fanned his neck as she murmured, “Had you not come along when you did…”

  Derek leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers. “But I did, and I’m very glad. I want you to feel welcome in my home. What’s mine is yours.” He lifted his head a fraction, his gaze centered on her lips, action following thought as his mouth descended toward hers.

  “Good Lord, man.” Darius’s voice jarred them, making Derek want to wring his uncle’s neck. “Are y’ goin’ tae kick around in here all day? We’ll not make it for supper at this rate, and if I’m forced tae miss another of cook’s meals, I’ll be blamin’ you.”

  Though his uncle’s sudden intrusion was the cold water Derek needed to stop what he had almost done, he didn’t feel one bloody bit relieved. Another moment, and he would have devoured Rosalyn.

  Yet the more she trusted him, the less he could indulge in his attraction for her. He was her protector now—and yet, her biggest threat. Just taking her away could cause damage to her reputation, should anyone find out.

  Cupping her elbow, Derek led Rosalyn from the tavern. A chill lingered in the air, but the bright morning sun would soon burn it away.

  The journey would be less comfortable, as the terrain was rough in spots. He’d send Darius ahead to get things ready for Rosalyn’s arrival; she would be exhausted by the time they got to his home.

  Derek opened the coach door and handed Rosalyn in. In the doorway, she turned to look down at him.

  “My lord, I never asked you if my coming to your home would cause any problems. Is there anyone who might be upset by my showing up with you?”

  Derek could think of at least a dozen people, off the top of his head. To some, the English would always be the enemy. But he would deal with anyone who did not make her welcome—and it would not be pleasant.

  “You have nothing to worry about. Everyone will adore you.”

  The smile that lit her face was all the reward he needed; he was determined to make everything right for her.

  The only question was…how?

  Six

  R osalyn found herself very conscious of Derek as the miles rolled away beneath the coach wheels.

  He was a man of contradictions. He seemed so contained most of the time, yet at the tavern he had been so gentle, so tender. Rosalyn actually believed that he had been about to kiss her, and she would have welcomed it.

  She was confused about her feelings. Though she desired Derek, getting her heart involved would only leave her hurt in the end—for she could never marry him.

  A radical thought crept into her mind. Since she would never marry, perhaps she should consider being a paramour. She had never questioned her own passion, which was such a powerful part of her, and no man but Derek had ever stirred that passion.

  But would he even want that?

  She darted a glance at him. His head was tipped back and his eyes closed; in sleep, he looked even more handsome.

  Rosalyn forced herself to look away and stop her scandalous flights of fancy. She studied her surroundings instead, becoming enchanted by the landscape passing the coach window.

  The terrain was surprisingly lush and the grass verdant. Jagged peaks of rock forced their way out of the earth at odd intervals, but their rugged faces only added to the mysterious beauty.

  She found many similarities between Scotland and Cornwall. Both had uncompromising elements and stark seascapes, intense loveliness and barren vistas. And both could be lonely and isolated to those who needed many people around them to feel comfortable.

  Dark clouds had rolled in, the moisture-laden air heralding an unexpected shower. But the strong wind that blew off the Atlantic would clear the skies quickly to reveal the bright green moors and heather-covered plateaus.

  Derek had told her that Castle Gray sat between two mountain ranges, the Northwest Highlands and the Grampian Hills. A valley called Glen More—or the Great Glen—divided the two. The
highest mountains in the Highlands jutted along the Atlantic, with deep glens cut among the barren peaks, scattered trees, and evergreen scrub.

  Derek’s home sat on a plateau looking out toward the island of Mull, part of the Inner Hebrides, where large flocks of sheep grazed precariously close to the cliff’s edge, protected only by the dogs trained to guard and herd them.

  Rosalyn was looking forward to seeing it. But what she wanted even more was something she hadn’t had in a long time: peace. Peace of heart and peace of mind. She had felt neither since her parents died.

  A sudden jolt of the carriage nearly toppled her out of her seat. Two strong hands at her waist kept her upright, as Derek shot forward, coming awake instantly.

  The coach listed to the left side, but its speed did not slow. She could hear the horses blowing hard, fear pushing them on to an even greater pace.

  “What’s happened?” she shouted over the shriek of splintering metal. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, a terrible thought occurred to her.

  Calder.

  Derek’s grip tightened on her arms. “Stay calm. We’ll be fine.” He lifted her hand to a leather strap above the right-side door. “Hold this tightly. Do not let it go.”

  Rosalyn nodded and held the strap with a death grip as Derek slid to the opposite side and leaned his head out the window.

  “The wheel’s cracked,” he said over the din. He threw back the panel behind the driver’s box and shouted, “Get those damn horses under control.”

  “I’m tryin’, m’lord,” the driver bellowed. Rosalyn could hear the fright in his voice. “A piece of wood came up and hit the lead horse in his rear flank an’ now he’s wild.”

  Derek reached through the panel and took hold of the reins, muscles straining the seams of his jacket as he fought for control over the animals.

  He let out a piercing whistle, one long burst and two short ones. Within moments the horses began to slow, and finally the coach clattered to a stop, the left side tilting precariously.

  When Rosalyn dared to take a peek outside, her heart dropped to her stomach. They had come very close to running straight off a cliff.

  She closed her eyes, thanking God and whatever powers had prevented all of their deaths. She started as a hand settled on her cheek. Her eyes snapped open to find Derek staring at her, concern on his face.

  “Are you all right?”

  Rosalyn blinked and sat up. “I’m fine. What happened?”

  “It seems the wheel well split and then broke the wheel itself.”

  “How?”

  “I’m not sure, but I intend to find the answer.” He pressed his shoulder against the door, which stuck and then cracked open on its hinges, banging into the side of the coach. Derek jumped down and disappeared behind the boot.

  Rosalyn could hear him talking with the driver. She slid across the seat and tried to catch what the men were saying. Only one word reached her.

  Sabotage.

  A shiver ran down her spine. It was Calder. It had to be. But how had he discovered her whereabouts so quickly? She had been so sure that she had covered her tracks well this time.

  Rosalyn closed her eyes. She would never get away from him. He was a man determined. He would get her money no matter what he had to do. What if she just gave it to him? Perhaps he would leave her alone then.

  Once again, she had succeeded in getting someone else involved in her trouble. She couldn’t live with herself if anything happened to Derek, which left her only one choice: she must leave.

  Tonight, after everyone had gone to sleep, she would sneak out. She wouldn’t allow herself to think about how forbidding the terrain might be. Nor did she concern herself with the fact that she didn’t know where she would go.

  All she knew was that she could no longer endanger others to save herself. From here on, she would have to do this alone. But she must not let on to Derek that anything had changed. If he had even an inkling of what she was contemplating, he would certainly stop her—though she suspected he was wishing he had never met her right now.

  Derek was kicking himself for getting Rosalyn involved in his troubles when she had enough of her own.

  He could tell that the break in the wheel well had been no accident. Someone had purposely caused the damage—and he was fairly certain he knew who.

  Ethan.

  There was no one else with either the motive or the opportunity. And no one else hated Derek as much as his half-brother. Ethan had been trying to do away with him since they were youths, and clearly he was still trying. Bastard.

  “Say nothing of this,” Derek told his driver firmly. “Do you understand?”

  “Aye, y’r lordship. My lips are sealed.”

  “Good, now see if you can get this repaired. We’re only a few miles from Castle Gray. I’ll unhitch two of the horses to ride there, and send someone back to help.”

  “Aye, sir.” Jessup hunkered down beside the wheel to begin repairs.

  When Derek strode around the carriage to check on Rosalyn, he noticed a stiffness in her bearing. She must be frightened. He was, too, though for her rather than himself.

  “Jessup is working on the problem,” he told her. “Are you up for a ride? My home is only a few miles from here. We could be there before dusk and have you in a nice bath. Sound good?”

  “It sounds very nice,” she said, her voice restrained. “Thank you.”

  As Derek reached out to help her down, an emotion flashed in her eyes that was too fleeting for him to grasp.

  “Are you sure everything is all right?”

  “Yes.”

  Something was definitely bothering her, but Derek knew that pushing her would only backfire. She was a stubborn lass, full of an untapped fire that made him crazy with wanting her.

  As her long, slim fingers clasped his tightly, he gave them a gentle squeeze. Remaining a gentleman was becoming damn difficult. The entire trip, he had found himself covertly studying her: the way her hair fell, the slight curve toward the ends, the different hues of gold; the shape of her lips, their fullness, how soft they looked; the upturn at the corners of her eyes that gave her an exotic appearance; and the aura of sinfulness that seemed to belie her outward innocence.

  Inevitably, his gaze had moved lower. He was mesmerized by the rise and fall of her chest, the way each inhale lifted her breasts, making them swell ever so slightly over the top of her bodice. He’d realized then that he needed to find an outlet for his growing ardor.

  His thoughts turned to Caroline Trainor, his housekeeper. They had been lovers on and off for the last five years, and had become friends. He confided things to her that he wouldn’t to most people, knowing she would not repeat them.

  Theirs had been a convenient arrangement, but he had found himself using it less and less lately, as he noticed that things had subtly changed. Somewhere along the way he had become something more to Caroline; she harbored feelings for him that he could not return.

  He had not had the heart at first to tell her there was no future for them, but neither did he want her missing the opportunity for love with the right man. So he had finally told her they were over right before he left for London. They could still be friends, and he hoped that would not change, but there could be no more.

  She had taken his news without crying or recriminations. Instead she had smiled and quietly left the room. He didn’t know what to expect upon his arrival, but hoped it didn’t include a weapon aimed at his privates.

  “My lord?”

  Derek realized that he was standing by the horses, but not unhitching them. He shook his head and turned to Rosalyn, who looked too damn tempting standing in a ray of waning sunlight.

  “You can ride Gypsy,” he said as he removed the harnesses. “She’s more docile than Minotaur.”

  “Either will be fine. I’ve been riding since I was three.”

  Derek walked Gypsy over to her. “I guess what I should have said was that Gypsy prefers women riders. Can’t say t
hat I blame her.” He handed Rosalyn the reins and smiled, heartened when she smiled back.

  She rubbed the horse’s nose. “Well, Gypsy, I guess it’s you and me.” Gypsy whinnied and bobbed her head. Rosalyn laughed, the musical sound enchanting Derek. Light danced in her eyes as she glanced up at him and said, “Shall we go?”

  Derek had to mentally shake himself to break the spell of her smile. “Yes.”

  He cupped his hands and held them out to help her mount. Once she was comfortably settled, he swung up onto Minotaur. The horse pranced sideways, unused to having a rider on his back.

  “Which way to your home?” Rosalyn asked.

  Derek pointed toward the northeast. “Around that low ridge of mountains and straight on.”

  “All right then,” she said with a laugh. “Last one there must brush down the other’s horse.”

  She gave Gypsy a nudge in the flanks and shot off. Derek wheeled Minotaur around and took after her.

  He marveled at how expertly she handled her mount, though his heart nearly stopped when she coaxed the horse into jumping a wide length of scrub brush, easily making it to the other side.

  He could hear her laughter as he thundered up behind her. Her hair had pulled free of the few pins that had held it in its stylish arrangement. Now it rippled down her back like a banner of silken sunlight, tendrils whipping against her face as she turned to find him gaining on her.

  She urged her horse on and Derek called out to her to slow down, but she could not hear him over the sound of her horse’s galloping hooves.

  He prodded Minotaur, but the stallion was not as young as Gypsy and could not maintain the pace. Rosalyn drew farther ahead, and then the sound of her scream tore through him. Gypsy’s back leg had tangled in some low-lying vines, bringing the horse down to her front knees and sending Rosalyn flying over her head. Derek lost sight of her for a moment, then saw her lying in a thatch of heather.

  He jumped from Minotaur’s back before the horse had come to a stop and ran to Rosalyn’s side, gently cradling her head in his hands. “Rosalyn?”