Highlanders

by Tarah Scott

  “You tempt me beyond reason,” he said in a hoarse voice. “I cannot resist you much longer.”

  “I-I did not mean to, my lord.”

  She shifted and he realized she was snuggling her nose against his neck. A strange prickle slid along his shoulders. He stilled, curious as to what she intended—and wanting more of whatever it was. Her breast expanded against his, then she exhaled and the feather light breeze of her breath tickled his skin. He shuddered. She stilled. Erroll slid a hand down her back and over her buttocks. She squeaked and jerked against his cock. He groaned and pressed her closer.

  She fisted the material of his coat. “I-I am wrinkling your coat.”

  He gave a strangled laugh and kissed her neck. She gasped again. If he didn’t stop, he’d have her down on the ground, skirts over her head in another moment, which would make him almost as much of a beast as Halifax--almost. But he didn’t stop, and instead kissed lower on her neck, then lower until his mouth was pressed against the curve of soft flesh above her bodice. Then he was sucking a nipple into his mouth through the fabric of her dress.

  “Oh my.” She seized his shoulders.

  He suckled harder.

  “My lord…”

  He heard the breathless surprise in her voice and was astonished to realize he felt the same way. If he could get her into his carriage…

  “Lord Rushton.” She quivered.

  “I am right here, love,” he whispered against her creamy flesh.

  Erroll’s mind vaguely registered the rustle of a hedge behind him. Miss Crenshaw gave a startled cry and he jerked his mouth from her breast.

  Her eyes were on something—someone—behind him.

  “Not again.” He cursed.

  Pain knifed through the back of his head. Light flashed across his vision, then all went black.

  Chapter Six

  The dizzying current that spun Eve’s mind evaporated. “You hurt him!” She fell to her knees beside the earl and placed a finger over the pulse in his neck. A strong beat thumped against her fingertips.

  Oscar towered over them. “I only knocked him cold. He deserved worse.”

  Eve heard the censure in his voice and embarrassment washed over her. She’d forgotten he was hiding nearby. He’d seen—she swallowed—he’d seen Lord Rushton’s hands on her derrière and his mouth on her… Holy God, she was feeling lightheaded again.

  “I had to distract him,” she retorted.

  “If that maid had strolled any slower past my hiding place, I would have arrived to find he had your dress over your head.”

  Eve looked up sharply. “He would not.”

  “Are you sure you shouldn’t be the one marrying him at Gretna Green?”

  She shoved upward, but was dragged back down when she stepped on her skirt. Oscar grabbed her arm and pulled her up.

  She yanked free. “A kiss does not mean we must marry.”

  “That was more than a kiss.”

  “Oh, never mind.” Eve released an exasperated breath. “I didn’t intend for you to knock him senseless. He will be furious when he awakens.”

  “No more so than when you shot him,” Oscar replied.

  “How do you propose to get him out of here in this condition?” she asked. “Oh, you have truly harmed him.”

  “He isn’t hurt,” Oscar said with annoyance. “Should I have politely asked him to get into my carriage for a ride to Scotland to marry your sister? You tried that.”

  She groaned. “There is not even a modicum of privacy in our household, is there?” That came as a result of the servants growing up with the children of the house. Of course, the fact that Eve had known Oscar since she was five and he had pulled her out of more scrapes than she would ever admit was the reason she could talk him into helping her. This might be one scrape too many.

  “Perhaps we should forget my plan,” she said. “He need not know who hit him. I can say the culprit ran away.”

  “You going to marry him?”

  She recalled the marriage contract. “I am not.”

  “Well, you or your sister have to marry him.”

  “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

  “I better get him into the carriage,” Oscar said. “If he wakes up, I’ll have to beat him in earnest.” The words carried the tone of a brother who wanted a reason to beat his sister’s lover. “I can tie him up nice and tight.”

  One way or another, Oscar would have his revenge. He always did, which, truth be told, had saved her much grief. This time, however… “You cannot keep him tied up the whole journey,” she said. “That would be cruel.”

  “He’ll survive. I’ll feed him and give him water. He can even have a piss.”

  “Good Lord,” Eve burst out.

  Oscar bent and hauled Lord Rushton over his shoulder.

  Eve glanced around. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  He grunted agreement but, thankfully, refrained from comment, and started deeper into the garden.

  Eve hurried to keep up with his long stride. “Where are you taking him?”

  “There’s a side entrance for servants. I have the carriage waiting nearby.”

  “Someone is sure to see you. I did not think this through well enough. I see now you could end up in prison.”

  Oscar turned right and dim light filtered through the foliage up ahead. He brushed past large hedges and stepped onto another path.

  “Is someone there?” a woman called.

  Eve and Oscar halted and his head jerked in her direction.

  Eve’s heart jumped into her throat. “One of the maids,” she whispered. “Quickly, get the earl into the carriage. If I am not there in five minutes go—”

  “Who is it?” the maid called.

  Eve shoved Oscar toward the hedge and called to the woman, “It is I, Miss Crenshaw.”

  “Miss Crenshaw?”

  Eve hurried toward the voice beyond the foliage in the direction of the mansion. She stepped into the opening and saw a young woman carrying a burlap sack that Eve wagered was full of apples from the orchard. Lady Grendall’s cook was known for baking the best apple tarts in London and she served them fresh from the oven at Lady Grendall’s soirees.

  “Pardon me, Miss,” the maid said. “Are you all right? It is not safe for a lady alone in the gardens at night.”

  “I needed a bit of fresh air,” Eve joined the girl. “I got lost.”

  “It is best if you return with me. I can show you to the hallway leading to the ballroom from the kitchen.”

  Eve hesitated. If she returned to the party she risked taking too long to get to the carriage. “Is there another exit?” she asked.

  “Exit?”

  “Yes. I am not feeling well and I would like to go home.”

  “You can leave by the main entrance,” she said.

  “I prefer a more discreet exit. My future husband is insisting I stay and I have no wish to argue with him.”

  The girl laughed. “Men can be demanding when they want their way.”

  “Indeed they can,” Eve agreed.

  “The servants' entrance is on the west side of the mansion. I’ll show you.”

  Eve laid a hand on her arm. “No need. I can find my way.”

  “Oh no, Miss, you mustn’t be walking alone in the gardens.”

  “Just as you shouldn’t be walking back to the house alone,” Eve replied. “Not to mention, there is no reason to anger the housekeeper by you being gone longer than necessary.”

  “Mrs. Childs is a reasonable woman,” the girl replied.

  “How fortunate for you,” Eve said. “Now, the east side you said? So I follow this path straight on around the house and I will find the gate?”

  “Yes, but you won’t come out where the carriages are waiting.”

  Eve leaned forward and whispered in a conspiratorial tone, “I sent word for my carriage to await me on the side street. Truth be told, the servant’s gate is exactly where I was headed.” The girl’s brow furro
wed and Eve shrugged. “My betrothed really is a bore. Can you keep a secret?”

  The maid’s face brightened. “I can, Miss. Especially if it means pulling one over on the gentleman.”

  Eve nodded. “Fine then. I will find my way to the gate and the gentleman can find someone else to order about this evening.”

  The girl nodded quick agreement, and Eve left. Two minutes later, she spotted the servants’ entrance up ahead. Wind rustled the foliage as she neared, then a sound behind her caught her attention and she started to turn. A hand clamped over her mouth and yanked her against a hard body. She clawed at the fingers in an effort to free her mouth, but hot breath on her ear froze her.

  “Quiet,” a rough male voice rasped.

  Her heart thumped. This wasn’t possible. The criminal type shouldn’t be inside the garden. Had one of the servants forgotten to lock the gate?”

  “Keep quiet, or I get rough.” He pulled her tighter to his body and his hot breath filled her ear.

  *****

  Erroll roused to a consciousness that thundered like a gunshot inside his head. Pain bounced off his skull in a hard rhythm that caused him to wince. He had been in the garden with Miss Crenshaw when a sudden pain lanced down his back—

  “Who the devil cocked me?” His gravelly voice in the silent darkness impacted his head like a wave crashing against a cliff.

  The floor beneath him rocked and he realized he was in a fast moving carriage, trussed up like a prize pig. And he wasn’t alone. He squinted into the darkness in an effort to distinguish shapes, but the effort made his head pound all the harder.

  He forced himself to relax against the cushion, and said, “I hope you didn’t harm the lady.”

  “Lady’s fine,” a deep barreled voice replied.

  “You will forgive me if I’m not reassured. What have you done with her?”

  “Nothing. Last I saw her, she was at the party.”

  “I feel certain Miss Crenshaw would not stand idly by while a man was abducted.” He got no reply, so tried another tack. “Where are we going?” Still no reply. “How long have I been unconscious?”

  “Not nearly long enough,” the man growled.

  “I am known for having an usually hard head,” Erroll said. “Have you contacted my father for a ransom? He isn’t one to throw away money. You may have miscalculated in kidnapping me.”

  “We don’t want money.”

  “Indeed? What do you want, then?”

  “I want you to be quiet.”

  “We do not always get what we want—but never mind. If we have more than a ten minute ride before us, I will kindly ask you to pull over.”

  The man grunted. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because I drank far too much champagne this evening.”

  “I have a schedule to keep,” the man said.

  “Be that as it may, I can promise you that ten minutes hence, you will be in need of a new coach.”

  “Too convenient,” he replied.

  Erroll laughed. “Not for me, my good man.”

  “Too much of a chance.”

  “A man of few words, I see.”

  No reply. His vision had acclimated to the darkness and the throbbing in his head had dulled to a low roar. In the far corner, he discerned a large form that fit the barrel voice. He wasn’t going to enjoy the jolt to his head when he brought the brute down.

  “While I have no wish to travel in soiled clothing, I will not last long,” Erroll said.

  “You didn’t seem in much need in the garden.”

  Erroll gave another laugh. “It is surprising what the right distraction can do for a man.”

  More silence followed, before the man said, “I don’t want any trouble.”

  “I am in complete agreement,” Erroll said in all honesty. But he didn’t always get what he wanted, either.

  *****

  Eve’s kidnapper dragged her to the same gate through which Oscar had taken Lord Rushton, and when they exited she caught sight of her father’s carriage sitting across the street between two other coaches. Her heart jumped as the kidnapper eased through the doorway and hugged the shadows along the garden wall. Oscar was waiting for her in the coach. If she could draw his attention, she would be saved. She bit down on her kidnapper’s hand. A slew of whispered curses filled her ear, but his hold didn’t loosen.

  She bit harder and kicked—then froze. A gun barrel dug into her back. Eve carefully released his hand. He muttered something unintelligible. Fear threatened to cloud her brain in a muddle of tears, but she forced back the compulsion and scanned the street. How did he think to get away with kidnapping her in public?

  Waiting carriages lined the street. A coach at the end of the street lurched into motion, headed toward them, and Eve recognized the silver shield with three red inescutcheons coat of arms. Lord Halifax. Hope surged. He would help her—but he probably wasn’t in the carriage, she realized with horror. The coach neared and Eve shifted her eyes to the driver. Surely he would help her. But his gaze remained straight ahead. Her heart pounded. It was likely he hadn't spotted them in the shadows of the wall. The carriage neared, then halted in front of them. The door swung open and Eve couldn’t believe her luck when she caught sight of Lord Halifax into the doorway.

  He disappeared back into the coach, leaving the door open. Her kidnapper lurched into motion. In three steps, he reached the vehicle and stuffed her inside. Confusion washed over her as the door slammed shut, leaving her alone with Lord Halifax.

  *****

  Erroll's kidnapper pounded on the top of the carriage and they slowed, then stopped.

  "What is it?" someone called from the rider's seat.

  The door swung open and Erroll grimaced at sight of the brute, who lowered his head as he stepped from the coach. The man was even bigger than his voice suggested. However, the bigger they were, the harder they fell—though getting them to fall was a task he was getting too old to relish. Erroll glimpsed the bulge in the brute's pant leg at his ankle in the instant before the foot left the step and hit the ground. No good criminal went anywhere without a knife. That was Erroll's first piece of good luck tonight.

  The brute turned around. "My companion has a pistol pointed at you. So no funny business."

  Erroll canted his head in acknowledgement. So he now had to deal with a pistol. Not that he'd expected any different. However, he felt relatively certain the men weren’t experienced kidnappers. The cut of the brute's coat said he was no pauper. Not to mention, Erroll had never heard a criminal call his partner in crime 'my companion.' The brute's speech was more educated than the average gutter rat, which piqued Erroll's curiosity as to who their employer could be.

  The brute leaned into the doorway, untied Erroll's feet, then straightened and motioned him out. "Come on," he said.

  Erroll stepped from the carriage and recognized the deserted road. They were headed north from Manchester. It was a clear night with a full moon and the coach had been traveling at a good clip. By his calculations, they had probably traveled about fifteen miles. Chances were, they'd left the party no more than an hour and a half ago. The brute had agreed to allow Erroll to relieve himself, which meant they were far enough from their destination that the man knew Erroll wouldn't be able to wait.

  The brute made no move to untie his hands, and Erroll said, "My trousers are not going to open themselves and my cock will need to be pointed in the right direction."

  The man gave him a deprecating look and spun him around to face the carriage. Erroll realized he had bent to get the knife strapped to his ankle. He straightened then grasped Erroll's wrist and sawed at the ropes. Erroll glanced up at the driver who, as the brute had warned, held a pistol. The rope abruptly fell away and Erroll pivoted as he threw an uppercut to the brute's jaw. Erroll wrenched the knife free in unison with the crack of his fist against the man's face.

  The driver shouted "Oscar!" as the brute's head snapped back.

  Oscar drove a punch aimed for
Erroll's gut, but Erroll sidestepped the fist and jabbed twice at Oscar's nose. Erroll threw an arm around Oscar's neck and swung around behind him, jamming the knife point against his neck. Oscar froze.

  "Throw down the pistol," Erroll ordered the driver.

  The driver eyed Oscar, who said, "He won’t stab me."

  "But I will," Erroll said. "Only you will not die right away, maybe not at all—if you reach a doctor quickly enough." Erroll looked at the driver. "Throw down the pistol."

  The man tossed the weapon to the ground. Erroll shoved Oscar away from him, then took one step and scooped up the weapon.

  He stepped back and said to the driver, "Come down from there."

  The man complied and joined Oscar.

  "Now," Erroll said, "who hired you to kidnap me?"

  Neither man answered.

  "I am in no mood for games," Erroll warned.

  "I said this was a hair-brained idea," the driver said.

  "Quiet," the brute growled.

  "It would be best if you told me what this hair-brained idea is all about," Erroll said.

  "Best for who?" Oscar asked. "Not us."

  "I beg to differ." Erroll pulled back the pistol’s hammer.

  The brute gave a derisive snort. "You got one shot. The man left standing will kill you."

  "I am skilled with a knife," Erroll said, though he didn't think they would kill him. "However, the question is, are you two willing to wager that it will not be you I kill with my one shot?”

  "You won’t shoot us any sooner than you would stab me," Oscar said.

  Erroll lifted a brow. "Indeed? If that is the case, why haven’t you attempted to take the pistol from me?"

  "Because I don’t want to take a bullet, even if it is in the leg."

  "So I will wound you, but won’t kill you?" Erroll asked.

  The brute shrugged and Erroll couldn't help wondering if he wasn't getting old. There had been a time when no one at the opposite end of a pistol he held doubted he would shoot, if necessary.

  "Into the coach," Erroll ordered.

  The men exchanged a glance, then the brute asked, "Why?"

  "As you have deduced, I see no need to kill you—though wounding you wouldn't bother me in the least. I have no choice but to turn you over to the authorities. My father will see to it they discover who hired you to kidnap me."