The Seduction of Miss Amelia Bell

by Paula Quinn

  He stared at her for a moment, his jaw tightening around something he wanted to say. Something she guessed might not be kind. He looked away instead, pausing to think on his words.

  “Worse fer ye?” he asked quietly. “Do ye know what it means fer my country if they do?” He didn’t give her time to answer. “It means that there can never be another Catholic on the throne. The United Kingdom of Great Britain will become a Protestant kingdom and some of us will lose our right to pray as we see fit. We will lose our ancient independence and be swallowed up by England’s gaping jaws, just as Wales was.”

  For an instant, he almost gained her sympathy. She caught herself quickly though. “Ye waste words on me, Mr. MacGregor; no matter how passionately they fall from yer lips, they fall on deaf ears. I am acquainted with yer silver tongue in the most hurtful of ways.”

  He had the decency, at least, to lower his eyes and avoid her gaze.

  “I understand yer anger,” he told her. “Ye are entitled to it, but my cause is important to me and unfortunately, ye are the only one who can help it presently.”

  Presently, she didn’t give a damn about his cause, or any other cause where she was used as a pawn to gain advantage. But she was curious about his passion for it.

  “If the union is so bad why do Scots sign?”

  “After Scotland attempted and failed to become a world-trading nation, many noblemen lost everything. England promised them a return in coin for showing no more resistance to the treaty.”

  Amelia took it all in. Aye, it might be unwise to join with England, but it didn’t change the fact that he’d kissed her and emblazoned the indelible memory of his mouth forever into her heart. And then he covered her face with a rag and snatched her away.

  “Ye took me from my life. Do ye think I can fergive ye fer that?”

  His expression didn’t soften on her. “Nae, I don’t. But I’m not asking fer yer fergiveness.”

  Oh, she hated him! “Then we have nothing more to talk about, Mr. MacGregor.”

  “There is one more thing, Miss Bell,” he said. “Do ye love him?”

  “If I say I do, how terrible does that make me fer kissing ye?”

  “If ye say ye do,” he countered quietly, “how terrible does it make me fer wanting to kiss ye again anyway?”

  Saints help her and her traitorous body for the quiver through her belly and the breathless fluttering of her pitiful heart. She didn’t look at him but shielded her gaze beneath her lashes. “I don’t think Walter will go against my uncle and all of his supporters by renouncing the union.”

  “Then he is a fool.”

  She lifted her eyes to his again, hoping that his meaning wasn’t threatening. She didn’t want anyone to die because of her. Not even Walter. His solemn, sincere expression convinced her that it wasn’t.

  “If ye were mine,” he told her, “I might be tempted to give up everything to keep ye.”

  Amelia’s heart swelled with something that made her mouth go dry and her palms grow moist. He couldn’t mean it. Hadn’t he spoken pretty words to her last eve, all to get her away from her uncle and Walter? He deceived with the casual ease of the devil himself. He’d stood in Queensberry’s Great Hall and boldly presented himself as a lord from Essex when in truth he belonged to an outlawed clan.

  She offered him a frosty smile. “As I said, Mr. MacGregor, ye waste yer words on me. Do well fer both of us and spare me no more.”

  He drew in a deep, thoughtful breath, then smiled before he left her. “As ye wish.”

  Chapter Nine

  Edmund watched her from over the embers sparking above the flames. In the wavering firelight she looked like she had stepped out of his dreams; shimmering, warm, luminescent. She kept her fingers coiled around Sarah’s while her friend sat beside her and shared conversation with Malcolm and Darach. Edmund thought she might be trying to keep her friend from running off with Malcolm and doing things she might regret in the morning. She was, he decided, a good friend. When Luke sat on the other side of her, she offered him a practiced smile that turned more genuine in an instant when he smiled back at her.

  Edmund shifted in his spot, fighting a natural instinct to get up and go to her. She didn’t need his protection from Lucan, and he sure as hell had no claim over her. Part of him regretted taking her. If this brought her or her family shame, he was truly sorry. But he couldn’t…he wouldn’t turn back now. He’d never considered giving up his cause. He wouldn’t begin now. He would do well to remember that, no matter how her laughter, her kiss, her last words, pricked at his thoughts.

  He didn’t want her to hate him. If things went as planned they would be together in Ravenglade for some time. No use in spending that time fighting with her. She’d made it clear that she didn’t want to speak with him. Could he change her mind, soften her up just a bit?

  He studied her when she answered a question Luke put to her. He watched the way she veiled her eyes beneath her lashes, avoiding contact with him the way one did when she had secrets she feared might be revealed in her gaze—or because the sight of him repulsed her. Before long though, Luke’s naturally charming disposition coaxed her into what seemed to be a very enjoyable conversation. She even let go of Sarah’s hand.

  Leave it to the knight in shining armor to break the stone.

  Edmund could have sat where he was and watched the different nuances of her smiles for hours, remembering how her lips felt against his…but women fell for Luke fast and it wouldn’t do for any of them to form attachments that would only have to be broken later.

  He got up, not really knowing what to say before he covered the distance of the two steps it would take to reach her. He’d lied to her, stolen her away from her home, her family. She had every right to never forgive him. He would handle her anger with the respect she deserved and he’d failed to give her. He ran his fingers through his hair and paced before the fire. What the hell was the matter with him? She wasn’t the first lass he’d found to his liking. So what that her winsome smile played on his memory like a siren song beckoning him to follow her and win back her favor. Aye, the curl of her lips, the tilt of her nose, and the depth in her gaze made him want to take up painting to try to capture her image forever.

  He stopped his pacing and almost laughed out loud at himself. What the hell was he thinking? She was his enemy’s niece and he wasn’t some love-starved lackwit. He was the son and grandson of two of the most fearsome warriors the three kingdoms had ever known. He sure as hell wouldn’t grovel to a woman.

  He was about to turn back to his previous place by the fire when Luke stopped him.

  “Cousin, ye look perplexed and a bit agitated. What is it?”

  Edmund’s gaze settled on Amelia when she finally looked up at him. What did he see in those large sable depths? Hurt, insult, anger. He’d tricked her into liking him, trusting him, giving a tiny piece of herself to him, and then he’d stomped on the scant moments of happiness they shared. “Tell me the secret of making the lady smile. I’ve tried to no avail.”

  “There doesn’t seem to be a secret,” Luke told him. “The lady smiles quite easily.”

  “Aye?” Edmund asked, finally sitting beside them. “The memory of it fades in its absence.”

  “Ye kidnapped me, Mr. MacGregor,” she pointed out a bit tightly. “Before Lucan’s comforting assurances that none of ye will harm Sarah or me, I sat frightened fer our lives. Did ye expect smiles then?”

  Edmund didn’t think reminding her that he’d already made the assurance would make a difference. “Nae, of course not, Miss Bell. But now that ye’ve been properly comforted, mayhap ye will grace me, as ye did last eve, with a smile.”

  “Last eve, ye were someone else.”

  Looking a bit uncomfortable that he may overhear something he didn’t need to know, Luke leaned forward and addressed Edmund. “Let us return then to the topic that made her smile, cousin, aye? We were speaking of Henry Purcell.”

  “Ye have probably never he
ard of him,” Amelia said tersely. “He was an English composer who, while including French and Italian elements in his music, became famous for his distinctly English form of Baroque music.” She cut him a side glance accompanied by a barely concealed smirk. “Fergive me. ’Tis careless of me to think ye know what Baroque is. Shall I explain?”

  Edmund smiled at her. “Let me think. Does it not originate from the Portuguese word barroco, meaning ‘malformed pearl’? Is it not also a style of composition in music that is marked by expressive dissonance and elaborate ornamentation?”

  She looked so bonny in the firelight, her lovely lips parted and her extraordinary eyes large with stunned surprise and a wee bit of irritation. “That…that sounds correct.”

  He hadn’t seen this side of her. He was pleased to find her spirited and saucy. “And as fer Purcell,” he went on, turning his attention to the flames rather than grin at her with the satisfaction of knowing what she thought he didn’t know. “He wrote many musical dramas while holding royal appointments in Westminster and serving three kings. Some of his most notable works include King Arthur and my personal favorite, The Fairy-Queen.”

  “Blasphemous,” Lucan said, feigning disgust. “No drama is better than King Arthur.”

  “Ye know my affinity fer Shakespeare, Luke.” He turned back to Amelia. “Although The Fairy-Queen was more a masque than an opera, the libretto, written by an unknown author, was based on William Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

  She narrowed her eyes on him and sized him up with curiosity sparking her eyes. It made his blood sizzle. “Ye think ye’re quite clever, do ye not, Mr. MacGregor.”

  “Call me Edmund, please. We are not strangers and are in the company of friends.”

  She ignored his most charming smile. “What else are ye keeping from me?”

  He held out his arms. “Ask me what ye would know.”

  He got what he wanted. She smiled at him, though it was a smile hardened by a cool edge. “If only I could get the truth out of ye, I might be tempted.” She turned to Lucan. “Ye tell me. Ye, I trust.”

  Lucan bowed in his sitting position and did so impressively. Edmund rolled his eyes. His cousin took honor and knightly duties a wee bit too seriously.

  “He speaks four languages,” Luke began. “English, Gaelic, French, and Spanish.”

  She stared agape at Luke, then turned to Edmund and asked him in French if this was true. “Est-ce vrai?”

  “Non, il avait oublié l’italien.”

  “I am corrected,” Luke acknowledged. “He speaks five.”

  “I spent my days as a babe learning from my mother how to read in different languages,” he explained. “There was little else to do.”

  “Why was that?”

  He smiled at her firelit face. “Why was what?” He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud.

  “Why was there little else to do?”

  His smile remained as he looked into the crackling flames and contemplated telling her. He hadn’t thought of his days before Camlochlin in years. When he recalled his childhood, he always saw himself surrounded by men, women, and children who loved him. “I wasn’t born in Scotland, but in England.”

  “So, this is not even yer country then.”

  “Aye, ’tis. ’Tis my country by choice. The land of my heart because it pulled me from a dark, dreary mire and taught me how to live. I would give my life fer Scotland, fer my kin.”

  “Do ye have brothers or sisters?”

  He nodded. “I have a brother, Kyle, who is the same age as Darach, and a younger sister, Nichola. Everything I do, I do fer them, too. I’ll not have them live their lives afraid to proclaim their name or their faith.”

  She nodded, her eyes gleaming with hues of deep chestnut and warm sable. He felt like he had when they first met, captivated, a little distracted. He thought it a good sign that her smile had softened at some point during his short tale. She was enjoying his honesty and he found himself wanting to tell her more.

  “And yer father?” she asked him. “What did he teach ye?”

  Edmund’s smile widened, thinking of the man who raised him. “He taught me how to be brave and compassionate and how to fish.”

  Her smile softened for just an instant before it faded into something less friendly. “Intelligence, bravery, and a good fisherman…such nice qualities. Pity honesty is not among them.”

  Sitting close by and apparently catching their conversation, Darach laughed and Edmund remembered why so many inhabitants of Camlochlin took joy in beating the youngest Grant senseless. “His faither taught him that particular trait, as well. Colin MacGregor was a master at deceivin’ folks when he was a spy fer King James.”

  Edmund reached for a piece of dried meat left over from supper. He called for Grendel, then tossed the meat to Darach, close to his face. Very close. Grendel nearly snapped off Darach’s ear when he leaped for it.

  “Ye’re goin to wake up one day,” Darach warned, pale faced, “and find that mongrel thrown into the nearest loch.”

  “Ye would have to touch him to get him in the loch,” Edmund reminded him. Darach never touched Grendel, save to push him off when Grendel tried to play with him.

  “Ye’re correct. He’s even uglier than his faither, Aurelius.”

  “Watch yer mouth,” Edmund warned, half serious. “Leave Aurelius out of this.”

  “Who is Aurelius?” Amelia asked.

  “A dog,” Darach informed her. “This mongrel’s sire.”

  Grendel sat on his haunches, barked in Darach’s face, then commenced panting, his large brown eyes never leaving the young Highlander.

  Darach tried to ignore the beast but finally conceded and got up and left. Lucan also left them and followed after Malcolm and Sarah when they would have wandered into the shadows beyond the trees. He stopped them, pulling Malcolm to the side. Edmund watched for a moment, making a mental note to speak to both his cousins. But not now.

  “So yer father is a spy?”

  He turned to Amelia and did his best to keep his thoughts off kissing her in the soft glow of the moonlight, beneath the shadow of Michelangelo’s David. “Was.”

  She shifted her legs beneath her and folded her arms around herself. “He must have been exceptional at deceit in order to have served the king.”

  “Are ye cold, lass?”

  “Just a bit.”

  He sprang to his feet and retrieved a blanket from his saddlebag. He returned to the fire and draped the blanket around her shoulders. She thanked him, cutting her gaze to his but offering him no more smiles.

  “Did ye learn how to lie to others so easily from him?”

  Edmund wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or beat Darach senseless for mentioning his father and his prior service to the king.

  “My father did what he believed was best fer the kingdom, as I do. And he didn’t lie to me or my mother once he decided to save us.”

  She turned to him now, her profile shimmering against the firelight. “What did he save ye from?”

  Would she look down her nose at him if she knew he was born a bastard? His parents had always told him there was no shame in his heritage. They certainly never made him feel anything but adored and accepted. Sometimes though, he did feel set apart, an emotion he’d created himself. Mayhap it was the driving force of his passion to offer something back to Scotland for what she did for him. He owed her and the MacGregors something.

  He smiled at himself. He wasn’t a bastard and she wouldn’t look down on him. Not this lass, who defied her parents because her best friend was a servant.

  “My mother bore me out of wedlock and as punishment her father sent her off to live in seclusion with her cousin the Earl of Devon at the edge of the Dart estuary.”

  Her eyes narrowed on him and he immediately found himself enjoying the intelligent glint in them. Edmund wondered if her future husband appreciated his spirited soon-to-be wife.

  “The Earl of Essex’s nephew is the Earl of D
evon,” she pointed out. When he nodded, she folded her arms around herself and studied him. “So ye weren’t being completely untruthful back in Edinburgh, then. Yer mother is the daughter of Lord Essex?”

  “Aye, but I hold no title. I haven’t seen my grandfather since I was a babe of four.” He told her of Colin MacGregor and how the man who became his father had taught him how to fight monsters in the night and to trust that no matter how big or powerful those monsters were, they could be vanquished with courage, determination, skill, and an army of kin at his back.

  Before he knew how, hours had passed and Amelia Bell knew more about his life than any lass before her. Even the ones living in Camlochlin.

  “Yer monster is the Treaty of Union, isn’t it?” she guessed later when his voice finally grew quiet.

  “Aye.”

  “Will ye do whatever it takes to stop it?”

  “Aye.”

  “Even kill my uncle or the chancellor?”

  He flicked his gaze to the fire. He didn’t want to lie to her again.

  When she laid a trembling hand on his arm, he looked down at it. “I would ask ye to be merciful and honorable and promise me that ye will not kill them.”

  How could he promise her that? If things came to fighting, he intended on living. He was surprised at how much she loved the chancellor that she would beg for his life. The way they had danced, the way she held him, kissed him…she couldn’t love the chancellor as much as she claimed. Then he realized that she hadn’t claimed anything. Her father had.

  “I will try fer yer sake not to let it come to that.”

  “Ye have my thanks fer that.” Her voice was quiet and she rose to her feet. “Good night, Mr. MacGregor.”

  “Good night, Miss Bell,” he answered, watching her walk away.

  Chapter Ten

  He’s a strange one,” Sarah whispered beneath the thick woolen plaid she’d been given to keep her warm for the night.