The Seduction of Miss Amelia Bell

by Paula Quinn

  “Mr. Grant?” Amelia whispered back. She guessed if she were giving her full attention to Sarah, she would have known whom her friend was talking about. But her full attention was occupied somewhere else.

  “Nae, Lucan MacGregor.” As if speaking his name held some intangible power over her, Sarah pushed the edge of her blanket down around her neck and swept her gaze down her nose and over the clearing, seeking the one of whom she spoke.

  Amelia allowed herself to do the same, since Sarah was already looking and all. The truth was she hadn’t been able to get Edmund out of her thoughts since she left him over an hour ago. She was still angry as hell with him for deceiving her, kidnapping her, and setting her life to ruin, and she hated herself for finding such interest in his life, but she couldn’t forget how utterly thrilling it felt being held in his arms that night while they danced. Or how deliciously scandalous it felt kissing him.

  Getting a slanted, slightly distorted glance at him sitting around the fire with the other men wasn’t going to help her unwelcome obsession with him, but she wanted another look at him just the same.

  He laughed quietly—thoughtfully, she realized, when he turned his head to look at where she lay with Sarah. She yanked the blanket back over her face and held her breath.

  “He knows we were not asleep, Amelia.”

  “It doesn’t matter. If they see us watching them they will think we fancy them.”

  “What’s so terrible about that? Ye fancy Edmund,” Sarah accused.

  Amelia’s mouth fell open. “How can ye think that? Sarah, he kidnapped us!” she protested in a hushed tone. “Do ye realize what my mother will say? Or if the Highlanders have their way, how I will disgrace my father? Not to mention they may still kill us and leave us by the side of the road! How can ye think I could fancy him?”

  “Don’t be a fool, Amelia. They aren’t going to kill us.”

  “They’re Highlanders, Sarah! Who knows what they will do? Well, Edmund is not truly a Highlander. But the others are.”

  Sarah pulled the blanket down past her eyes and examined the clearing again. “Och, my love, but Edmund is a Highlander, and nothing less.”

  Try as she might not to, Amelia had to peek.

  He sat at a certain angle that positioned him directly under a thread of pale silver moonlight. It gave him the appearance of being carved from marble. In contrast, the golden firelight softly defined the cut of his classically masculine profile and illuminated the burnished waves about his forehead like a halo.

  She turned to her friend. Did Sarah see it, too? He was simply breathtaking. She had to quit looking or his memory when she left him, if she lived, that is, would haunt her. She buried herself back under her blanket, but he was still with her. She thought about the story he’d told her of his upbringing. The MacGregors had given him much; freedom, vast heather-lined meadows of it. He’d smiled when he spoke of his very first friendship with a puppy called Aurelius that taught him loyalty and steadfastness. She envied his adventures with Malcolm and Lucan—though Lucan’s family had remained at their ancestral Campbell Keep in Glen Orchy for a number of years after William took the throne. He’d grown to manhood with the sons and grandsons of great warriors. Scotland and the MacGregors had given him much indeed. It was no surprise that he was so passionate about saving them from England.

  He still looked like David, sublime, unconquerable, unafraid of giants…or monsters.

  Walter and her uncle had an army behind them, but then, so had Goliath. What would happen when they came together? Who would die? Of course, she didn’t want her uncle or Walter to perish. She didn’t love Walter. But she didn’t want Edmund to kill him. There had to be a way to save them but she couldn’t think of anything now. Not with Edmund in her head…and a cold, wet nose in her back.

  “I am not afraid of ye, Grendel,” she whispered, pushing him away. “Give me some room,” she demanded when he didn’t budge.

  Honestly, what kind of beast was Grendel? Edmund had told her that he was the son of Aurelius, but surely no mother, not even a Highland one, would allow her child to play with the creature that spawned this beast.

  “What is strange about him?” she asked Sarah to get her mind off an uninvited Highlander and his devil-hound.

  “Who?”

  “Lucan MacGregor,” Amelia reminded her. “Ye said he was a strange one. I find him very appealing.”

  “More appealin’ than yer Edmund?”

  “No one is more appealing than he.” She didn’t know why she admitted it; most likely because it was to Sarah, and Sarah knew everything about her. Perhaps, if she confessed to thinking him desirable, he would cease plaguing her. Besides, in the darkness beneath the blanket, her friend couldn’t see the fire blazing Amelia’s cheeks and bubbling up in her belly. “Of course, it doesn’t matter what else I think of him, which is very little, I assure ye. I am promised to another and he is—”

  “More virile than the chancellor is on his best day.”

  Amelia would have argued with her, but what was the point when Sarah was correct?

  “He kissed me.” She held her breath as Sarah gasped. They clasped hands, careful of Amelia’s sore fingers. She wanted to tell Sarah everything.

  “Och Amelia, when? Why did ye not tell me? How was it?”

  Amelia closed her eyes, remembering, smiling. She would be logical in the morning. Tonight, she didn’t want to think about consequences; a fault her mother would tell her was nothing unusual…or acceptable.

  “’Twas divine. Never have I been kissed so.” She sighed and then pulled the blanket down to have another look at him.

  She didn’t have to look far. Edmund stood over her, smiling like he’d heard everything. Amelia quickly realized that he had. Unlike Sarah, he had a perfect view of her flushed face.

  “What…” She swallowed, mortified at what she had said, and took a moment to begin again. “What are ye doing standing over us? What if we were sleeping? Ye would have frightened poor Sarah to death if she—” Her face twisted with pain when Sarah poked her hard in the side.

  “Ye know I don’t frighten that easily, Amelia.”

  Amelia glared at her while Sarah turned her most radiant smile on Edmund.

  “Don’t mind her, m’ lord,” Sarah cooed. “We weren’t sleepin’.”

  “I know,” Edmund confessed with a grin that would likely cause Amelia a se’nnight of tossing and turning in her bed. “I wanted to make certain ye were both comfortable before the rest of us go to sleep.”

  “I would love it if ye would remove yer dog from my back. I don’t mind sharing my patch of ground with him but he’s gangly. As we speak one of his paws is pressed into my spine.”

  Amelia was impressed at how quickly Grendel sprang up at Edmund’s softly spoken command that the beast go someplace else. She also felt terrible watching the mongrel slip away into the shadows beyond the fire. He turned to look at her just before he blended in with the darkness. She thought she heard a low whimper.

  “Luke is taking first watch if ye need anything.”

  Amelia returned her gaze to Edmund and wondered if he thought her overly pampered and spoiled. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to sleep with a dog, it was because…

  Edmund bid them good night and turned to walk away.

  Amelia sat up, wanting to stop him from leaving just yet. Why? Did she care that much what he thought of her? She barely knew him and what she did know wasn’t all that favorable. He was an outlaw from an outlawed clan. He’d kidnapped her from her home and if that wasn’t bad enough, he did so directly after he kissed her. He’d threatened harm to her uncle’s life and to the life of the lord chancellor. What then did it matter what he thought of her? But it did matter. Perhaps because somewhere deep down she didn’t believe that he was cruel or callous, the way MacGregors were rumored to be. No merciless barbarian could take such pity on her while he mended her fingers.

  “Mr. MacGregor?” She stopped him before she could giv
e herself a good reason why.

  He turned and managed to scatter her thoughts with a mere slant of his lips. “Edmund,” he corrected.

  She sighed and nodded, thankful for the extra moment to come up with a valid question for why she’d stopped him from leaving. “How did ye come by the name Grendel? I’ve never heard of it before.”

  “’Tis a name taken from an epic Anglo Saxon poem.”

  “About a hero of that name?” She almost smiled, guessing she was correct. Edmund was a patriot, loyal to Scotland’s cause. Men like him sought heroes to remember.

  “Nae, lass. Beowulf was the hero of that tale, Grendel was the fiend he slew.”

  “Fiend?” she asked quietly, looking into the shadows where Grendel had disappeared. Certainly the dog was no fiend. Aye, he was a beast, huge and furry, but…“Why would ye name him after a monster?”

  Amelia’s heart pounded violently when he made his way back to her. He squatted at her side, close enough for her to smell the scents of moss and burned wood on his plaid. His eyes, level with hers, appeared dark and fathomless in the dim light, tempting her to fall into them, to lose herself there, forget her father, Walter, everyone, save him. When he spoke, his voice caressed her in layers of sultry, spine-tingling warmth.

  “He hates music.”

  She blinked out of the spell he’d cast over her. “What?”

  “My dog. He hates music. His namesake hated it and became a fiend by killing men who pained his ears with their music.”

  It wasn’t a humorous story, but she found herself wanting to smile nevertheless. “But he’s a dog! How can he hate music? I don’t believe it.”

  Edmund shrugged his shoulders. “Sing to him and find out.”

  “Will he tear at my throat then?” she challenged him, not believing the dog would harm her at all.

  “That depends on how poorly ye sing.”

  “I sang fer the queen last spring and she voiced no complaints.”

  “I heard she has a deaf ear. Be assured that Grendel does not.”

  Against her better judgment, Amelia laughed and gave him a playful slap, then squeezed her eyes shut and brought her sore fingers to her lips. She opened her eyes an instant later when he took her hand tenderly in his and brought it to his lips.

  “I should beat Darach senseless fer letting ye fall off his horse.”

  “I…I…” Oh, hell, what was she about to say? She had no idea. His warm mouth on her fingers thrilled the thoughts right out of her head. Still, she didn’t want him to be angry with Darach. “I’ve fallen before. It wasn’t his fault.”

  “Ye will ride with me from here on out. I’ll not let ye fall.”

  She shook her head. That was a terrible idea. She didn’t want to ride with him, feeling his body so close to hers. She didn’t want to like him or think him kind. He wasn’t. Everything he did, he did for a purpose. For Scotland. What would become of her and Sarah at this Ravenglade they spoke of? Would he ever let them go? What if her uncle signed the treaty? What would happen to her and Sarah then?

  “Sleep now.” He pulled the blanket up to her neck as she lay back down. “Ye’ll be safe.”

  “He’s verra charming.”

  Amelia closed her eyes at the sound of Sarah’s voice.

  “I can see how ye let yerself be fooled by him.”

  Amelia nodded. She would have to be more careful in the future. He’d abducted her. At this very moment her poor father was likely worried sick. That thought gave her the momentum she needed to continue disliking him.

  She looked around the campsite. Everyone was lying down and still, save for Lucan. A forest creature scurried by her and nearly startled her out of her skin. She’d never slept out in the open before. Another sound from the shadows set her to prayer. Where was Grendel? She was sorry she’d had Edmund chase him away.

  Perhaps she could get him to return. She whistled softly, drawing Lucan’s attention and thankfully the dog’s, as well. This time when Grendel lumbered toward her, tail wagging, she invited him under the cover with her.

  She realized an instant later that her invitation might have been a mistake.

  He smelled.

  But he was big, and warm, and fierce looking. She felt safe lying next to him. She petted his head. Grendel. Not a fiend at all. She decided to put Edmund’s words to the test, certain that he’d been teasing her. She’d never heard of a dog hating music.

  She began to hum.

  Grendel began to howl. And oh, if he had simply howled like a normal dog, it wouldn’t have been so bad. His cries were agonized, loud, and harrowing. He didn’t stop, even after everyone in the camp woke up and the sun rose over the hills.

  Amelia felt terrible for everyone, even Grendel. She tried not to think about it too much while they made their way into Perth. Twice though, after Darach yawned, he turned to cast her a dark, accusing glance. She caught Malcolm offering her a pitying look and she guessed Sarah had told him about the unfortunate incidents that accompanied her.

  Her mother blamed the incidents on Amelia’s lack of self-control; her father chose to simply ignore whatever catastrophe she caused and paid for the damage without uttering a word to her about it. Dear Alice—and goodness but Amelia missed her—always assured her that her season of misfortune would end. No one but her uncle had ever declared what Amelia believed the trouble was.

  Ill fortune followed her everywhere she went. Calamity plagued her, sometimes making her feel utterly hopeless, completely discouraged that anything wonderful would ever happen in her life. Most of the time she fought through her frustration and made the most out of what was given her, but everyone at home knew the truth. She was bad luck.

  Unfortunately Edmund and his band of fearless, though tired, warriors were about to find out just how bad.

  Chapter Eleven

  Nothing moved beneath the pewter sky save for the four Highlanders, their large swords drawn. Seated in front of Edmund on his horse, Amelia felt a breeze cool the flesh of her nape, and it chilled her to the bone with foreboding. Grendel’s low snarl rumbled in the morning silence.

  They’d reached Ravenglade shortly after sunrise to find the castle drawbridge closed.

  “Should the mercenaries ye hired be lowering the bridge by now?” Edmund asked Malcolm.

  “Mayhap they fergot what ye look like?” Luke added, calming the restless stallion between his legs.

  Malcolm shook his head. “The bastards know me well enough. If they dinna’ answer m’ call then they’re dead.”

  As if to validate his statement, a crow cried out, breaking the ominous quiet.

  Edmund wheeled his mount around, already looking for a safe place to deposit Amelia. “Buchanans?”

  Malcolm nodded, following him with Sarah perched in his lap. “Aye. Buchanans.”

  An arrow pierced the air between Darach and Malcolm and hit a nearby tree with a loud thump. Everything happened quickly after that. The morning erupted with the sounds of Grendel’s loud barking and the thunder of horses approaching from every direction.

  Within seconds, Edmund and Malcolm left the women in a cluster of nearby bushes, ordering them to stay put. Grendel was also commanded to stay where he was, close to Amelia.

  The Highlanders moved in unison, defending every side against the approaching riders. Edmund’s stallion rose up on its hind legs while he cocked his bow, aimed, and fired.

  A man went down! Amelia shook while her blood seared her veins. This was real. And more men were coming. She had heard tales of the strength of Highlanders in battle, but she’d never seen it before today.

  She prayed to God never to see it again.

  Metal clashed against metal in a grinding symphony of chaos and sparks. She turned away from the death she knew was coming for the fighters. She didn’t want to see Edmund or his kin fall. She didn’t want to think of what would become of her and Sarah if they did.

  She felt like she was in a dream when Grendel broke free of her and raced into th
e fray, forcing her to gaze in their direction just as the skies tore open and poured rain down in icy sheets. The torrent distorted the air, but Amelia could make out Edmund and the others swinging their heavy claymores with terrifying accuracy. She thought she could smell blood, or perhaps because there was so much of it, she just thought the scent was saturating the heavy air. She tried to turn away again but she felt like she was no longer in control of her body. She watched, horrified and mesmerized, covering her ears at the screams of dying men.

  She felt her heart pitch in her chest when she lost sight of Edmund. What would she do if he died? Would Malcolm and the others bring her and Sarah back to Edinburgh? Would Edmund’s face, his smile, his kiss, haunt her for the remainder of her days? He came back into her vision a moment later, much to her traitorous relief, his sword flashing beneath a charge of lightning puncturing the clouds. Her gaze followed him as he yanked back his reins, heaving the stallion to an upward halt—high enough to place him above a man swinging an ax from his saddle. Amelia closed her eyes as the hooves of Edmund’s horse came back down, crushing bone and silencing his opponent’s battle cry.

  It was difficult to tell how many men fought against the four, but numbers didn’t matter. They were no match for the MacGregors and Grants. Edmund’s claymore struck with merciless precision. Amelia watched, helpless and sick to her stomach from the carnage around her, but she managed a shout of warning to Edmund when another rider approached from behind. Engaged in battle with two men in front of him, he couldn’t turn to defend himself.

  He didn’t have to. The attacker spun in his saddle to glare at the bushes where she and Sarah hid. He kicked his horse’s flanks and lifted his heavy ax over his shoulder as he rode toward them.

  Amelia clutched Sarah and shrank back. He was coming! He was going to kill them! But the man didn’t waste time riding to them. He flung the ax and waited while it flew straight for her.

  Lucan came at him from his left, passing the bush on his horse, putting himself in their path. The ax flew end over end and then hit something hard, stopping before it reached them.