The Seduction of Miss Amelia Bell

by Paula Quinn

  “Aye, ye care that she marries one of the most powerful men in Scotland. Not because it’s what she wants, but because it will benefit yer place in society. Aren’t I correct, Millicent? Ye’ve always been hard on her, but after she caught the chancellor’s eye, ye scrutinized everything she did, every move she made, even more than before, until ye likely have pushed her into the arms of a Highlander!”

  Millicent looked so stunned and wounded that John almost relented and left her alone. But then she opened her mouth and he changed his mind. “With her natural tendency for disaster, her unladylike outbursts of laughter, and other emotions she has yet to learn to restrain, much like her father, not to mention her close alliance with a servant, could you blame me for worrying and trying to oversee her actions?”

  “Aye, I could blame ye, but I blame myself as well, fer not getting her away from ye sooner.” He had nothing more to say to her and stormed away, leaving her to look after him, speechless.

  He entered the camp feeling like a new man.

  “Bell.” The duke barely looked up from a missive he was reading when John entered his tent. “Where’s my sister?”

  John didn’t care where she was. He wasn’t going to let another instant go by. He glanced at Seafield, who was sitting in a chair by the small table. “Are we going to get my daughter, or is her betrothed striking his proposal?” He turned to look more fully at the chancellor. “If so, I agree to it being stricken.”

  “John.” His brother-in-law looked up.

  “I’m her father,” John reminded him. If he refused to give Amelia to Seafield, no one could force him.

  “Lord Bell.” Seafield snapped up from his chair. “If I’ve given you cause to doubt my love and devotion for your daughter, I beg your forgiveness. Let me do whatever I must to prove to you that she means everything to me?”

  John looked into his eyes. “Go get her.”

  Amelia set the last cup in place on the long table in Ravenglade’s Great Hall and stepped back to admire their work. She, Sarah, and Henrietta had stayed up all night preparing a French feast for Darach’s breakfast. While Amelia learned how to make chocolate mousse tarts, crème brûlée, and basil salmon pâté that almost made Amelia cry it tasted so good, Henrietta talked about coming to know the Grants, and later, the MacGregors. She told them about Edmund’s and Malcolm’s parents, and hearing about them, Amelia felt closer to the outlawed family. She already loved Luke, Darach, and even Malcolm.

  How would she ever leave them? Leave Edmund? The time was coming. It was just outside the door. How could she marry Walter knowing what he may have done, what kind of man he may truly be? She hadn’t told Edmund about the dead woman in Walter’s life. Oh, how she wished her father had come with the army. How she wished she could speak to him. If he knew about Walter would he…And even if he did, Edmund would always be her family’s enemy. No, she wouldn’t think of it today. They had until at least tomorrow to forget the army that had come for her. Today they were celebrating Darach’s being home. He’d arrived last night, looking quite well save for the fading bruises on his face and the smell of hay and other barn odors saturating his clothes. Amelia hadn’t realized how worried she’d been until she saw him and felt the overwhelming relief of his safety and shared the joy of his laughter.

  She looked at the table now, arrayed with hot, scrumptious dishes, big cups of warm honey mead, and two huge vases filled with bluebells and beautiful purple ling heather, obtained from the rolling hills just beyond Ravenglade’s village.

  “He comes!” Sarah called out from the entryway, then ran to stand with Amelia and Etta at the table.

  They watched him enter the Great Hall, clean and beaming from ear to ear when he saw the table; Amelia caught Edmund’s eye from his place beside his cousin and she smiled, pleased when the four big men entering the Hall closed their eyes and inhaled the delicious aromas of breakfast.

  “Is that crème brûlée?” Darach asked, his voice quavering for the first time since Amelia had known him. “I love ye,” he told Henrietta when she told him it was.

  “The ladies helped me prepare it,” the gracious cook told him.

  He tossed Amelia and Sarah a grateful look. “I would kiss ye both but I dinna’ want Edmund and Cal to accuse me of stealin’ their women.”

  “Alas,” Malcolm pined, “Luke already stole Sarah from me.”

  Darach winked at Sarah while he passed her to take a seat at the table. “I knew ye were an intelligent lass.”

  “Amazing,” Lucan said, taking a seat. “What did they do to ye in that barn to make ye compliment me?”

  “Presently.” Darach closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He groaned and reached for a tart. “I would compliment even that hideously homely dog that has taken up Grendel’s place at Edmund’s heels.”

  “Ye see?” Edmund glanced at Amelia while he dipped his bread into the brûlée. “I told ye to poison his tarts.”

  “Oh, we don’t have to go to such extremes, do we?” she asked, slipping into the chair closest to Darach. She rested her chin on her hand and smiled at him when he looked up, chewing.

  “Her name is Gazardiel. We call her Gaza.”

  “Who?” he asked, taking another bite.

  “Our new dog.”

  He cast Edmund a questioning look, then returned to his food.

  “She used to belong to Alistair Buchanan.” She nodded when the dawning light shone in his eyes. “Did ye see Alistair there?”

  “Nae, lass, I saw only William.”

  “No one else?”

  He looked at her. She quirked her eyebrow at him.

  “There was no one else. May I commence eatin’, then?”

  “Edmund and the others told us that there was a girl at William’s side who caught and held yer eye.”

  “So? I catch and hold the attention of many women.”

  “Nae, Darach, she caught yers. This one was…Edmund”—she turned to him—“who did ye say told ye that she was the chief’s sister?”

  “The chief himself as we were leaving, and I invited them here for supper.”

  “Ah, aye.” She graced him with a smile she longed to bestow on him for the rest of her life. “Now I remember. Janet is her name.”

  “Whose name?” Darach asked.

  Amelia blinked, turning back to him. “Janet’s.”

  Across the table, Edmund smiled.

  “What the hell are ye talkin’ aboot, lass?”

  “Very well, let me be clear.” She moved forward and patted Darach’s arm. “We all want to know about this Janet, who, according to Luke, quipped about ye being impotent in her barn.”

  Sarah’s laughter made the rest of them laugh with her. Darach kept right on eating.

  “He has nae shame,” Malcolm noted, then swigged his drink.

  “Shame fer bein’ shackled?” he asked, moving on to the brûlée. “That’s what she meant.”

  “Then ye do know her.”

  “Aye, ye brought her back to m’ memory. Janet Buchanan, a she-devil whose purpose on this earth is to make men wish they were never born. She’s pig-headed and prideful and merciless. She stitched my brow withoot a drop of whisky to dull the pain.”

  “Hell, ye didna’ weep, did ye?” Malcolm asked, digging into the salmon. “I mean, the lass stuck ye with a needle. I’m no’ certain one can recover from that.”

  “I didna’ piss m’self like ye did when Luke sealed that wound on yer shoulder last spring.”

  “He sealed it with a red-hot brand,” Malcolm reminded him. “Ye would have fainted like a woman.”

  “Ha!” Darach countered. “I’ll let ye cut me later and then let ye seal it with an iron just fer sport.”

  Amelia rolled her eyes when Edmund and Luke joined in on the conversation, jeering at one another and their weaknesses—which, of course, they all denied having. Was this what all Highlanders were like?

  Grendel sat up on his haunches and growled. He waited a moment, ears perked, and then g
alloped out of the Hall. Edmund immediately stood from his chair and followed, knowing his dog well and knowing that something was amiss. Gaza took off after him. The Hall was silent for a moment. Amelia was about to leave her chair to find Edmund when Grendel’s resonating bark shattered the morning peace.

  Luke, Malcolm, and Darach were the next out, ordering the ladies to stay put. The ladies didn’t.

  She heard Edmund’s shout like a rushing wind, bringing calamity and heartbreak.

  “’Tis the duke! He’s arrived.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Edmund,” Amelia said, heart racing, mouth dry, while she followed him between the garrison and the Hall as he gathered his weapons. Her uncle’s army was camped well beyond the gate and drawbridge and out of range of any arrows or cannons, which Ravenglade did not have. “I don’t want ye to die, Edmund. Ye must let me go.”

  He stopped moving and turned around to her, taking her in his arms. “I don’t know if I can, Amelia.” He looked deep into her eyes and she saw his purpose and his love for Scotland and for her fired from within. He must choose between the two desires of his heart. He couldn’t win them both.

  And what of her? She too fought a battle in which she knew the outcome—she would lose—but still had to fight, else her father would lose along with her, because of her.

  “What about ye, Amelia?” he asked her. “Do ye truly want to go back? Tell me yer heart and I will honor it, if I must.”

  Of course she didn’t want to go back. She had to go back. Was she supposed to abandon her father? God help her, could she?

  “But Edmund, what about the Union with England?” she asked him and felt a tear drop from her eye onto her cheek. “What about all ye’ve done? Could ye abandon it all?”

  “There’s nothing more to do,” he told her. “I’ll always fight fer Scotland’s freedom. Whether ’tis now or five years from now, I’ll fight with the rest, but in the meantime, I want to live my life with ye. I’ll do what I must to bring ye with me to Skye, but I know the sacrifice ye’d be making and I need to know if ye want to make it.”

  Oh, she wanted it. What if what he must do meant killing her uncle? Walter? It would save her from her obligation to wed the latter.

  Dear Lord, she gasped. She was becoming as savage as her beloved.

  Tears slipped over her cheeks and he wiped them away gently. She would never be happy with any man, save him. She would never love another man, especially not Walter. Leaving Edmund meant sentencing her to a life of misery, but staying with him meant ruining her father. Her heart broke with the decision she had to make.

  “I must go back, Edmund.”

  She thought she would weep for a year without ceasing at the memory of his eyes on her at that moment. She wished he knew her father so that it might help him understand why she couldn’t leave him powerless in the hands of her uncle. ’Twas her father who brought her through her childhood a happy, well-minded lady. Without him, living under the weight of her mother’s heavy words after the accident with her mad cousin, she would have crumbled and become a very dark, sad little girl.

  “We’ll speak more about this later,” Edmund said, bringing her attention back to him.

  He left before she could say anything else. She watched him leave. Would he let her go? He’d told her that he hadn’t signed his ransom letter. He hadn’t planned on fighting an army. Four men had no chance and no hope against a regiment. How long could they stay here? How much food was left? And when the two sides finally met, would she watch Edmund die? Panic sapped her strength. She had to do something. The army was here for her.

  “The entrance is secure,” Lucan called out when Edmund entered the inner bailey. He met Sarah on his way back and took her by the hand. “Tell Etta, we may be needing boiled tar and a source of fire.”

  “Ye four cannot hold them back fer long,” Sarah spoke her fears out loud as Amelia entered the inner bailey.

  “Just until we figure something out,” Lucan promised. “Don’t fear, lady. My cousins and I have gotten out of worse circumstances than this. Have we not, Edmund?”

  “Aye,” Edmund agreed. “We have.”

  Lord, how could they remain so calm, so confident, when they clearly would not see victory? Amelia wanted to weep for them, but they would find insult in it. They were proud and loyal to one another to a fault. Not one of them suggested the obvious: send her out. Lower the drawbridge and get rid of her and get the hell on with their lives.

  It didn’t matter whose fault it was, trouble followed her. And in this case, it came to the Highlanders in the form of the Royal Damn Army.

  “We will see to what ye need,” Sarah promised and hurried along.

  Amelia went with her. She would figure out how to convince Edmund that he had to return her. She didn’t want them all to die because of her. She would never let it happen.

  “Sarah spoke true, Edmund. We cannot hope to hold them off fer long.”

  “Aye, I know, Cal.”

  “How long d’ye think ’twill take Darach to return with reinforcements?”

  “A day, mayhap two.”

  Many clans in Scotland, Lowland ones included, were against the treaty and had already pledged their lives to fighting it. Stopping Queensberry was vital, and the MacGregors and Grants had him and his army sitting in one place, not suspecting resistance from behind. Darach needed to recruit those men now and bring as many as he could back.

  They had lowered him from a window on the north face of the castle. With its boggy terrain and where the deepest part of the moat met the widest, no one was stationed there. Of course, it meant that Darach would have a difficult swim, but he had done it. By now, he was on his way to the next village.

  “The Murrays and the Gordons will come fer certain.”

  Edmund agreed.

  They stood together on the western side of the battlements with Luke holding the eastern wall. A light rain had begun to fall, making the walls slippery if anyone thought to climb them. No one did, for they would have to swim across the moat first, and Malcolm never cleaned the moat.

  “I was careful not to pen any mention of who we were or in which direction we were heading with Amelia.” Edmund racked his brain for the hundredth time, trying to understand how the duke had found them. He’d written only that he’d taken Amelia and if the treaty was signed, he would kill her.

  “’Twillna’ be enough fer them to have her back.” Malcolm slicked his dark hair back to keep the rain from his eyes. “They will want our blood.”

  “I know.”

  “So dinna’ return her. Use her.”

  Edmund looked up from across the moat. “As far as we’ve heard, the treaty hasn’t yet been signed. As long as we have her, there’s still time fer him to stop it.”

  Malcolm smiled. “Ye’ve thought this through already.”

  “’Twill buy us more time to figure out a way to escape.”

  “Is that the reason?” Malcolm asked him skeptically. “Or is it that even she canna’ tear ye from Scotland, yer true love?”

  Edmund shook his head and returned his attention to the army below. But he said nothing. He could not deny that he pondered ways to still save his country. Scotland had saved him, after all. But he had begun to doubt that Scotland was his true love. Amelia had stolen that title. He would do anything to keep them all alive. But for her, he would surrender anything, his life or his country. She didn’t want to hurt her father and she was willing to sentence herself to a miserable life and a loveless marriage to the chancellor to prevent bringing shame on the Bell name. Edmund understood, and if the treaty was dissolved, he would honor his word. If it wasn’t…

  “Should we keep waitin’ fer him, or send word first?”

  Edmund found the duke among the men, doing what cowards tended to do—staying far behind his lines. “I’ll get my quill.” He sighed and set off to see his word done.

  A short while later he returned with a missive of their terms. He rolled it, then
tied it to one of Malcolm’s arrows, lit the back on fire, and watched his cousin shoot it.

  “Did ye remember to tell him that I enjoyed his wife?” Malcolm asked him.

  “I’m saving that fer later.”

  “Mary, I believe is her name.”

  “Hell.” Edmund laughed and shook his head at him. “Do ye speak in earnest? Is there a woman ye didn’t sleep with in Queensberry?”

  “At least two.” Malcolm winked at him. “I knew Luke was attracted to Sarah. But I tell ye, cousin, ye’re fortunate to have met yer Amelia before I did.”

  “Mayhap if ye had, we would not all be in this quandary.”

  Malcolm shoved him away. “Dinna’ doubt what we did now. We did what we did fer Scotland.”

  Aye, and it put Amelia, all of them, in danger. He said nothing but rested his hand on Grendel’s head and scratched him behind the ears.

  The worst thing about being stuck in a castle was the waiting. The only strategic defense at Ravenglade was the drawbridge. If this were Camlochlin, cannons would have already been fired. His kin didn’t need a moat and drawbridge when there were hundreds of men able to fight and only one direction from which to approach the castle.

  “Ye need cannons.”

  “To use against whom”—Malcolm glanced at him—“the Buchanans?”

  Before Edmund could answer, they spotted a fiery arrow sailing toward them. Before it struck a wall and fell harmlessly to the ground, Luke joined them and waited while Malcolm went to fetch it.

  “Well, let’s hear what he has to say then, shall we,” Malcolm said, taking up the arrow and unrolling the missive attached to it.

  “Gentlemen,” he read out loud. “What ye demand is impossible. Actions regarding the great Treaty of Union are already set in motion and canno’ be stopped, nor do I wish them to be. Ye have m’ niece, Miss Amelia Bell. Ye have one hour to release her, unharmed, or I will set m’ men loose on Ravenglade. I do no’ care how many soldiers accompany ye, none will survive.”

  Malcolm looked up from the note. “He’s an arrogant bastard,” he said before continuing on.