by L. L. Muir
Perhaps he was mad.
Mad to look for her when she obviously did not want to be caught. Mad to follow Blue Brian’s information. Mad not to walk away from the chase, like he’d walked away from the stowaway, walked away from all those Englishmen wanting his help.
But could he truly walk away from Mallory? Could he swallow his pride and accept the fact that she didn’t want him? That his kisses were not enough for her?
Such a silly woman, to want a pirate’s treasure so desperately to go hunting for it. A kiss from a pirate, was she mad? What pirate would settle for only a kiss from such a beauty? What pirate would let her go afterward, when she was clearly worth a hefty ransom?
Certainly not this Black Brian.
What self-respecting pirate moved so far inland?
None.
Some of the weight on Connor’s chest lightened. If the bastard was not a pirate, Mallory might want nothing to do with him. And if he tried to hold her hostage, she’d see that he regretted clapping eyes on her. Just as Connor regretted…
Could he honestly say he regretted… No woman was worth this madness!
Connor realized his horse had stopped without his prodding it onward, though the sound of a horse persisted behind him, along with the click of half a dozen pistols.
“Hands in the air, Black Brian.”
He lifted his hands slowly, then started to turn.
“Face forward, if ye please. And hold very still if’n ye don’t fancy a hole through yer head, aye?”
“I am not this Black Brian. I but search for an Englishwoman he might be holding for ransom—”
“A likely story when all of Christendom searches for the same.” Then the fellow laughed. “We ken full well ye’re not Black Brian, by the by.”
“Then ye ken the villain?”
“Aye. We work for ‘im.” A cloth sack landed on Connor’s shoulder. “If ye’d be so kind as to pull that over yer head, we’ll take ye to ‘im. Free of charge.” Then half a dozen voices laughed.
Half a dozen—the same number of riders that had guarded the carriage. Had those fingers belonged to Mallory?
Connor did as he was told and covered his face—if only to hide his smile. For how difficult would it be to best a bunch of boys?
Chapter Sixteen
Mallory stood in the bushes and watched the young men returned with Connor and herded him into the carriage. It seemed like a natural urge to call out to him, but natural urges no longer got the best of her. This was a test, obviously. And just as obviously, she passed it.
She said a quick prayer and asked God not to let anyone get hurt. Then she said another, hoping the men had found all the Highlander’s weapons before locking him in the coach. Otherwise, he wouldn’t stay contained for long.
The old Mallory might have felt a twinge of jealousy that Janine and Mary were able to ride the rest of the journey while staring at the man. The new Mallory was simply grateful that she knew exactly where he was, and that she no longer had to wonder if he’d come for her.
He had. A pity he came too late.
Inside the carriage, with his hands still tied behind his back, Connor sat forward and tried to listen beyond the squeak and rattle of the carriage, trying to sense if he was alone. He didn’t have to wait for long, however, because a pair of gentle hands lifted the sack off his head. His heart leapt when he first sighted two sets of knees.
Sadly, the women seated across from him were neither Mallory nor Vivianne, her equally misguided friend. Considering the way the pair looked him over, from head to foot and back again, he had no doubt they were party to the same game that led Mallory Naylor into his life.
“Connor McGee,” he said, then waited for them to introduce themselves.
“I am surprised Black Brian did not murder you on the spot,” said the blonde. And for her trouble, the one with pale brown hair gave her a warning elbow.
“Ye imply the man knows me. I assure ye, he does not. But tell me, do you remember a woman with dark hair? Her name is Mallory. And she has been known to don men’s clothes—”
“Mallory?” The second one frowned and puckered her mouth as if she were sifting through her memories. It was obvious she was only mocking him. “No Mallory here.”
“Ye’re the only captives?”
“Captives?” The blonde smiled wickedly, and he realized the only captive was a foolish Highlander who’d fallen into a kidnapper’s hands.
There was little doubt Connor’s captors were headed to Glasgow.
God help him, if he didn’t manage to get away from this mad band of children, he’d perish from embarrassment—his name might be added to the missing, the only Scotsman among dozens of missing English lassies. He would never show his face in the lowlands again!
And if word reached his father’s clan that Connor McGee needed ransoming, someone might be called upon to put him out of his misery—and the misery of his family. If someone tried to get a ransom from Captain Oriel, it might take months to catch him on dry land.
There was nothing for it. Even if he had to hurt the foolish, he would get himself free. And if this pair of lovelies had aligned with their kidnappers, then he would leave them to their fates.
The lasses had thought themselves clever not to offer their names, but during the hours-long journey, they’d managed to slip up a few times when whispering to each other. The blonde was Janine, the other, Mary. If he listened closely, he might even learn their last names, and if so, he’d let their fathers know what they were up to. At the very least, they would get a good spanking if they ever returned home.
Since the one had been teasing him when he’d asked about Mallory, he held onto the hope that they might actually know where to find her. He also held onto his tongue and pretended to sleep, with his head pressed against the sidewall of the rolling box, hoping they might give more away. When they, too, nodded off, he turned his attention to his missing weapons.
Had they left anything behind?
He wiggled both boots. Nothing there.
He rolled his head from side to side, then shrugged. Those three gone as well. With his hands behind him, he knew for certain the blade was gone that usually rested in the sheath at his lower back. That made six.
He had to wiggle around to gage if the weight was missing from his left hip and his right thigh.
Gone. And gone.
After finding the two in his boots, perhaps the one at his hip, they should have stopped searching. And if he remembered clearly, they hadn’t felt around much at all—they’d known just where to search.
That meant only one thing—Blue Brian was in on it. Somehow, he’d reached out from behind his jail bars and had Connor followed. Did he have such a death wish, then? Had he only pretended to learn his lesson the last time they met on the road?
From that point on, Connor was grateful they were headed back to the city. That way, he wouldn’t have to look far to find the bastard. And if he chose to hide behind bars, Connor knew a crime or two that might put him behind those same bars.
He remembered the old Irishman’s question. “Surely ye wouldn’t wish to break in to jail?”
Perhaps he would at that.
Chapter Seventeen
After three hours at the very least, the carriage slowed and rolled to a stop. The young women sighed and sat up straight as if they expected to be allowed out. Connor prepared himself for a chance to fight. When the door opened, however, a long blade slid inside and pressed against his throat. In the gloaming, he couldn’t see who held the blade, but the message was clear—he wasn’t to move.
The swordsman stepped to the side to allow the lasses to disembark, and Connor dared rebel for fear of harming the pretty traitors. He wasn’t quite angry enough to hurt a woman.
Yet.
He called through the opening. “Has wee Brian worked up enough courage to face me?”
The young men laughed heartily at that, when he’d hoped for outrage. There was one voice, however, t
hat rumbled much lower than the rest, hinting that the villain was out there, among them.
“Fine. But will I at least be allowed to dip my stick in the bushes, then?”
It took the ladies a moment to understand that he meant to relieve himself. They gasped, then giggled quietly. Ten yards away, perhaps.
“Not just yet,” came a familiar voice that stunned his entire body, as if he’d been bitten by a poisonous snake and had lost all power to move, to breathe.
The long blade disappeared and two men climbed in, then sat to either side of him. One put a blade up to his neck, just below his right ear. The other put a sharp tip against the base of his throat. Neither of them looked away when a third, cloaked figure took up the seat across from them. Yet another blackguard came to the open door and offered the cloaked one a lit candle.
A black glove reached out to take it. The hood fell away to reveal Mallory Naylor staring back at him.
She was there! Within reach! Their knees touched, for pity’s sake. Though the cloak still covered much of her, there was no mistake. He would know that face, those eyes, that hair—in a sea of women with the same coloring.
He would never forget that face again. Not the slightest wrinkle, not an eyelash.
“Mallory! Mallory!” He shook his head, disbelieving. “Touch me, lass, so I ken ye’re real. I beg ye.”
Why did she not touch him? Was she not pleased to see him?
Perhaps she’d fallen to the same foolishness as the other two, throwing in with her captors. Could she be saved? Or more to the point, did she wish to be? He looked into her eyes, searching, waiting for that high-spirited tongue to be unleashed.
Understanding dawned upon him like an eager morning sun.
It was Mallory who’d told them where to find his weapons. Mallory Naylor, the woman he’d spent a month trying to keep safe, had betrayed him.
“Hello, Sir Connor.” The mockery he’d expected was not there. It was as if they had happened upon each other at a party in Edinburgh. But if that were so, she should have been smiling.
His enthusiasm cooled quickly. “Miss Naylor.”
She swallowed hard, then nodded, as if she’d come to some conclusion. “I hope you can forgive me for dragging you into this.” She gestured with her hands to indicate the entire carriage, but he suspected she meant more than just trapping him in a box for hours.
“My only desire was to make certain ye were safe, as before. But I see ye’ve made new friends.”
“I have.” She showed no signs of contrition. “When I saw you on the road, I worried you might make trouble. I now believe taking you was a mistake.”
Her words began to sink in to his distracted mind. She dragged him into this? She thought he might make trouble? Had she some sort of sway with the young ruffians?
The truth sank in even deeper—she had sway with Black Brian. And there was only one logical way that might have happened.
“’Tis a warm night, Mallory. Pray, remove yer cloak.”
She stared into his eyes, unflinching, for what seemed like minutes. After handing the candle to the young man to his left, she pulled a tie loose and flipped back the dark edges of the covering. Beneath, she wore the green gown she’d worn the morning of Rory and Bridget’s wedding. He’d searched for the color once she’d gone missing.
The only visible was a large gold chain that hung low on her chest. It was hardly the delicate necklace of a nobleman’s daughter.
“So, ye’ve completed yer quest, then? Granted Black Brian a grand boon? Enough to persuade him into giving up his prize?” A sneer crept into his voice. “I thought something about ye had changed, lassie. Now I ken just what.”
She stared at him without emotion when he was certain she would have tried to scratch out his eyes. Perhaps she had something more cruel in mind—like having his tongue shortened. Did she not understand how deeply she’d already hurt his pride? His…heart?
She leaned forward, still watching his eyes. “Black Brian is dead,” she said, then flicked the chain with the backs of her fingers. “Long live Black Brian.”
While he spoon-fed the words to his slow-moving mind, she climbed back out of the carriage, pulled the cloak after herself, then collected the candle.
“Mallory.” He hoped his warning tone would give her pause, though he didn’t know what he was warning her of. She ignored him and moved out of view. He tried to stand, but a blade piercing the exposed skin of his collarbone got his attention. He’d nearly forgotten about the guards. “Tell her to come back,” he growled.
The man on his left pulled his blade away—Connor recognized his own knife—and climbed out, hopefully to retrieve the blasted woman. Then the second man retreated out the door, closed it behind him, then laughed. His had been the low-pitched voice Connor assumed was Black Brian’s.
But Black Brian was dead. Now Mallory wore the chain.
Long live Black Brian.
God help him, Mallory hadn’t found her pirate—she’d become the pirate.
Connor’s head shook, rejecting the idea even as he came to terms with the truth. She’d dragged him into this. She’d thought he might make trouble—for her. She’d changed, sobered. Could such a transformation happen so quickly?
Black Brian was dead. Had she killed him? To what other horrors might she have been subjected before the bastard met his demise? Or had the pretty man delighted her? The idea tortured him, made him wish the bastard still lived so Connor could kill him himself. Eight blades, placed carefully, slowly…
“Mallory!” He drove his shoulder into the small door, but the lock held. “Mallory, come back. I would speak with ye alone!” Though he listened carefully, he heard no returning footsteps, only the departure of a number of horses. “Mallory! Dinnae forget. I need to piss!”
Long minutes later, just when he’d begun to think he’d been deserted, the handle on the door jiggled. He sat back like a submissive lad and waited while it opened.
“Piss all ye want,” said the one with the deep voice. “Black Brian is gone.”
Not to squander the offer, Connor climbed down the steps and into the night. He faced the direction the horses had gone and put his tied hands in front of the other man. “I’ll need my hands free.” His arms suddenly fell to his sides and pain shot up to his neck as the blood rushed into his cramping shoulders.
“We’re to let ye go.”
“Auch, aye?” Connor looked about and found only the coach driver and one other lad left behind. “Did she not worry what I might do with just the three of ye?”
The driver laughed. “She said ye wouldnae harm a flea. All bluster and pomp.” He shook the reins and the matched pair started forward.
The lad with the deep voice and half-grown beard clinging to the edges of his jaw pointed to Connor’s waiting horse before he mounted his own. “I strongly suggest ye go home, Highlander,” he said. “The woman ye once kenned is gone. And Black Brian will not suffer interference.”
“Does it not hurt yer pride,” Connor said, “to follow a woman?”
The lad shrugged and walked his horse in a circle. “The one with the chain gives the orders.” Then he closed one eye and peered closely at Connor. “And following a woman—is that not what ye’ve been doing all along?”
Before Connor could answer, the lad dug in his heels and rode away. Connor watched until the two riders and the carriage had faded into the night, then he answered. “Aye, and it hurts my pride something fierce, laddie. Something fierce.”
Chapter Eighteen
Mallory stood at the side of the trail and waited for the carriage to catch up. They’d chosen a camp for the night that was well off the road and someone had to flag down Sims. She could have allowed one of the boys to do it, but she wanted to watch, to see with her own eyes that Connor McGee wasn’t following. She’d never have sat still otherwise.
After a quarter hour, she began to worry in earnest. Perhaps she’d been wrong about Connor and he wasn’t as harmless as
she’d thought. If he’d harmed Sims, Padruig, or Cleary, she would never forgive herself. Considering how much she’d changed since she’d fled from the Highlander, she should have considered that he might have changed as well.
Her heart fluttered like a bird’s wing just remembering the way he’d looked in the candlelight. Though he’d been close enough to touch, she was pleased she’d been able to resist more than an innocent brushing of their knees. The old Mallory would have climbed inside the coach without the two guards and damned the consequences.
But now, there were too many consequences that could follow if she were to start thinking of Connor’s proximity and forget about her friends.
There, in the darkness at the side of the road, she allowed herself just a moment of satisfaction that Connor McGee had come looking for her. His words had been a balm to her bruised heart, but there had been no declaration of love. Only relief.
Hopefully, Ian had gone chasing after Vivianne as well, which she knew would be happy news for her friend…
But then the moment passed and she concentrated on the sound in the distance. A carriage, thank heaven!
She hailed Sims with a white kerchief that was easily visible in the light of a nearly full moon and a plethora of stars. Patiently, she waited for the young man to care for the horses before questioning him. He told her of the exchange he had with Connor, that he advised the man to go home.
“And do you think he left?” Though where Connor would now call home, she did not know.
“He was still standing in the road when last I saw him. But Cleary waited a bit, to make certain he didn’t follow.”
Mal sucked cool air into her lungs and let it out again. “Good. He’d only cause trouble.”
“Then perhaps we should have kept him?”
