Rogue of the Isles

by Cynthia Breeding

  With a footman following a discreet distance behind them, Jamie kept the horses to a slow walk, keeping her mare between the sorrel and the sidewalk as they maneuvered the short distance from the Mayfair streets to the park. He reined in as they approached Stanhope Gate and gave a low whistle.

  “I had no idea such a glade existed in this sooty city.”

  Mari’s mare stopped obediently beside him. “The park is hardly a glade.”

  “It looks like one, except for the wee loch.”

  “That is the Serpentine.”

  “The road leads around it, nae?” Not waiting for an answer, he urged the sorrel forward with Mari’s horse following and the footman trailing. “’Tis a peaceful place.”

  “That is because it is early.” She pointed to another road surrounding the park. “By this afternoon, the Ring will be full of carriages—ladies wearing the latest bonnets and debutantes with beaus and chaperones.”

  “Must ye always be chaperoned?”

  “Of course. It insures liberties are not taken.”

  Jamie glanced behind him. “Is that why we have young Joseph along?”

  “In a way. Effie refuses to get nearer a horse than the inside of a carriage. Someone had to come with us.”

  He looked back at the young man again and then at Mari, a skeptical expression on his face. “The lad can barely handle a sword.”

  Mari refrained from rolling her eyes. “Must everything be about weapons with you? Not everyone goes about armed as you do.” At least Jamie wasn’t carrying the claymore today.

  Jamie adjusted the smaller rapier at his side and patted the dirk in his belt. “It makes a mon think twice before startin’ something. The more weapons I carry, the shorter the argument.” He glanced once more at Joseph, who had stopped to talk to a lass selling posies. “Is the lad supposed to protect ye from me?”

  Mari did look heavenward then. “Protect, protect, protect. I have told you I do not need your protection, nor do I need Joseph to protect me from you—” She stopped as Jamie’s gaze locked with hers, his expression suddenly reminding her of a wolf spotting its prey. She drew a shaky breath at the intense look. “Do…do I?”

  His eyes smoldered briefly and he grinned suddenly, dimple showing. “You decide,” he said and urged his mount forward.

  The lass was going to drive him completely barmy, he had no doubt. Never had Jamie met a female as full of contradictions as Mari Barclay. One minute she was vulnerable, clinging to her mare for dear life, and the next she was telling him she needed no protection. Faugh. If that were not bad enough, one minute he understood how young and innocent the lass was, and the next he wanted to lie down with her in the nearest patch of grass and pleasure her senseless. Did she have any idea how enticing she looked with loose curls blowing around her face as her eyes grew big and dark when he’d told her to decide if she needed protection from him? Luckily, they were both atop horses, or he might have proven his point right there by kissing those alluring lips.

  His own good sense seemed to have left him. What was he thinking? He had promised to protect Mari, not compromise her.

  Jamie sighed as he turned his horse about to head home. The little mare followed obediently, although the look on her rider’s face was just short of mutinous. He shook his head. It would do no good to explain—once more—why a young lass needed protection, especially from the likes of smooth-talking dandies like that frill-wearing Frenchman.

  Nicholas Algernon set Jamie’s teeth on edge, although he wasn’t exactly sure why. The English lads at these gatherings wore fancy clothing too—starched shirts, waistcoats, frockcoats and stiff collars with those ridiculous strangle-cloths called cravats—and they curled their hair as well. They engaged in mindless conversation with the lasses, given to flattery and flowery statements like they were poets. Jamie hoped Mari had more sense than to be gullible about such blethering nonsense.

  But she had liked those damn roses.

  The Frenchman was as slippery as wet moss in a rocky burn. Jamie had watched him ingratiating himself with the wealthy matrons and patronesses, no doubt flattering all of them into doing likenesses. While Jamie had no liking for insincere fawning, the women were all old enough to understand the game the Frenchman played. Jamie had expected the man to do much the same with the young lasses, but Algernon had not. Instead, he had set his eyes on Mari, ignoring the rest of the girls, and honed in like a hawk on an innocent lamb.

  Even now, as Jamie and Mari headed home, the hair at his nape prickled.

  He glanced at Mari who gave him a wary look. He wanted to tell her she needed to take care around the Frenchman, but he doubted she would heed his words. The tenacious lass would probably think him jealous.

  Faugh.

  But what he could do? By the lass’s own admission she should be chaperoned—so chaperone her he would.

  Jamie smiled, quite pleased with himself. Mari could hardly argue with him about something that was her own idea.

  “What do you mean, chaperone me?” Mari demanded on Saturday afternoon as she prepared to meet Maddie at Gunter’s for ices. The fall day had turned out exceptionally warm, and Maddie’s maid had arrived with a note from Maddie a little over an hour ago. “Berkeley Square is only a few blocks away, and Effie will be with me.”

  Jamie’s jaw set in the way Mari was becoming all too familiar with. It meant he was going to ignore what she’d just said. Again. He had taken perverse delight in accompanying her to the orphanage where she’d taken clothing on Thursday—even though the young footmen had been in attendance—and made sure she did not sit in the common area at her aunt’s boarding house yesterday when she’d met Aunt Agnes for lunch. Jamie had invited himself along for that too. Her aunt acted like she actually enjoyed his company. Mari was beginning to feel she had a permanent shadow—no small feat since the sun rarely shone in London.

  “Ye said yerself ye needed a chaperone. Do ye nae remember?”

  She would forever rue making that statement. Of course, the arrogant man had taken it out of context. “An appropriate chaperone. Someone like Effie or my aunt.”

  “Neither of them carries weapons.”

  “Arrgh! Do you really think I will be attacked in the middle of the afternoon in a fashionable spot like Gunter’s? This is the West End of London, not the wild isles of Scotland!”

  Jame’s jaw squared even more. “London ’tis a lot worse. The place is crawling with ruffians and misfits.”

  “Not in Mayfair.”

  Jamie fixed his golden gaze on her. “Mayhap the villains here hide the fact they are blackguards behind their flowery talk.”

  Mary opened her mouth to retort and then snapped it shut, held by his penetrating look. When his eyes turned whisky-colored, it did funny things to her insides. The now-familiar butterflies fluttered in her stomach, and parts of her tingled that she hadn’t even known could tingle. Unmentionable parts. Mari sensed it was attraction, although for the life of her she didn’t know why she’d be attracted to someone who carried a dozen weapons and thought arguments should be solved with fisticuffs instead of dialogue. The Highlander had all the refinement of one of Jillian’s unbroken stallions. Mari just wished her sister had been a little more forthcoming with the talk they’d had about men.

  Before she could deal with her confusion, Effie appeared with her wrap and reticule. “It is warm enough. I will not need the wrap,” Mari said.

  Her maid’s lips pursed. “A lady does not appear in her day gown on the street without a wrap.”

  “But—”

  “I agree,” Jamie said and took the shawl from Effie to drape it over Mari’s shoulders. He brushed his fingers lightly over her nape as he did so, causing an involuntary quiver to slide across her back like soft silk. Thankfully, Jamie did not appear to notice.

  He extended an elbow to each of them. “May I escort both ye ladies?”

  Her normally grumpy maid actually smiled at him. “You may,” Effie said.

  Ma
ri nearly gaped at her. First her aunt enjoying lunch, and now Effie smiling? When had that ever happened? Jamie tucked her hand into his other arm, and she sighed as she followed him out the door and down the steps. She may have lost yet another battle, but even if she were the last holdout against Jamie’s charms, she was determined to win the war.

  Chapter Ten

  Mari nearly bounced in delight as she stepped down from the carriage in front of the Theatre Royal on Drury Lane. Aunt Agnes frowning at her made her remember decorum reigned this evening. Still, it was terribly exciting to be entering such a magnificent building that hosted so many cultural events.

  Smoothing the lines of the blue silk gown Madam Dubois had managed to finish in record time, Mari glanced up at Nicholas. He was ever so elegant in his formal black coattails with satin lapels, silver-threaded waistcoat and lavender cravat tied in the rather scandalous Napoleon knot. The cloth only wound about the neck once, giving the wearer a leisurely, rakish look. Coupled with the slight slant of his green eyes, he did indeed look somewhat amorous.

  “I am so glad you were able to secure tickets for the Beethoven recital,” Mari said as they moved to take their place in line.

  Nicholas gave a slight bow. “My pleasure, to be sure. A lady as beautiful as you deserves to be surrounded by only the best Society has to offer. I intend to see that you experience it all.”

  Behind them, Jamie cleared his throat.

  Drat. In her excitement, Mari had almost forgotten that Jamie and Maddie had followed in a second carriage, along with Maddie’s parents. She remembered Jamie’s glower when the invitation arrived from Nicholas three days ago—and then the smugness of Jamie’s smile when he’d produced four tickets of his own. She wasn’t quite sure how he’d done that.

  “I understand the pianist this evening actually studied with the maestro in Vienna,” Nicholas said as the line moved forward.

  “Oooh,” Maddie squealed. “Wasn’t Vienna once ruled by Charlemagne’s knights? How romantic.”

  Nicholas frowned. “I had not heard that. Actually, the romantic movement in music and art is more about individual freedom and personal expression than it is about the medieval connotation of sentimentality.” He turned toward Mari. “My own painting reflects the current tendency to include pastoral scenes in the background as a way to counter the rigidness of the classical works.” He leaned closer to her. “You will see,” he finished in a near whisper, “when I decide which country scene to use to paint you.”

  Mari felt herself blush. Whether Nicholas thought it was romantic or not, she felt like a princess having her portrait painted. She could hardly wait to find out what kind of country spot he would choose.

  Nicholas offered her his arm as they made their way to the box seats along the right side of the balcony. His forearm did not feel as hard and massive as Jamie’s, but then Nicholas did not go slinging a huge sword like Jamie waved around.

  Nicholas was a true gentleman, although Mari had to admit Jamie looked rather respectable this evening as well. She stole a glance over her shoulder. Maddie was smiling at Jamie, her eyes sparkling, her hand tucked inside his elbow. Mari knit her brows momentarily and then smiled at her friend.

  “I am so glad you were able to come, Maddie.”

  “I am too,” Maddie replied, barely taking her eyes off Jamie. “It was so kind of Mr. MacLeod to invite us.”

  “I quite concur,” Lady Dunster said, looking almost as pleased as her daughter. “I usually have to drag the baron to these things.”

  Her husband guffawed. “Now, dear, you know I would rather be in the country enticing a fish onto my hook.”

  “Aye,” Jamie said. “Sittin’ by a loch with a line in gives a mon time to think.”

  “That it does,” Baron Dunster agreed. “I say, perhaps we could do a spot of fishing in the Kennet once Parliament adjourns and we can all return to the peace and quiet of our estates.”

  “’Twould be a pleasure.”

  “I will look forward to it then.” Maddie’s father nearly beamed at Jamie. “I would enjoy hearing about that sea monster that dwells in one of your lochs as well.”

  Jamie laughed. “Well, Nessie is a wee bit shy, but then, ’tis the way of kelpies.”

  “What is a kelpie?” Maddie asked.

  “’Tis a faerie horse who lives in the water,” Jamie replied. “It allows fair maidens to ride its back as it swims through the waves.”

  “Mon Dieu! Quelque stupide,” Nicholas muttered.

  Jamie continued on. “’Tis said, though, the kelpie have nae liking for arrogance. A mon who dinnae believe disappears into the black depths of the loch.”

  Mari stifled a laugh. Jamie talking about arrogant men was pure irony, although she was sure he did not see it. More than likely, it was a dig at Nicholas for saying the little story was stupid.

  “Oooh,” Maddie squeaked. “Is the story true?”

  The story actually sounded credible the way he told it, Mari thought.

  “Mon Dieu,” Nicholas said again.

  Jamie ignored him, fixing his golden eyes on Mari before turning back to Maddie. “Aye, lass. All the faeries ask is that ye believe.”

  Curled up once more on the window seat in Mari’s bedchamber the next day, Maddie hugged her knees. “Did you know the MacLeods have an actual faerie flag?”

  Mari smiled at her. “I think you take Jamie much too seriously. Faeries do not really exist.”

  “Maybe not, but there is a flag. Mr. MacLeod says it is quite old, of yellow silk and kept at Dunvegan Castle on Skye.”

  “Probably a flag used in some early battle. Those northern isles were invaded by Vikings, for goodness’ sake. Highlanders have been feuding for centuries.”

  Maddie shook her head. “According to the legend, the MacLeod chief met a faerie with whom he fell in love. The King of the Faeries only allowed the maiden to spend one year in the human world. During that time, she and the MacLeod chief had a son. When it came time for her to return to the realm of faerie, she left her faerie shawl with the baby to protect him and the clan as well. If ever the clan had need, they would wave the flag three times and the Knights of the Faerie Raide would ride to their rescue.” Maddie stopped as if remembering the rest. “Mr. MacLeod said it could only be used three times and has been used twice—once when Clan Donald besieged the MacLeods, and another time when a terrible plague nearly killed all the cattle, leaving the clan to starve. There is still one wish left.”

  “Jamie certainly tells a fine tale,” Mari said drily.

  Maddie turned to watch Jamie practicing swordplay in the small courtyard below, a dreamy expression in her eyes. “Mr. MacLeod makes it look so effortless. I can almost see him as one of King Arthur’s knights.”

  Mari made an unladylike snort and moved to look over her friend’s shoulder at the scene below. Jamie was putting both Joseph and Robin through their paces, side-stepping and circling like a wolf playing with its prey. The young footmen were red-faced, although whether from embarrassment or the exertion of jumping away from Jamie’s sword, she didn’t know. She watched as Robin lunged at the same time Joseph attempted a cut to the left. Jamie parried and spun, knocking the sword from Robin’s hand and stopping with his sword pointed at Robin’s throat. Robin’s face blanched, and Jamie lowered the sword.

  Mari did have to admit there was a certain grace to Jamie’s movements.

  “I would wager Mr. MacLeod will be an excellent dancer,” Maddie said as he walked away from the footmen and she turned back to Mari. “Have you taken him to Miss Berry’s dance studio yet?”

  “Not yet, although I suppose I should. If the girls would get him to sign their dance cards, he would be kept busy instead of hovering over me.”

  Maddie gave Mari a strange look. “You really want Mr. MacLeod to take an interest in the other girls?”

  “Of course. How else will I ever be able to be alone with Nicholas?”

  “Your aunt would not allow that, Marissa Barclay, a
nd you know it.”

  “Well, maybe not completely alone, but you have to admit Jamie hulking over my shoulder does put a damper on things. Nicholas and I barely had a conversation last night.”

  “Mama thinks Mr. MacLeod is a nice man.”

  Mari groaned inwardly. Jamie had managed to win over yet another woman. How did he manage to do so? Of course, he didn’t persist in following anyone else around, managing to interject his opinions and give orders like he did to her. “Nice? I suppose if you have not seen his annoying side, you might think so.”

  Maddie was quiet for a moment. “You really do not like Mr. MacLeod?” she finally asked.

  “I—” Mari stopped to consider. “It is not that I do not like him. I do not like him ordering me about and telling me what I can—or cannot—do. Neither do I like the fact that he believes in violence. To Jamie, things get settled with a weapon or fists. You know how I feel about men who use brute force. I never want to have the encounters Jillian had to endure.”

  Maddie grimaced. “The old marquess was horrible. Rumors abounded about what happened to his first wife. You cannot truly believe Mr. MacLeod would strike you?”

  “No.” Mari remembered how light Jamie’s touch had been when he’d wiped away her tears while they were at Newburn, and how gentle his hand had been when he made her eat. “No, I do not think he would. He is just not a refined, elegant gentleman like Nicholas.”

  “What is really important to you?” Maddie asked. “How does Nicholas make you feel?”

  Feel. Mari frowned slightly. She had not felt anything when she laid her hand on Nicholas’s arm last night, nor had her butterflies fluttered the one time he’d managed to brush his thigh against her skirts before Jamie leaned forward to ask a question, forcing Nicholas to move back. Jamie’s breath on her nape had made her skin tingle and sent a delightful shiver down her spine. Gads. How could she be so physically attracted to a man whose core beliefs about violence were so opposite of hers?