“Oh,” she said, relaxing a little. She hadn’t thought he’d meant her harm, not when he had taken pains to care for her so thoroughly. But it helped to hear him say it.
“Besides,” he continued, “ye were unconscious the entire trip here and ye’ve yet to see my face. So even if ye were to escape, it wouldna do ye much good or me much harm.”
He reached over and brushed a lock of hair from her face. She stared into his eyes, wishing she could see the color more clearly, without the shadow from the mask dimming them. She wished she could see more of his face. His hair flowed uncovered to his shoulders. Blond, though not completely. The strands reminded her of the fields of wheat at her grandfather’s country estate. Unremarkable until the sun hit them, highlighting the rich golden tones of the stalks.
Most of his face was covered. The mask left only the lower half of his face bare, and what she could see was covered in rough stubble. She had the sudden urge to reach up and run her fingers along his jawline, his full lips. Feel the difference in texture. See if those lips were as soft as they looked. She clenched her hand in a fist and dropped her gaze.
His smug grin left little doubt he knew exactly what path her thoughts had taken. “Yer best chance for a quick recovery is to lie back and get some rest.”
She scowled at him but settled back into the pillows. He stared at her, as if there were something else he wanted to say.
A loud sound, like a barn door slamming against a wall, followed by an angry shout made her jump from the bed. Or nearly, in any case. His hand on her good shoulder kept her put. She grunted in pain.
“Rest,” he said again. He frowned and glanced out the window before turning back to her. Whatever he’d seen didn’t seem to make him happy, but not particularly concerned. “Rest. I promise ye no harm will come to ye under my care.”
Her heart pounded in her chest. “You will protect me?”
He regarded her before quietly saying, “I will. Ye have my word.”
Again she wished she could see more of his face. The mask did more than hide his features. It hid his emotions as well.
“Why?” she asked. “I am your enemy. Aren’t I?”
He smiled at her again. “No, my lady. Ye were never my enemy. And even if ye were, it would make no difference. I’m no’ in the habit of harming, or abandoning, defenseless women.”
“I’m not defenseless.”
His eyes roamed over her bruised and prostrate body, and she grimaced. “Usually, I’m not so defenseless.”
His lips twitched. “Aye, I ken that well. Speaking of which…”
He pulled open the drawer of the table near the bed and retrieved her dagger. “I thought ye might like this back. With the agreement,” he said, pulling it back from her grasp, “that ye refrain from plunging it into my heart. I am trying to help ye.”
Now her lips twitched. “Agreed.”
He handed her the dagger, and she slipped it beneath her pillow. Her heart ceased its frantic hammering, and she settled back. Trusting this man was probably the height of folly. Yet, she did.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“Och,” he said, breaking into a smile again, “if I told ye that, I’d have to kill ye.”
She sighed. “If I’m going to be here awhile, I can’t keep calling you the highwayman.”
He watched her, then nodded. “Ye can call me Jack.”
“Is that your name?”
He hesitated before answering. “Nay. But I’ll answer to it.”
She frowned, aware the expression bordered on pouting. But she didn’t argue with him. Frankly, that he’d given her any name at all surprised her. “All right, then. Jack.”
He jerked slightly when the name left her lips. Interesting. It might not be his true name, but she’d be willing to bet her new velvet cloak that it meant something personal to him. A sibling’s name maybe? Or a nickname? That would narrow down the possibilities of his real name a bit.
Perhaps the name stood for John? Jackson? Jacob? James? Jason? She’d known men with all those names who preferred to be known as Jack. She’d even had a cousin named Claudius everyone called Jack, so it might come from nothing at all. Perhaps a name he simply pulled from the air. Certainly not something she should be obsessing over, for goodness sake.
“I’ll return shortly,” he said. After making sure the blankets still snugly covered her, he grabbed the sword that had been propped against a chair near the bed and hurried out of the cottage.
Elizabet sighed and covered her face with her hand. She had no idea how she’d gotten herself into this mess. Or how she’d get out of it. Or what kind of fool she was for trusting a highwayman who’d stolen from her father, gotten her shot, and then kidnapped her in order to heal her. At least she hoped that was the only reason. What kind of highwayman brought his victims back to his hideout to patch them up? Though notorious for his charm and manners, certainly this went above and beyond—even for his tales.
She yawned, sleep pulling at her again. This so-called highwayman baffled her. His speech and mannerisms suggested a gentleman. Not English, certainly, but a gentleman nonetheless. Yet he traveled the roads robbing coaches in the middle of the night. What sort of gentleman did that?
An incredibly well-informed one, for certain. He’d known her father had carried around a ridiculous fortune. Even her mother hadn’t known that, judging by the look on her face when the sacks had been pulled from beneath the bench. The robbery had been no circumstance of chance, either. The highwayman and his band had lain in wait for them specifically.
Why?
Too many questions with no answers floated through her head. With slim chance of having them answered.
The rumble of male voices outside the window soon faded into the background as her eyes grew heavy and finally closed. She drifted away to sleep, the vision of blue, soulful eyes filling her thoughts until she knew no more.
Chapter Five
“Are ye mad?” Philip said, kicking at a bale of hay.
“I couldna leave her there,” John said. He leaned against the wall of the small barn near the cottage, watching his cousin pace.
“She’ll discover who ye are. Ye’ll be finished.”
“I keep the mask on whenever I’m near her. She hasna seen my face. I deepen my voice a bit. If we were to run into each other at court, she wouldna recognize me. I think.” John ran a hand over his face, relishing the slight breeze that blew across his skin.
“I still say you are mad,” Philip insisted.
“What would ye have me do?” John asked, his patience wearing thin. “Leave her to bleed into the dust?”
Philip’s frown was nearly a pout. He sighed. “Someone would ha’ come along, eventually.”
John’s brow quirked up, and Philip reluctantly smiled. “Fine,” Philip said. “But you canna keep her here. And we must leave. We’ve never stayed here for more than a night or two. Much longer and we’ll attract attention. Besides, the meeting is set for the day after next. Our man willna wait if we are late. There are people waiting for these supplies, the coin…”
“I know,” he said. “I think…I think I should take her with us.”
Philip’s jaw nearly hit the ground. “John…”
“I stitched up her arm. She’s young and healthy but is far too weak yet. And I dinna like the fever. I canna leave her here to fend for herself.”
“Nay, but ye could send the lass on her way. She has her own people at her own home who can care for her.”
“Aye, and if I thought they’d actually do so, I might consider it. But ye know her father. The man is a greedy, selfish bastard who’d sooner hasten her death along than do what he could to heal her. She’s unmarried with no children. If she dies, her father will inherit the estates her grandparents left her. Do ye really believe he’d no’ welcome that? And now with Fergus in his pocket…” John had to stop and contain the rage roiling inside. “Him being at Barrington Manor last night was no coincidence. I
’m more certain than ever they are working together. Why else would Dawsey wed his daughter to a landless, titleless bastard, if not to control her dowry lands through her husband? The daft wee shite doesna even realize Dawsey’s made a puppet of him.”
“Been thinking on this, have ye?”
“Aye. And I’ll no’ leave her to their mercy.”
Philip sighed. “Glenlyon is a week’s journey.”
“Not much farther than her own home. And she’ll receive much better care at Glenlyon.”
“Aye. And then she can go straight to the King’s Guard and not only identify you but lead them right to the door of our kin. Is that what ye want?”
“O’ course not. And I wouldna take her to the keep. Perhaps to one of the cottages. There are a few secluded ones where no one will disturb us, and she can heal while being none the wiser as to where she is.”
“Oh? And what of you? Will ye keep that mask on the whole time?”
John frowned but nodded. Philip snorted. “That’ll be comfortable.”
John ignored that. “Where’s Will?”
Philip grinned. “Dinna worry about him. I’ve set him to enough chores it’ll be months before he has any energy or desire to go on a job again. And I’m holding onto his pistol until he’s a little less heavy on the trigger.”
“Good thinking.”
“I dinna like this plan, John. It’s dangerous. For her and us.”
“I ken that well. But I’ll no’ leave her behind.”
“Then we should leave immediately. Traveling with the lass as she is will take longer. We canna miss our contact.”
“Agreed. And I dinna want to take the risk of her worsening.”
Philip slapped his hat against his leg and shook his head with a sigh. “You take the lass on to Glenlyon. I’ll take the load on to our man.”
“I canna let ye do that alone.”
“I’ll take Will.”
John’s eyes widened. “I think ye’d be better off alone.”
Philip laughed. “He’s no’ so bad. A might eager, perhaps. A nice long journey with lots of hard labor will calm him a bit. We’ll manage fine.”
“Philip…”
“Go. I can deliver a wagonload of supplies without ye. I’m not totally helpless, ye ken.”
“Aye, I know,” he said, clapping his kinsman on the shoulder.
Philip looked at him, concern etched on his face. “I hope ye ken what ye’re doing.”
John gave him a wry smile. “Not an ounce. But I’ll tread carefully.”
“I hope so. She is the daughter of Lord Dawsey, after all.”
John’s smile changed to a scowl. “She’s nothing like him.”
“Are ye willing to bet yer life on that?”
“Yes,” John said quietly.
They’d spent only an hour together. Not enough time to know for certain that he could place his faith in her. But the woman had strength, kindness, intelligence, and bravery. And a beauty so brilliant it set his chest to aching. Could he trust her? Maybe not. He would take the necessary precautions to protect those who depended on him.
But he couldn’t leave her. Not newly stitched and burning with a fever due to his mistake. Not when anything might happen to her. The urge to shelter and care for her overwhelmed him with an intensity too strong to ignore. The image of his mother, burning with fever in childbed, came to his mind, and he immediately forced it away.
He wouldn’t let that happen to Elizabet, no matter what risks he had to take. The fault for her injuries lay at his feet. His man had shot her. The responsibility for her now fell to him, and he’d do everything in his power to ensure she made it home, whole and healthy.
Hopefully, he wouldn’t regret it.
He looked up to find Philip staring at him, either in concern or bemusement, John couldn’t tell. John straightened away from the wall.
“Dinna worry. You keep an eye on Will. We’ll meet at the ruins three weeks from tonight. Then perhaps we’ll discover what Dawsey and that fiend Fergus have been up to.”
Philip mounted his horse and nodded. “Take care.”
John smiled and slapped the horse’s rump. His smile faded, though, as his kinsman rode out of sight. Philip had cause to be worried. Elizabet’s presence at his hideaway presented a danger to him. And his men. Bringing her to his home would only bring danger to more people he loved, if he didn’t have a care.
Of course, he wanted her gone as soon as possible.
He kept repeating that to himself as he walked back to the cottage. Maybe by the time he entered and came face-to-face with her he’d believe it.
…
They rocked and swayed over the pitted trail, but Jack had padded the wagon bed so well she hardly felt a bump. Which was a blessing because her arm ached and burned until her teeth were on edge. She shivered and huddled beneath the blankets. How she could be cold when her face nearly pulsed with heat, she didn’t know. The answer should be easy enough. But her mind seemed to be floating in a hazy fog.
They’d been traveling for several days, stopping only for brief rests. They’d avoided inns and other people in general, sleeping in the wagon for a few hours at night with Jack sitting close enough to share his warmth, but not so close as to jostle her arm. The days blurred into one another. He offered her food whenever they stopped. Travel rations from his saddlebag. He never once left her to hunt. She found it sweet, really. As sweet as a captor taking care of his captive could be.
The thought uppermost in her mind should have been escape. Or at least her own health. She had enough lucid periods to know she wasn’t doing well but in those rare clear moments, she thought only of getting a glimpse of Jack’s face. She probably should have been more concerned with where he was taking her. All he would say was someplace safe. He worried about her. Quite considerate of him, bearing in mind her injuries had been caused during the robbery of her family. But still, even with all those pressing issues, she couldn’t stop wondering what he looked like.
He couldn’t wear his mask, of course. Not while they traveled in broad daylight. They kept off the main roads, and Jack seemed to have a knack for avoiding other people because as far as she knew, they hadn’t seen anyone. Even still, he kept on a low-brimmed hat pulled over his brow to shadow his face, with a scarf against the chill in the air that covered everything but his eyes. Seemed like she should be able to piece together the bottom half of his face from when he wore the mask, with the top half of his face, shadowed though it was. Only she couldn’t make her mind work like that. She couldn’t make it work at all.
The wagon rumbled over a particularly bumpy patch of road, and she moaned before she could stop herself.
They pulled to a halt, and Jack’s face appeared above her. All covered or shadowed. She wanted to see his eyes, but his hand came down to gently feel her forehead, effectively blocking her vision at the same time.
“Ye have a fever still.” A cool cloth touched her forehead, and she leaned in to it gratefully, even as her body racked with shivers. He helped her sit up enough to drink some water from his skin.
“Where?” she managed to say.
“We’re almost there. Another few hours.” He laid her back down. Before she could glance up, his hand covered her eyes again, and he stroked her face, from her forehead to her chin as her mother used to do when she was a child.
“Rest, lass. We’ll be there soon.”
She fought to stay awake, but the fever pulled her under.
…
When she finally swam up from under the fog, she found herself out of the wagon and tucked into a warm, comfortable bed. She glanced around but recognized nothing. They must have finally arrived at Jack’s hideout. Speaking of Jack…
“Hello there,” he said, quietly closing the door behind him. To her disappointment he had his mask on once again.
“Where are we?” she asked, for lack of anything better to say. And she really wanted to know.
“In a small cottage
, near my home.”
“Scotland?”
“Aye.”
“I’ve never been to Scotland.”
Jack smiled and wrapped an arm about her to help her sit. He handed her a cup that smelled of herbs and honey.
“Once ye’re feeling better, I’ll take ye outside and show ye what ye’ve been missing.”
“I do actually feel much better. I must have needed some rest.” She took a sip of the tea, looking up when Jack laughed. “What?”
“Ye needed the rest, all right. Ye’ve been asleep for nigh on three days now.”
“What?” She sat forward so quickly the tea sloshed over the edge of the cup, and Jack hurriedly took it from her. While shocked at how long she’d been unconscious, sitting without her arm throbbing in pain pleased her. At least she’d been spared a few days of uncomfortable healing.
“Old Granny Mc…Granny Mac has been caring for ye. Ye had a raging fever when we first arrived. I wasna sure what to do for ye. It’s why I brought ye here in the first place. I knew Granny could fix ye right up. Here,” he said, handing her back the tea. “Drink this up. Granny’s had me pouring that down yer throat since we arrived. And seeing as how fit yer feeling, I’d say it’s working.”
Elizabet nodded, agreeing.
Jack jumped up at the sound of a wagon outside. After a quick peek out the window, he cursed quietly beneath his breath and went to open the door.
“What are ye doing here?” he asked.
“Well, and that’s a fine hello,” a feminine voice said from the doorway.
“Hello, Cousin.” The affectionate smile evident in his voice piqued her curiosity about the woman. A kinswoman of Jack’s would be a wealth of information. Hopefully. She didn’t sound like a kinswoman. Though she had a faint Scottish brogue, her underlying speech was thoroughly English.
“Are you going to explain the mask?” she asked.
“No.”
Well that answered one question. He apparently didn’t wear it all the time. Elizabet had begun to wonder.
“Are you going to explain why you’ve been here half a week and haven’t been to say hello?”
How to Ensnare a Highlander Page 5
