Captured by the Highlander

by Julianne MacLean

  “Why do you both hate my fiancé so much?” she asked, striving to keep her mind sharp and clear while she offered her hand to Duncan again. She watched the water run in shiny rivulets over her raw, chafed flesh and focused on the movements of his hands. “What did he ever do to you, besides fight for our King in this war?”

  Duncan’s eyes flashed up. “Our King? Are you referring to the wee German laddie who sits on your throne like a puppet to parliament and speaks French?”

  “He is the rightful King of Great Britain,” she argued.

  “Which—in case you are not aware—according to the Act of Union, includes Scotland. But that is beside the point. It is my betrothed who is your target. Why?”

  “It’s not a topic I mean to discuss with you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I doubt it’s something you’d want to hear.”

  She shifted on her knees. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s the reason you took me prisoner.”

  The Butcher’s eyes lifted, and he studied her careful y.

  “Aye, but are you sure you want to know everything about your fiancé? It might change how you feel about him. all your romantic dreams of your handsome Prince Charming on a fine white stallion would be crushed. Then what would you do? You wouldn’t know east from west.”

  “Of course I am sure,” she replied, refusing to be daunted by his patronizing tone. “Besides, there is nothing you can say that will change how I feel, because I know in my heart that Richard is a brave and noble soldier in this war. It is unfortunate that he is your enemy, but he does his duty for his country—that is all.”

  Duncan finished tending her wounds, balled up the cloth, and tossed it into the pot. “Al right, then. I’ll tell you the reason why you’re here, though I cannot give you all the particulars, because it’s best if you don’t know the identities of the people involved. But what you need to know is this: Your betrothed is a tyrant, a rapist, and a murderer of innocent women and children. He’d burn every peaceful homestead in Scotland if he could.”

  She sat back and scoffed. “That is ridiculous. You are obviously mistaken.”

  “Nay, I am not.” The Butcher rose to his feet and crossed to the other side of the cave where the food was stored. He seemed to be evaluating her expression in the dim light.

  Amelia shook her head. “Yes, you are. I know Richard. He is a good man and an honorable soldier. He served under my father, who was also a good man and an excellent judge of character. He would never have given our engagement his blessing if Richard were unscrupulous. My father loved me and cared for me very much. He wanted me to be safe and happy. That’s all he ever wanted, so you are wrong.”

  He had to be.

  “I am not wrong.”

  “Yes, you are.” She watched him tear off a hunk of bread from a loaf he withdrew from a basket. He crossed the cave and held it out to her.

  “And you are a fine one to accuse another man of being a tyrant and a murderer,” she said, accepting the bread. “You are the Butcher of the Highlands. Your acts of brutality are legendary, and I’ve seen them with my own eyes. Not only did you kidnap me, but you killed Lord knows how many soldiers on the way into my bedchamber, and you full y intended to chop off Richard’s head once you got there. So I will not hear any more of this fictitious talk. You will not convince me that he is a tyrant when clearly I am looking at the very essence of tyranny, right here.”

  She stuffed the bread into her mouth and only then realized, with some anxiety, how boldly she had just spoken to the infamous Butcher.

  He watched her chew and swallow, then turned in silence to the basket of food. He tore off another hunk of bread.

  For a long time he said nothing, and she was uncomfortably aware of the massive broadsword at his side and the inconceivable strength in those muscular arms and shoulders.

  Despite the fact that he was her enemy, she could not fail to acknowledge the inarguable truth that he was a magnificent specimen of manhood, a born warrior. In the field, she had been completely incapacitated by him, while he had seemed almost pleased with her efforts to fight him.

  That was probably what had prompted her to surrender.

  But when he’d washed the blood off her arm just now, he’d shown that he was at least capable of some kindness.

  “Get up,” he said, with his back to her. “I’m in need of sleep.”

  “And what will you do with me while you are sleeping?” she asked. «Will you tie me up again? What if the other Highlander returns?”

  She glanced uneasily at the cave entrance, which had grown bright with a shimmering morning mist, while the Butcher moved deeper into the den toward a bed of fur at the back.

  “You’ll be lying beside me, lass, nice and close.”

  Amelia tensed immediately. “I will not.”

  “You have no choice in the matter.” He removed his leather scabbard and sword and placed it—along with the pistol—on the ground next to the fur. “Come to bed.”

  Come to bed?

  “I am a virgin,” she blurted out in a rush. “I do not know if that means anything to you, it probably doesn’t, but I would like to remain so.”

  He regarded her with displeasure. “You’re saving yourself for Bennett?”

  She wished there were another way to answer the question—a way that would not stoke the fires of his vengeance—but there was not. “Yes, I wish to save myself for marriage.”

  His eyes turned toward the light outside the cave, as if he was careful y contemplating her reply.

  “If you leave me with my virtue,” she added, “I promise I will …” She was not quite sure what to offer in return for such an act of kindness on his part. “I will give you five hundred pounds. Or rather, my uncle will .”

  Surely her guardian would honor that settlement.

  The Butcher’s eyes narrowed. “Save your negotiating. I’ve already decided to ask for much more than that.”

  She was pleased at least to be getting somewhere, to be speaking of practicalities regarding her release. “So it’s ransom you want, then? In cash? Or land? Do you want a title? Because I am not sure my uncle has the power to grant that, but he could certainly—”

  “I want no land, lass, nor do I seek a title.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  The silence grew sharp and edgy while he stood in the gray hue of the morning light. “I want your betrothed to come and fetch you.”

  “So that you can kill him.”

  “Aye, but it’ll be a fair fight. I’ll let him defend himself before I cut him in half. Now, get up and come to me.” He sat down on the fur with his back to the wall . “It’s been a long night and I’m weary of talk. I want your warm body next to me, to ward off the chill in my bones.”

  She stood and approached him. “Are you not worried that I might slip your dagger from your boot and slit your throat the moment you fall asleep?”

  The corner of his mouth curled up slightly, as if he were amused by the notion. “I’ll wrap my arms around you, nice and tight, and keep you very close—so if you move so much as a hair on that pretty head of yours, I’ll feel it.” He grinned.

  “I’ll feel it right here, under my kilt.”

  She glanced around the cave and wished there were a way she could somehow avoid lying next to him—because she knew very well what he kept hidden under that kilt—but resigned herself to the fact that such hopes were futile. She had no choice but to surrender to the inevitable. She would have to lie next to him and try to sleep, for however long she could.

  She sank to her knees, then stretched out on the soft fur.

  He lounged behind her with his back to the wall and wrapped his arms around her waist.

  Her heart began to pound faster at the intimacy of their position as he pulled her close. She’d never lain in bed with a man before, not even Richard. He was too much of a gentleman to suggest any such thing before marriage. But here she lay this morning, with a huge Highlander presse
d up against her backside.

  He nuzzled her hair with his nose, and his touch sent tingles of awareness up and down her arms and legs.

  “You’re trembling,” he said.

  “I cannot help it. I’m cold.”

  But it was so much more than that. He was sexual y bold.

  Decency and decorum meant nothing to him, and every move he made caused her to lose her breath. It all seemed carnal and primitive, beyond anything she’d ever imagined would happen to her in her proper, civilized life.

  She realized suddenly that nothing in that life would ever be the same again. Not after this.

  He inched forward, nestling his hips closer. Her heart quickened.

  “You’ll warm up soon enough,” he said. “And you can stop your shivering. I’ll not be groping you this morning, lass. I told you I was weary.”

  She tried to relax, but her body would not stop shaking. “I suppose I should thank you.…”

  “Thank me,” he said with surprise, lifting his head.

  “Yes. For not depriving me of my virtue. I am grateful for that at least. Thank you.”

  He chuckled and tucked his knees into the backs of hers, then nuzzled the side of her head again.

  “You shouldn’t be too quick to thank me, lass,” he said in a voice that grew quieter as he began to drift off. “Because I never promised you that. ”

  Chapter Four

  Sleep proved impossible for Amelia. The Butcher, however, slipped effortlessly into a quiet and restful slumber.

  Clearly, the man’s conscience was clear. He was not fretting about the men he had killed during the night, or the fact that he had kidnapped the fiancée of a prominent English military officer, who was likely hunting him down like a dog at this very moment. He was not the least bit concerned that she might outwit him and escape while he slept. No, the Butcher rested peaceful y, serene and tranquil in his hidden lair, confident that his terrified prisoner would not rise up in a panic and stab him in the back if he inadvertently let go of her for even the smallest fraction of a second.

  It was unlikely to happen, of course. He would indeed feel the slightest move on her part, for his arms were locked about her waist, pinning her against him. The mere sound of his breathing—so close, so steady and deep, like waves in the ocean—kept her riveted and still , for fear of waking him.

  Silently, without moving a muscle, she let her gaze wander about the dimly lit cave, looking for something she could use as a weapon if an opportunity presented itself. She saw only the unlit fire and cast-iron pot, the basket of bread, some blankets, and his axe and broadsword, not far from where they lay.

  Careful y she reached out to touch the axe, mostly out of curiosity, but felt the immediate, subtle pull of her captor’s body. His hips pushed forward, and she froze, controlling her breathing, for he might not be so weary after a brief nap. He might decide he did have the strength, after all , to do more than just lie beside her. He might choose to help himself to her virtue and do all the wicked, lusty things he had talked about on the horse.

  Her stomach flipped over suddenly at the memory of that conversation. She could not seem to purge it from her mind.

  If only she could sleep. She would need her wits about her in the coming days and could not afford to be sluggish of mind.

  A sudden thump outside the cave entrance caused her to jump. Her heart beat in her chest like some wild, fluttering creature as she stared wide-eyed into the mist for the other Highlander, who wanted to hack her to pieces and was probably coming to do it now.

  But it was only the Butcher’s big black horse, wandering freely outside the cave, his head bowed down to the ground as he tore at the grass with his teeth. Listening to the sound of the animal crunching, she let out an anxious breath and felt her captor snuggle closer, as if he sensed her unease and was urging her to relax.

  A full hour must have passed while she lay staring with bloodshot eyes at the light outside. Then suddenly the Butcher stirred and drew in a deep breath.

  “Ah, that’s better,” he groaned, tucking his knees up behind hers. “I feel good. Did you sleep, lass?”

  “No,” she curtly said, feeling the stiffness of his arousal.

  He leaned up on an elbow. “Why not? Was the bed not soft enough?” He paused and leaned closer, looking at her careful y. “How old are you, lass?”

  “I am two-and-twenty. Not that it’s any of your concern.”

  He ran his big hand over the curve of her hip and thigh, and she felt a strange, disturbing tension in her belly. “A grown woman, then. Worldly and experienced…”

  She swallowed anxiously. “A grown woman, yes. And experienced enough to know a gentleman from a savage.”

  “Then you do not need any lessons from me about the difference between the two?”

  “I certainly do not.”

  The Butcher paused, looking down at her legs while he gathered the heavy fabric of her skirts in his fist. Inching them up, little by little, until her bare calves were exposed to the knees, he said in a low, husky whisper, “That’s too bad, lassie, because I’m an excellent teacher. And you smell very nice.”

  “Do I?” She voiced the reply in a blasé tone, despite the fact that her chest felt like it might explode.

  Slowly, he nuzzled her shoulder with his chin, as if he was studying her response to his touch.

  Amelia lay very still , resting her cheek on her hands, struggling impossibly to behave as if this were nothing to her.

  She would not react to his overtures, nor show fear or slap his hands away, for that might only provoke him. With any luck, a façade of boredom and indifference might douse the fires of his current inclinations—whatever they were.

  “Aye, fresh as a spring daisy,” he said. “Very tempting in the morning.”

  He continued to stroke her shoulder with his chin while her heart raced like a hunted fox.

  “You, on the other hand, are not tempting in the least,” she said. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

  “Is it because of how we met? Without a proper introduction?”

  She turned over to glare up at him. “You came to kill my betrothed, and you almost chopped off my head.”

  He let out a breath. “I knew I should have worn the silk jacket. Now I’ve spoiled everything.”

  Good Lord! Was he making fun of her? Or was he deranged?

  “Get up,” he said, vaulting lightly over her body, rising to his feet, and belting his scabbard around his waist.

  Amelia leaned up on both elbows. “Why?”

  She watched him pick up the axe and walk to the cave entrance, where he put two fingers to his lips and whistled.

  He then faced her—a godlike silhouette against the shifting mist, his kilt and hair wavering lightly in the breeze. “Because I intend to follow through with my devious and wily plot, of course.”

  «Will you send word to the fort that you are holding me captive?” she asked, still unsure what to make of him when he spoke like that.

  He bent forward, picked up his saddlebags, stalked back into the cave, and began packing food. “Not yet. I want Bennett to worry about you for a few days.”

  A few days … Amelia examined the wounds at her wrists and remembered her frantic need to escape when she first set foot in this cave. She’d been the Butcher’s prisoner for less than six hours and felt as if she’d skirted death and disaster at every turn. How would she continue to survive for another few days—and nights, too?

  “What makes you think the full force of the English army isn’t already searching for me?” she challenged. “How do you know Richard hasn’t uncovered your tracks or learned of this hiding place? He has reason to interrogate people now.

  Surely someone will know this den exists.”

  “That’s why we’re leaving.”

  “Where will we go?”

  “Further north. Higher into the mountains.”

  She glanced past him to the mouth of the cave again. «Will your friends be j
oining us?”

  “They’ll be close by,” he answered, “but we won’t travel together. That would make us too easy to track.”

  Just then, the two Highlanders they’d met in the rainy field entered the cave. The Butcher tossed a blanket to the tall red-haired one with the beard and freckled skin. “We’re leaving,” he said. “Pack everything. We’ll meet at Glen Elchaig at dusk.”

  The Highlander began to rollup the blanket, his green eyes intense as he scrutinized Amelia. “Is she coming with us?”

  “Aye.”

  He nodded at her. “I’m Gawyn.” He gestured toward the other Highlander. “And the ugly one is Fergus.”

  Fergus belched and flashed a crooked, disquieting grin, which made her shrink back. “He’s just jealous of my sensual appeal.”

  Deeply unsettled and striving to keep up her guard, Amelia rose to her feet and watched the rebels clear the supplies out of the den. They moved swiftly and efficiently while she stood back against the cold cave wall , keeping quiet, striving to avoid their attentions.

  The Butcher tossed his saddlebags over his shoulder, then approached. “Time to go.” He grabbed her by the elbow and led her out of the cave.

  Scurrying to keep up, Amelia breathed in the briny scent of the fog as they emerged into the morning light. The mist shifted and rolled across the rocky hill tops, and she felt its chill upon her skin.

  The Butcher saddled his horse while the other two Highlanders stuffed supplies into sacks and saddle pouches.

  Amelia studied the craggy landscape, searching for some sign of the fair-haired one named Angus, but he seemed to have vanished into the mist. They were a dubious and shifty lot, these Highland rebels.

  “You’ll need to relieve yourself before we go,” the Butcher said. “There’s a rock there, and don’t get any ideas about running off.” He pointed toward a huge boulder, then turned away.

  This is a nightmare, Amelia thought. If only I could wake.

  A few minutes later, she finished her morning affairs and returned to where the others were waiting.