Angus spoke to him in a clear voice. “I saw your horse outside, but this one I’m holding by the neck told me he never saw you, that he had no visitors. I knew he was lying to me, so I thought I’d take a look for myself.”
“Of course I was lying,” Craig ground out. “This man and woman are under my protection. I didn’t know who the hell you were, and I still don’t, you bluidy bastard. So until I do, you can rot in hell .”
Duncan turned his head slightly, as if to ascertain that Amelia was safe behind him.
“I’m fine,” she said. “These people gave us care. Truly.
You have my word.”
He reached up and fingered the pasty salve on his head, then sniffed the concoction.
“They helped the Englishwoman, ” Angus corrected in his usual antagonistic tone. “And I wouldn’t be surprised to see a troop of redcoats galloping into the stable yard any minute now.”
Duncan had not yet lowered his pistol. She noticed his long fingers close around the handle of his axe.
The old man glared petulantly at Angus. He raised his cane off the floor and pointed it at him. “Who are you, to break down this door and accuse this family of English sympathies?”
“I’m this man’s friend,” Angus replied, tossing a glance in Duncan’s direction, “and he needs me to watch his back because he has more than a few enemies lurking about. Like this one here.” He gestured toward Amelia.
“I brought him here to save his life,” she argued. “He collapsed in the woods.”
“It’s no wonder,” Angus said. “You clubbed him in the head with a rock.”
Al eyes turned to her. She met Beth’s disappointed gaze, and her heart sank.
“Is that true, Amelia?” Beth asked. “Did you strike him down? Are you his enemy?”
She struggled to find the best way to explain herself. “Not exactly.”
“Aye,” Angus said, sounding all too satisfied with the convenient unfolding of events. “Did you hear that? She said ‘not exactly.’ Perhaps you should also know that she’s the future bride of Richard Bennett, England’s first and foremost executioner of Scots.”
Wonderful.
“He is not an executioner,” she tried to explain, needing to defend him. Or perhaps it was herself, and her choice of a husband, that she needed to defend. Either way, it did not matter. She’d just implicated herself and confirmed Angus’s accusations—that she was an enemy of Scotland, and the Butcher’s enemy as well .
“You didn’t know that, did you?” Angus added, wrenching Craig roughly in his stranglehold.
“This woman is engaged to that swine?” Craig asked in a dry, gurgling voice.
Meanwhile, Beth said nothing.
Angus immediately released Craig, and he fell to his knees, gasping for breath.
“Aye,” Angus said. “It’s good to know which side of the border your sword fall s on, crofter. What’s your name?”
“Craig MacKenzie,” he replied, rising unsteadily to his feet.
Beth’s father relaxed and spoke in a more welcoming tone. “You’re the MacDonald, aren’t you? The one who survived Glencoe?”
Angus glanced dispassionately at Amelia and nodded.
The old man shared a long, meaningful look with him. “Get this brave lad a drink, Beth, and make it the best we have.
Get the bottle of Moncrieffe whisky out of the mahogany chest.”
Angus raised a smug eyebrow at Duncan, who at last lowered his pistol, released the hammer, and slipped it into his belt.
Amelia backed up in uneasy silence while Beth hurried into the back room. She returned with a bottle, retrieved four crystal glasses from her cupboard, and poured a drink for each kilted man. No one said a word. They strode forward, converging together around the table, picked up their drinks, and flicked them back in a single gulp. all four glasses hit the table at once.
“Another, Beth,” Craig said.
She poured seconds, and the ritual was repeated; then each man slowly backed away to his respective corner.
Before he sat back down on the bed, however, Duncan paused a moment to stare questioningly at Amelia. Their gazes locked and held until he took a seat and rested his elbows on his knees.
Angus moved to the fire and warmed his hands while Craig rubbed at his neck, rolling his shoulders to work out the tension.
Beth’s father sat down in his chair, nodding with pride and satisfaction. He was pleased to have the Butcher and one of his rebels in his home. “If you lads need supplies for your travels,” he said, “whatever we have is yours for the taking.”
Still standing over the fire, Angus acknowledged the offer with gratitude.
Duncan turned his questioning eyes toward Amelia again.
She quickly shook her head at him, hoping to communicate that none of it was true. She was English, yes, and she was engaged to Richard Bennett, but she had brought him here to save his life—and for reasons she was not yet ready to explore, she needed him to know that.
“How’d you find this place?” he asked her.
“I heard farm animals and ran through the woods. You collapsed in the glade where we stopped. Do you remember? I didn’t know what else to do.”
“So you ran here, fetched help, then came back for me?”
“Yes. Mr. MacKenzie hitched up his wagon and I showed him where you were.”
They all looked at Craig, who confirmed her story with a nod.
She noticed Angus looking over his shoulder at her, glaring with deep, smoldering hatred. He still did not trust her, and she did not believe it was possible to ever change that.
“It’s the truth,” Beth said. “That’s what happened. And there are no English soldiers on their way, at least not that we know of. all she wanted was help in tending to her Highlander.”
“I told them you were my husband,” she explained to Duncan.
Again he touched the salve that was packed on his head and winced slightly. “I am indebted to you,” he said to the MacKenzies.
“It was the least we could do,” Craig replied. “And you owe us no debt, friend. If anything, we are beholden to you, for what you do for Scotland.”
Amelia observed that Duncan, in typical fashion, gave no response, and from that she surmised that fame and adulation meant nothing to him. He had his reasons for doing what he did—they were personal and private—and judging by what she’d seen of him these past few days, she was growing more and more certain that he took no pleasure in the kill ing. There was no joy, nor was it a simple, mindless frenzy of butchery.
That fact would come as a surprise to many people, no doubt. Most of the English population believed him to be a bloodthirsty savage, who attacked and slaughtered for the pure amusement of the kill . She had thought so herself.
Before today.
“So is it true,” the weathered old Highlander said to Amelia, “that you laid the great Butcher out, flat on his back, with naught but a rock in your hand? A delicate, wee lass like yourself?” He raised his wine goblet in a playful salute. “I’d wager more than a few Englishmen would be impressed by that feat.”
Everyone chuckled, with the exception of Angus.
“This one is no delicate, wee lass,” Duncan told them, keeping his eyes locked on hers. “And I promise you, I’ll think twice about rubbing up against her again, especial y in the dark. And I’d give the same advice to any man here who dares to try. She’ll not yield to what she does not want, so you best keep your hands to yourselves, lads, or she’ll be bashing your brains out before you can blink twice.”
Everyone laughed, but a hush fell over the room when Angus interjected, “There’s nothing funny about it. She was trying to reach the English camp at Loch Fannich, and she told them where we were. She’d just as soon see us all locked up in the Tolbooth as sit here and drink our fine Scottish whisky.”
Everyone looked at her.
“That was before, ” she tried to explain. “Before I knew the kinds of men I had chanc
ed upon.”
She was still so very disturbed and shaken by the idea that everything she had previously believed about Scottish savages and English soldiers had been turned upside down.
Why hadn’t her father prepared her for any of this? How could he have raised her to believe that the world was black and white? That there was good and there was evil and England was incontestably good?
“Aye,” Craig said, seeming to understand the deeper undercurrent of her words. “A red jacket with brass buttons and a pair of shiny black boots does not make a man worthy of your trust, nor does it give him honor.”
“I know that now,” she replied, dropping her gaze to her lap. “And I won’t forget what I learned.”
“That’s wise of you,” Beth added helpful y. “You can’t judge a man’s honor by the uniform he wears. That’s just linen and wool. But to be fair, I’ve come upon my fair share of decent Englishmen in the past, as well as dishonest Highlanders who would rob you blind the minute you turned your back.
The tide moves both ways, and don’t you forget it.” She reached for her goblet of wine and took a sip.
“So what are you doing with this haughty English lass?”
the old man asked Duncan. “Is it safe to assume you mean to use her to get to Bennett?”
“Aye,” Duncan answered. “And I’d be grateful if you spread the word. I want him to know I have his woman, and that I’m stalking him straight to hell , to ensure justice is served.”
Amelia trembled at Duncan’s choice of words and could not help but think of Richard, whom she’d always believed was simply doing his duty in this rebel ion. She’d always imagined him taking part in organized battles on an open field, but clearly—after what happened tonight—she had to accept that not all English soldiers were as noble as she’d imagined and it was quite possible that Richard had done some terrible things.
Craig lounged back in his chair and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “He already knows you’re stalking him, which is why you haven’t been able to catch him. He does his best to hide from you.”
“He’s a bluidy coward,” Angus said in a low, bitter voice.
“You’ll get no argument about that in this house,” the old man said. “And you should both know that Bennett passed through Invershiel yesterday and he was on his way to Moncrieffe Castle to talk to the earl.”
“The earl?” Amelia asked, feeling her hopes rekindle. “Are we on Moncrieffe lands now?”
It was difficult to imagine a lavish palace anywhere in the vicinity, with manicured gardens and servants and a fine collection of rare books and Italian art. Surely if she could reach the castle, the earl would remember her father and reunite her with her uncle.
“No, lass,” Duncan said in a firm voice. “The earl is a MacLean, and we’re on MacKenzie lands now.”
“And thank God for that,” Beth’s father said. “That dirty MacLean is a bastard son of a whore and a traitor to Scotland. His father would roll over in his grave if he knew what his son had become. Mark my words, that faithless Scot will get what’s coming to him.”
“But what has he done to earn such an appalling reputation?” Amelia asked. Everyone shot angry looks at her, so she hastened to say more. “My father met him once, and he believed him to be a man of honor. He believed the earl desired peace with England.”
Beth’s father scoffed. “He’ll give Bennett anything he asks for, if it means he’ll have the ear of the King. all he wants is more land and more riches. He’ll likely hand over the entire Moncrieffe militia to Bennett, to help him hunt down our Butcher and deliver his head on a spike to the Tower of London.”
Angus paced in front of the fire. “The only head that’ll see a spike any time soon will be Bennett’s.”
“God willing.” Beth’s father raised his glass and took another drink.
Beth quickly stood. «Well, I hate to break up the merrymakin’, gentlemen, but it’s morning. The cows will soon be whining, and the children will wake.”
Craig stood. “What are your plans?” he asked Angus and Duncan. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need.”
Duncan stood, too. “We’ll be heading out today, but we’d be grateful for some fresh provisions, and the lady could use a quiet place to sleep. She’s had a long night, and I reckon she’d like to wash up.”
“You can take the room in the back,” Beth said. “The youngsters will be up soon, and I’ll have them haul out the tub and heat some water for a bath.”
Amelia exhaled with relief. “Thank you, Beth.”
Duncan crossed to Angus and leaned close. “Where are the others?” he asked.
“Taking care of the camp,” Angus replied. “They should be along shortly.”
He glanced back at Amelia, then spoke privately to Angus again, but she strained to listen.
“Tel Gawyn to sit outside the lassie’s window,” Duncan whispered, “and guard the door as well .”
“I’ll see it done.”
“And send Fergus with a message for my brother,” he said in an even quieter voice. “I want him to know where we’re headed.”
He had a brother?
Duncan’s eyes met hers only briefly, cool and unreadable, before he closed his hand over the hilt of his sword and walked out.
* * *
Hours later, after a deep and dreamless sleep, followed by a much-needed warm bath, Amelia final y felt more like herself, cleansed free of the grime from days in the saddle and the clammy residue of that disgusting English soldier who had assaulted her on the beach. She was just braiding her hair and pushing past the curtain that served as a door to the back room when she collided abruptly with Duncan.
“I thought you’d never come out of there,” he said. A ball of fire bounced in the pit of her belly. She had been naked not five minutes ago, believing herself alone in the small cottage.
She had not heard him enter and was unnerved by the possibility that he might have watched her bathe through a crack in the wall or listened to the dreamy cadence of her voice while she hummed. The framework of her stays felt suddenly tight and sticky over her breasts.
“And I thought I might have died and gone to heaven,” she casual y said, “when I thought I was actual y alone. ”
His eyes gleamed, and danger bells began to chime inside her head, for it was difficult to ignore the sensual memory of his lips touching hers in the glade the other day.
She found herself knocked off balance by her body’s response to his nearness.
“I wanted to thank you,” he said, “for what you did last night. You could’ve left me in the woods to die, but you came here instead.”
“It’s not as if I had any choice in the matter. I wouldn’t have gotten very far on my own. And besides, those English soldiers…”
She did not need to explain herself further. He nodded with understanding, which left her feeling strangely displaced.
The truth was, she was deeply relieved that he was still alive.
Despite everything, she would never have been able to live with herself if she had killed him—especial y after what he had done for her at the lake.
They were still on opposite sides of this war, of course—he was a Scottish Jacobite and she was an Englishwoman loyal to the King—but the personal antagonism between them seemed less absolute now. Less fierce. It seemed to be hiding behind shadows, and she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that.
He twirled the axe around in his hand, then slipped it into his belt. “You smell pretty, lass. Just like that first morning in the cave, when I had to fight my brutish urges to keep from ravishing you.”
“And clearly your brutish urges have not diminished,” she replied, throwing a veil of playful hauteur over her unease. “At least I was quick to don my gown just now; otherwise you might be in danger of another thump on the head.”
He regarded her with amusement, his eyes like gemstones, and she felt the familiar embers of excitement burning into her
skin, penetrating her nerves. It was as thrilling as fireworks.
“Do you mind if I go dip myself in your bathwater?” he asked. Without waiting for a reply, he began to unfasten his brooch and unravel his tartan. “Surely you’ll appreciate it later when we mount Turner together. You’ll prefer it if my whiskers are scraped off, so I don’t scratch your tender skin when I’m straddled close behind you.”
Why did he feel compelled to say such things? It made her heart beat fast with alarm.
She worked hard to speak in a detached tone while inching sideways to move past him, for they were wedged tightly between a cupboard and a chair. She was painful y aware of the thick muscles of his chest as her breasts brushed up against him, and as a result her heart catapulted into her ribs. She had to work hard to keep the hot stinging blush from her cheeks, for she would rather die than let him see what he did to her.
“That would be greatly appreciated,” she said, “because you smell like sweat.”
He chuckled softly, his tone low and sensual. “I was out in the yard with the lads, kicking a ball around.”
“Sounds like a lovely way to pass the time.”
“There are better ways.”
He backed into the curtain. It fell graceful y closed behind him, wafted in the air for a second or two, then went still .
Amelia was left standing there in the front room, aimless and deeply unsettled by the heavy pulsing of arousal in all her muscles and limbs. She felt like she was made of putty and all he had to do was touch her and she would soften and bend for him.
A few seconds later, she heard the sound of water sloshing about in the tub and knew he was full y immersed in her bathwater, naked, as she had been. Thinking about that —imagining the awesome spectacle of his nudity, and her very own water pouring over and caressing his thick, sleek muscles—was more than a little disconcerting.
She moved away from the curtain and looked around for something to do to keep her mind occupied, but this was not her cottage and even if it was, she wouldn’t have the slightest idea what needed to be done. She was the daughter of an aristocrat, and she’d always relied on servants to take care of household chores.
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