Captured by the Highlander

by Julianne MacLean

  Feeling uncomfortable and fidgety, Amelia wandered to the door and pulled it open. The sunshine was bright and warm on her face. She raised a hand to shade her eyes and watch the children, who were still kicking a ball around in the stable yard, when suddenly Gawyn’s ruddy face appeared in front of her eyes.

  “What are you up to, lassie?”

  She nearly jumped out of her skin. “Gawyn! Must you startle me like that?”

  “Duncan told me to guard the door,” he said, “so I’m just following orders.”

  “I see,” she replied, taking a deep breath. «Well, I am not attempting to escape. I had nothing to do, so I thought I would see what everyone else was doing.”

  “They’re playing ball , lassie. And I didn’t think you’d try to run off. I’m here to guard against the English. You never know when a red-coated thug might try to steal you back. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you about the soldiers at the loch.”

  Amelia cleared her throat. «Well, thank you. I do appreciate your efforts.”

  He nodded courteously.

  “Do you know what Duncan has planned for today?” she asked, in an attempt to make casual conversation. «Will we stay here another night?”

  “Nay, lassie, we’ll be heading out very soon, moving south toward Moncrieffe. It’s a two-day ride.”

  “Moncrieffe?” Her heart went still in her chest at the possibility of traveling south toward a small orb of civilization in the middle of this wild foreign land. This was good news.

  Perhaps Duncan would release her to the earl—if in fact he intended to let her live, which she now believed he did. At least that was what he had promised last night. And this morning he seemed genuinely beholden to her for saving his life. Her welfare and happiness might even be a matter of honor to him now.

  But then she remembered his primary objective, which had nothing to do with delivering her to safety, and felt a disturbing pang of uncertainty. He might be beholden to her

  —and he had certainly enjoyed flirting with her just now—but he was still stalking Richard, and when they arrived at Moncrieffe, Richard might have to fight for his life and his reputation in a savage, bloody battle for revenge.

  “Thank you, Gawyn,” she said before she retreated into the cottage and closed the door.

  It was quiet inside. Almost too quiet. There were no sounds of water splashing, or the scraping of whiskers under a razor, which made her wonder if Duncan was asleep in the tub.

  “Aye, lassie, it’s true,” he said from the back room, crushing that theory when his deep tantalizing voice reached out to her through the curtain. “We’re riding south toward Moncrieffe today. I’ve no doubt you’re glad to hear it.”

  “Indeed, I am,” she answered, fighting to keep her tone light and easy. “Although it matters less now that I have enjoyed a warm bath,” she casual y added. “I feel quite rejuvenated and ready to take on the world.”

  “As do I,” he replied, splashing in the water. “And I must confess, the pleasure of lying here in this warm tub—with the lingering scent of your sweet naked body surrounding me—

  has cured the ache in my head.”

  She crossed the room, listening.…

  “So you’d best be on your guard, lass. You’re in more danger than ever.”

  Her heart began to pound, and she hated the fact that he could evoke this anxiety in her. And he was doing it intentional y. Of course he was.

  “You know,” he continued, “I can’t help but wonder where my head was back at the fort, when I tore your shift from your body and tossed that skirt at you in such a hurry, telling you to get dressed. I let the moment pass without paying you the proper attention you deserved.”

  Pressing her ear to the curtain, she strove to keep her voice steady and composed. “I assure you, Duncan, I would not have welcomed your attentions in the least. So there is no point in punishing yourself. There were no missed opportunities. You can be sure of that.”

  She heard more sounds of water splashing; then the front door opened suddenly. Beth walked in with a basket of eggs and stopped dead in her tracks. She raised her eyebrows at Amelia and gestured toward the curtain, as if to say she knew exactly what she was doing and that she understood.

  That yes, Duncan was a superb specimen of manhood and it was only natural for Amelia—or any woman for that matter—to try to steal a peek at him while he was bathing.

  Furious with herself for being caught in such an embarrassing position, Amelia exhaled sharply.

  Beth set the basket of eggs on the table and walked out again. The door swung shut behind her, which caused the curtain to flutter. There was now a space between the curtain and the wall , which suggested a person in Amelia’s position could peer through the crack. That was to say if a person was tempted.

  She heard the watery splashes of Duncan rising up out of the tub.

  Quickly she peered through, and could just as easily have been looking at a sculpted statue of sleek, shiny bronze, like Neptune rising out of the sea. Water dripped down the length of Duncan’s spectacular muscled form in clean silver rivulets.

  She’d never seen a naked man before. She’d seen works of art, of course, but never a true flesh-and-blood masterpiece of virility. And Duncan was most definitely that.

  Lips parted, she stood gazing at his narrow tapered waist, his solid, firm buttocks and broad thighs. Her pulse burned with both shock and fascination, and even when she knew she should turn away, she could not. She was rooted to the floor, staring through the narrow space between the curtain and the wall , powerless to even swallow or blink.

  Then, as the gleam of water streamed over the brawny bands of muscle on his shoulders and upper arms, she noticed the scars. Some were small , like tiny nicks in the flesh, while others were thick and deep. One was as long as her arm, from wrist to elbow, carved in the shape of a half-moon.

  How many battles had this man fought and survived? Was he made of steel? He seemed invincible. No wonder he was such a legend. No one could crush or kill him, not with knife or sword or stone.

  For some unbidden reason, she imagined him naked with a lover. We’re not afraid to grunt and thrust and use our mouths to pleasure our women.

  Her insides burned with heat. She had not forgotten those words, or how he had pressed his body to hers and pinned her to the ground on the morning of her abduction.

  He had grunted and thrusted. She remembered every heart-stopping moment of it—every movement, every sensation.…

  Duncan reached for his shirt, pulled it on over his head, then donned his tartan and belt, fixing the brooch in place over his shoulder. He was just reaching for his weapons when Amelia shook herself out of her stupor and realized he would soon push through the curtain. She backed away, looked around for something to do, nearly knocked over a milk jug with her elbow—then crossed to the basket of eggs on the table. But what to do with them?

  The curtain swept open with a barely audible swish, but she did not turn. She could do nothing but listen to his light footsteps across the floor, coming closer … closer …

  approaching from behind.

  The scent of him filled her head. It was not rosewater she smell ed, however. It was just him and the musky smell of his clothes, the plaid and the leather. It was the smell of Scotland.

  She felt his presence—so close, his chest touched her back. His hands came to rest on her hips, and her skin erupted in gooseflesh.

  “You were watching me, weren’t you?” he whispered in her ear.

  There was no point in lying. He would know. “Yes.”

  Her bones seemed to melt beneath the sudden scorching heat of her skin.

  “You’ve not seen a man naked before?”

  She shook her head. “Of course not. That’s not how we live where I come from. Ladies are sheltered from such things.”

  “Even after marriage?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  He did not move, but she could still feel his warm, humid
breath in her ear. A strange pulsing began within. Outside her body, the whole world seemed to go silent and still .

  Then at last he stepped back, and she exhaled sharply.

  “We’ll be leaving soon,” he said, but she could not look up from the basket of eggs, nor turn around and meet his eyes.

  She was too mortified. She’d watched him bathe; she’d been aroused by the sight of his strong male body, and he knew it.

  But at least this time, he was enough of a gentleman not to say anything more. He simply moved past her and walked out.

  Chapter Ten

  Richard Bennett stood up from the warm, rose-scented bathwater and wished he could enjoy the sensation of feeling clean, but he could not revel in it—not now, when he felt so damned irritable. He had traveled all day and half the night to reach Moncrieffe Castle but felt no further ahead in this frustrating chase. Amelia was still the Butcher’s prisoner—if she was even still alive—and Richard had no idea where to look for them.

  He turned and snapped his fingers three times at Moncrieffe’s personal manservant, who appeared to be lost in a world of daydreams. “Hurry up, man! It’s frigid in here!”

  The servant hastened forward with a large linen coverlet stretched taut from hand to hand.

  “I thought this place was supposed to be well -appointed,”

  Richard said. “But I suppose it’s impossible to get the dampness out of the air completely, this far north of the border. Does the sun never shine here?” He wrapped himself in the extravagant linen, but the chill of this putrid Highland air would not leave him.

  “Indeed it does, sir.”

  Richard glanced over his shoulder at the earl’s short, stocky manservant, who was backing away slowly. “You were looking at my scars, weren’t you? And now you’re struck dumb by the sight of them, and how hideous I am.”

  The man kept his gaze fixed to the floor. “No, Colonel.”

  Richard’s annoyance waned slightly at the man’s submissiveness. “Come now, be honest. You can’t pretend not to have noticed. I’ll not have a liar in my midst. Besides, I can take it. I’ve taken much worse. How do you suppose I came by them in the first place?”

  Richard stepped out of the tub onto the polished plank floor, dripping water everywhere.

  The valet cautiously lifted his eyes. “They look to be very painful, sir.”

  “Not at all ,” Richard replied. “I’ve had them forever. I don’t feel a thing. It only vexes me when someone looks at them and reacts like you just did.”

  Richard rubbed the linen towel through his hair, scrubbing at his scalp to get all the water out. “So tell me, servant …what do you know of this infamous Butcher I have the pleasure of pursuing? Do the people of this country know he abducted an English lady out of her bed? Do they know she was the daughter of a great war hero, who once tried to help Scotland by negotiating for peace? One would think they would take that into consideration. Come now, servants hear things. How does the common crofter feel about the Butcher’s tactics? There must be some who disapprove.”

  When the valet did not respond, Richard continued to openly speak his mind. “I know the earl is a civilized man—a gentleman, according to some. But what of the general populace outside the castle wall s? Am I surrounded by enlightened people, or is this place crawling with Jacobites like the Butcher, who are hungry for English blood? Should I sleep with one eye open?”

  The valet went to fetch Richard’s robe, which was laid out on the four-poster bed. “I promise you’ll be safe here, Colonel Bennett—inside the castle wall s. And the door can be bolted from the inside.”

  Richard strode toward the valet, who was holding out his robe. “The door can be bolted, you say? So I am not so safe after all .”

  The valet nervously cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, Colonel. I am certain that His Lairdship wants very much to meet with you and discuss what the Butcher has done. He’ll want to help in any way he can.”

  Richard dropped the linen coverlet on the floor and slipped his arms into the loose sleeves of his robe. “Indeed.

  It’s no secret that the earl likes to help the King—at least when it proves to be profitable.”

  The valet bent to pick up the embroidered linen and folded it in his arms. “My master would never wish to see an innocent woman harmed. You’ll have his full attention in the morning.”

  «Well, I should hope so,” Richard said, tying the belt of his robe. “He profited greatly from his negotiations with the Duke of Winslowe in the spring, and it’s that nobleman’s daughter whose life is at stake. I would hope the earl will feel somewhat … beholden in that regard.”

  “Beholden…” The valet seemed almost panic-stricken.

  “Aye, Colonel Bennett. The earl understands debts and obligations. And he desires peace.”

  “Of course he does.”

  Exhausted and in need of a good night’s sleep, Richard climbed onto the soft feather bed and laid his head on the pillow. “In the meantime,” he said, “bring me some of that famous Moncrieffe whisky. I hear it’s the best.”

  “Aye, Colonel. I’ll have a bottle sent up right away.”

  “See that you do.”

  * * *

  “How do you plan to confront Richard once we reach the castle?” Amelia asked. She and Duncan were traveling through a shady forest, alive with the chirping of finches, buntings, and warblers, all fluttering their tiny wings in the treetops. A soft breeze whispered and sighed through the leafy sycamores, like a gentle caress, and Amelia knew she was enjoying the peacefulness of this place far more than she should. This was not a quiet haven for the soul. It was the path that was taking them to Duncan’s personal war, which was going to be hell ish and bloody.

  “It’s no secret that the Earl of Moncrieffe does not support the Jacobite rebel ion,” she added, “and that he has pledged an all egiance to the King. Surely he has an army to fight against the threat you pose.”

  “Aye,” Duncan replied, “but did you not hear what Beth’s father said back at the cottage? That the earl’s father would roll over in his grave if he knew what his son had become?

  That proud Scottish laird was an unwavering Jacobite, and he fought hard at Sherrifmuir and died there, along with many other loyal Scots who served under him. For that reason, Moncrieffe Castle is divided, and all we have to do is ride through the gate with our axes and claymores and we’ll have two hundred men from the earl’s army within minutes. Don’t fool yourself. Your betrothed will have no protection there.

  The place is crawling with Jacobites who will be more than happy to feed him to us on a silver platter. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was already dead when we arrived, which would be unfortunate, to say the least.”

  “Because you want to kill him yourself.”

  “Aye.”

  Amelia cringed inwardly. «Well, all of that is disappointing to hear, because when my father spent time at Moncrieffe Castle in the spring he believed the earl and the members of his clan were a civilized lot, and that they desired peace.”

  “Indeed they do, but how they go about achieving it is where the differences lie. Some fight for it. Others just wag their tongues and profit from their signatures. But I am weary of this talk. Let us speak of something else.”

  Taking exception to his officious tone, she nevertheless strove to speak dispassionately. “What would you like to talk about? And let it not have anything to do with what happened back at the cottage.”

  “Why? Were you that excited by the overwhelming sight of my magnificent naked form, lass?”

  Her veneer of dispassion became impossible to maintain—probably because she had been hard-pressed to think of anything other than his naked form since they had mounted the horse. The image of him in the tub had been striking erotic memory chords in her mind all morning, and no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, she could not suppress the stubborn, heated excitement it aroused in her.

  �
��I told you that was the one thing I did not want to discuss.

  It’s not suitable conversation for a lady.”

  “Then why’d you bring it up?” He paused. “I find it odd, how you English lassies always behave according to what’s suitable. Don’t you ever just want to live honestly, and not hide or bury your desires?”

  “Are you suggesting I desire you, Duncan?”

  He rubbed his nose lightly against the back of her hair, which caused an unwelcome torrent of gooseflesh to tingle between her shoulder blades.

  “That’s not the point,” he replied, “and you know it, although I do think you find me fetching. How could you not?”

  He was truly an unbelievable man.

  “But if this fiancé of yours,” he continued, “was always behaving so properly in your presence, minding his manners, how can you be sure you ever knew his true, honest self?”

  She thought about that for a moment. “I have already admitted that it is quite possible I did not.”

  “There, you see? If a man doesn’t say or act on what he truly feels…”

  “But that is my point, Duncan. In England, we exercise self-control, which is why I feel more safe there, among people who behave properly according to a strict set of social rules, than with people like you, who act on their basic impulses.”

  “You prefer men who follow rules,” he clarified, “like those soldiers at the loch?”

  Amelia shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. He was challenging her basic beliefs again, which troubled her, because she was lost and alone here in this wild, foreign land. Her father was dead. If she did not have a civilized home to return to, how could she ever survive this ordeal?

  “Must we come back to that?”

  “Aye, if you’ll admit that being English and having good table manners does not make a man decent or give him honor.”

  Wondering if it was even possible to win an argument with this man, she pursed her lips. “Al right, I will concede that point. How could I not? You are right. Those men were savages. How many times must I admit that to you?”