The ducal coach pulled to a halt in front of them, and a liveried footman hurried to lower the step. Wearing a garish green satin jacket and peach breeches, her uncle, plump as a pumpkin, emerged from the dark confines and squinted upward at the front of the castle before he set a shiny buckled shoe upon the step and hopped heavily to the ground. His perfume was overpowering. His black wig was tall and unwieldy, with ringlets that bounced as he walked.
“My darling girl!” He pulled Amelia into his arms and squeezed the air out of her lungs. “Thank God you are found, and you are safe!” He turned to Duncan. “I owe you a great debt, Lord Moncrieffe, for my niece’s rescue. You have saved her from the Butcher’s axe.”
Duncan gave an elegant bow. “She saved herself, Your Grace. She is a remarkable woman. I did nothing but provide these stone wall s as sanctuary.”
Her uncle looked at her. “Are you all right, my dear?”
“I am fine.”
He stood back and inhaled quickly. “I shall hear all about your ordeal soon enough,” he said. “But first…” He faced Duncan again. “I am responsible for this young gel, Moncrieffe. She is my dearly departed brother’s only child, and she means the world to me, so I must beg to ask, why?
Why have you proposed this match between yourself and my niece?”
Amelia felt her smile drop. She moved closer to stand at Duncan’s side and linked her arm through his, feeling grateful that he was not brandishing his axe today.
“She is already pledged to Lieutenant-colonel Richard Bennett,” her uncle continued, “and this is highly inappropriate, to conduct yourself in such a manner.”
“But Uncle…,” she protested. He did not know who he was speaking to!
His Grace swung a hand through the air. “Hup! Hup!
Hush!”
Her teeth clicked together.
The duke tilted his wigged head to the side and raised an accusing eyebrow at Duncan. “What do you have to say for yourself, young man?”
Duncan inclined his head and put a foot forward in a second, more elegant bow. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I have no excuse to offer, except to confess that I fell in love with your niece, and lost my head completely.”
Amelia’s head drew back in astonishment.
Her uncle turned his eyes to her. “The great Scottish laird fell in love, did he?”
“Yes,” Amelia shakily replied.
“Just like that?”
“Can you blame me, Your Grace?” Duncan interjected.
“Lady Amelia is like no other woman.”
“My brother spoke well of you, Moncrieffe. I wondered if I’d ever be privileged enough in this lifetime to make your acquaintance and see for myself what sort of man you are.”
“I’ll leave that to Your Grace to decide,” Duncan said, “if you will bestow us the honor of your company at dinner this evening.”
“Of course I’ll honor you with my company!” the duke shouted as he adjusted his wig. “Where else am I to go?
We’re deep in the wilds of the Scottish Highlands. I am fortunate I didn’t get swallowed up by a hungry boar on the way here.”
Amelia exhaled a nervous breath as they all entered the main hall together.
* * *
“Ah, Moncrieffe. I daresay this is the finest whisky in Great Britain and beyond.” Winslowe swirled the amber liquid around in his crystal glass, then delighted himself with another deep draught. Duncan lifted his own glass. “I am honored you think so, Your Grace. I’ll be sure to send you back to England with a crate of my very best.”
“You are a true gentleman, sir.”
They had enjoyed a sumptuous dinner and dessert, followed by musical entertainment in the old banqueting hall , but now the hour had grown late. Only Duncan and the duke chose to linger on, sipping whisky by the fire in the library.
The others had retired for the night.
“This is a fine castle, Moncrieffe. Quite old, I presume?”
“Construction of the keep and gate tower began in 1214,”
Duncan told him. “The main part of the castle, where we now sit, was completed in 1629.”
Winslowe’s gaze traveled about the candlelit room.
“Indeed it is an architectural masterpiece.”
They discussed architecture for quite some time, and Duncan promised the duke that he would show him the plans for future additions and refurbishments, which he kept in his study.
Then, at last, the time was at hand to discuss more important matters.
“So you claim to have developed feelings for my niece,”
the duke prompted, scrutinizing Duncan with a spark of challenge over the rim of his glass.
“Aye, Your Grace. It is my intention to love and care for her always.”
The duke leaned forward in his chair. “Love, you say. I watched you this evening, Moncrieffe, and I do not doubt you are smitten, but I am not sure I would call it love.” He sat back. “You are taken with her, natural y. She is a beautiful young woman. I see also that she returns your … affections. It was not difficult to make out. She is completely besotted.” He leaned back again. “But it’s all rather sudden, is it not? By my calculations, you proposed the very day she crossed your threshold.”
Duncan wet his lips and thought long and hard about how he should answer the duke’s challenge. Clearly he was a perceptive and insightful man. “I realize it may seem strange to Your Grace, but I remember Lady Amelia’s father very well . I will always regard him with the highest esteem. I recall also that he spoke with a great love for his daughter. So if I may be blunt…”
Winslowe waved an inviting hand. “Please. I am curious.”
Duncan set his glass down on the side table and rested his elbows on his knees. “I have not had the pleasure of meeting her former fiancé, Colonel Bennett,” he said, “but I do know of his reputation, and I feel it is my duty to inform Your Grace that…” He paused to give the man a moment to prepare himself for what he was about to hear. “Richard Bennett is despised in this country, Your Grace. He is regarded as a tyrant who knows no bounds when it comes to oppression and brutality. Innocent Scots have been slaughtered under his orders; peaceful homes have been burned to the ground. So when I learned of your niece’s engagement, I could not bear the thought of her marrying such a man, so I did not hesitate to violate your country’s rules of etiquette.” He leaned back and stared unshakably at the duke. “And for that I make no apologies.”
Winslowe surveyed him careful y. “You are a will full man, Moncrieffe, but I see that you are decent and forthcoming as well , so I, too, shall be blunt.” He met Duncan’s eyes. “I was surprised at my brother’s decision to allow his daughter to wed Colonel Bennett. I believe he acted in haste to secure a husband for her before he departed from this world.
Myself…?” He sat back. “I am not fond of the man. I have no concrete proof of any unseemly activities, mind you, but I simply do not care for him. call it instinct, a gut reaction, whatever you please, but I recognize the fact that he has a cruel streak. I have no doubt he can be charming when he wishes to be, which is why Amelia was influenced in the beginning. And when her father passed away—God rest his soul—she was lonely and grief-stricken. I could not help but feel that Bennett preyed upon that vulnerability. Amelia has a generous dowry, and she is the daughter of a duke. Bennett wishes to advance himself, for he has few connections and is not a wealthy man.” Winslowe waved a finger. “He has a great talent on the battlefield, however, and that is where he made too strong an impression on my brother. He saved his life, you know. It was quite a heroic feat.”
“Yes, I’ve heard.” Duncan tossed back the rest of his whisky before he said something distasteful to His Grace, which he might later regret.
“But with my brother gone,” the duke continued, “Amelia’s guardianship fall s to me. I am all she has, and I will not let her step into a future that promises unhappiness. I believe you are genuine in your affections for her, sir, and clearly you
are a man of great wealth and personal integrity. I will support your engagement, Moncrieffe, and if Bennett sees fit to complain about it … well , I am a duke now.” He raised his glass again. “I have some influence in the world.”
Duncan sat forward and shook his hand. “I give you my word of honor, Your Grace, that Amelia will be happy here.
She will be treated with the utmost respect.”
“Good man.” The duke downed the rest of his whisky.
Duncan gave Winslowe a moment to enjoy the effects of the drink before speaking again. “I hope it will not spoil your evening, Your Grace, if I push the subject further.”
The duke sat forward. “Push away, Moncrieffe.”
Duncan nodded. “I spoke earlier of Colonel Bennett’s reputation and what I know of his military tactics. It is my firm belief that the people of Scotland deserve their dignity, and I mean to bring Richard Bennett to justice for his crimes.”
The duke’s bushy eyebrows lifted. “You don’t say. A formal complaint, you mean?”
“Aye. I can bring witnesses, and if you were willing to hear their testimonies, I would welcome your support.”
The duke considered Duncan’s request. “He is a celebrated war hero, Moncrieffe. The man has medals. It will not be easy. Certainly the army will not appreciate it. Nor will the King.”
“Surely someone will see the truth in it, and be moved to do the right thing.”
The duke crossed one stout leg over the other. “Perhaps.
But if not—and if I choose to support you—it will be my reputation that will suffer. Imagine it, Moncrieffe—an eccentric English duke, new to his title, taking Scotland’s side in a case against the King’s army.”
“A losing battle, to be sure,” Duncan said.
Winslowe slapped his plump thigh and laughed. “Ah, you fearless Highlanders. How I admire your spirit, always so full of confidence and vitality, raging across battlefields with your swords and shields held high, even in the face of impossible odds. Ah, to be a Scotsman.” He raised his empty glass.
“And young again.”
Duncan inclined his head at the duke and rose from his chair to go and bring back the decanter. He refil ed both their glasses, then sat down.
“Let me tell you about my adventures at the Battle of Sherrifmuir,” he said, “and then we can discuss what might be possible with the King’s army.”
Winslowe sat back and made himself comfortable, and they talked openly about warfare and politics until well past midnight.
* * *
“You’re very late,” Amelia said, sitting up in bed when Duncan entered her bedchamber. She had been waiting for hours. “Aye.” He set the candelabra down on the chest of drawers and removed his coat. “I’ve been busy, lass, winning your uncle’s esteem. He thinks very well of me now, and I think well of him, too. He’s a good man, like your father. We have much in common, and he supports our engagement. He said your father had been disappointed he’d not been able to arrange a match between us after his visit here last spring, and that, in your uncle’s opinion, our marriage cannot happen soon enough.”
“My father desired a match between us?”
She was surprised to hear this and felt a sudden rush of joy. With all her doubts and fears lately, especial y regarding her own judgment and her recent decision to marry Duncan, it meant a great deal to know that her father had approved of this man as a potential son-in-law. Perhaps her father’s spirit had been watching over her all along. She felt rather starry-eyed.
Crawling on all fours to the foot of the bed, she stood on her knees and hugged the tall bedpost where the velvet curtains were tied back with gold tassels. There was something different about Duncan’s mood tonight. He seemed wound up tighter than a tall case clock. His high spirits were almost contagious.
“You seem very happy,” she said. “What else happened between you and my uncle?”
Duncan crossed to the window and looked out at the darkness. “I expressed my opinions about your former betrothed and told him that I mean to protect you from him, and your uncle did not dispute my views. He made it known that he never approved of your engagement to begin with.”
Amelia was surprised to hear this as well . “He never told me that.”
“He was respecting the wishes of your late father, even though it went against his better judgment. He’s through with all that now, though. He will make his own judgments, and he will act upon his conscience.”
Amelia sat back on her heels. “So that is why you are so pleased?”
He faced her. “Not just that, lass. Your uncle has agreed to help me bring Bennett to justice. He’ll support an inquiry to investigate his crimes. As God is my witness, Richard Bennett will pay for what he did to my Muira.”
Amelia felt a sudden jolt in her heart. She was pleased, of course, that he was choosing a more civilized path toward justice by leaving the ultimate decision of punishment to the army and the courts. It was exactly what she encouraged him to do on that final night of her abduction, and certainly, if Richard was guilty, he should be tried and convicted.
What troubled her was Duncan’s unremitting desire for vengeance, fueled by his pain over Muira’s death. Amelia shivered slightly, feeling the Butcher’s elemental despair and his dangerous fury still lingering about. Clearly, all of that was not yet behind them.
“So you mean to continue with your vengeance?” she careful y asked.
He gave her a look of warning. “Let there be no accusation in your words, lass, because I break no vow to you. The promise I made was to refrain from using the blade of my axe to take Richard Bennett’s life. I never agreed to let him go on raping and pil aging. What I do now is exactly what you asked of me in the mountains. I am doing it your way.
The civilized way. I will leave his fate to the army and the courts.”
He was right, of course, and she nodded. “I suppose you must do what you feel is right to avenge Muira’s death,” she said.
She recalled suddenly what Beth MacKenzie had said in the cottage: The Butcher buried his own heart in the ground with his beloved on the day she died—at least the part of his heart that was capable of love.
“It’s not just for Muira,” he said, “but for all of Scotland, too.
The man is a tyrant. He must be stopped.” He passed by the foot of the bed. “But let us not speak of Muira again.”
“Why?”
“Because I do not wish to speak of her,” he said irritably.
He began to untie the ruffled cravat at his neck. “Now take off your shift, lass. I am lustin’ for you.”
Still reflecting upon the hurt she felt over Muira’s enduring presence in his heart—for it was a place into which Amelia had not yet been invited, not really—she watched his hands as he untied the loose knot.
And was this truly lust for her? she wondered, feeling tempted to question him. Or was it lust for his long-awaited vengeance?
He gazed at her with a hot, overwhelming sexuality.
She decided not to question him now. That would be a foolish thing to do, for there was hunger in his eyes. He looked ready to devour her, and it made her bones turn to jel y, because whenever he had that particular look in his eye, the sex was more passionate and satisfying than ever.
She realized at that moment how much of a captive she still was—ensnared by the undeniable pull of his sexuality.
When he looked at her with those voracious eyes, nothing else seemed to matter. The whole world simply disappeared.
A flashing moment later, he was there at the corner of the bed, taking her face in his hands and pressing his mouth to hers. She was astounded by how quickly she could plunge into this role as his lover and forget everything else. It had been all she could do, over the past few days, to distract herself from these feverish urges and desires. all he had to do was come to her, command her to disrobe, and she obeyed.
He moved to the door, locked it, then returned to stand before her like a conqu
ering warlord. “Lie back,” he said, and she lay down crosswise on the bed.
He tore off his jacket with rough impatience and tossed it to the floor. His fingers moved in a blur of motion down the button fastenings of his waistcoat, which he threw on the floor as well .
Amelia leaned up on both elbows. Watching him rip the loose shirt off over his head, she could barely comprehend her desires.
She wanted to prove that he belonged to her now—that her power to enchant and possess matched his, and that he was just as much a captive as she.
Bare-chested, still in his breeches, he came down upon her in a fiery heap of masculine flesh. He lifted her shift—al this while kissing the tops of her breasts where her collar had fall en open. Desire burned in her depths, and soon her shift was off over her head. Nude at last, feeling no modesty, and baffled by this unhindered passion, she wiggled beneath him.
“You are mine now, Duncan,” she found herself saying.
He drew back and stared at her. “Aye.” Then he kissed her deeply and flicked his tongue over her nipples. Amelia moaned while he continued to lick and suckle and use his lips to blaze a trail of pleasure down her quivering belly.
She parted her legs and cupped his head in her hands.
He inched lower still , and suddenly his face was in the damp hollow between her thighs, probing the depths of her womanhood with his lips and tongue.
She gasped with delight, her breath catching in her throat.
Her blood quickened in response as he pushed ahead with his face, devouring her hungrily. He slid his hands under her bottom and lifted her off the bed to gain better access, and Amelia shuddered with pleasure.
He glanced up, and for a split second their eyes locked together. He moved up to mount her, then reached down and released himself from his bulging breeches.
A moment later, he was inside, thrusting and plundering, claiming her completely. all she knew was that she belonged to him, body and soul, and from this moment forward nothing could save her from this all -consuming desire to win his heart, and to make this marriage a true one.
Captured by the Highlander Page 20
