Captured by the Highlander

by Julianne MacLean

  Love him.

  His will collapsed, and he felt compelled to explain. The words spilled out of him quickly. “If it makes any difference, I didn’t plan it.”

  She grimaced. “So you are telling me that you had no control over yourself? I am sorry, Duncan, but that does not make me feel any better. How can I be sure you won’t lose your temper with me one day? How do I know you won’t slice me in half as well , if I stir your anger?”

  “That would never happen.”

  “But you just said you lost control. Your father lost control, too. He killed a bishop. You once told me that he was violent with your mother. How can I become your wife, knowing that you are so volatile?”

  He strode forward to take her into his arms and convince her that he would never harm her, but she pushed him away.

  “Do not touch me. I feel as if I can smell his blood on you.”

  He frowned. “This is who I am, Amelia. I am a warrior. I was bred to fight, and I fight for my country. I fight to protect you. ”

  “I don’t want to marry a warrior. I want to marry a gentleman.”

  She might as well have stabbed him in the heart with a hot poker.

  “You cannot close your eyes and pretend that war does not exist in the world,” he said bitterly. “Men must fight to protect their freedom and their families.”

  “But there are other ways to fight!”

  They’d had this argument before, and he was beginning to see, with great frustration, that it was not something they were ever going to agree on. She was disappointed in him now, as he’d always known she would be one day.

  “Where is Richard’s body?” she asked. “What did you do with him? He deserves a proper burial.”

  She would learn the truth eventual y, so there was no point in keeping it from her. “I sent his head in a bag to the Laird MacDonald.”

  Her brows pulled together in shock. “Muira’s father?”

  “Aye.”

  “Oh, God! So was this just about avenging her death, then?”

  “Nay, I told you before. I did it for Scotland, and to protect you. I couldn’t risk letting him live.”

  She took a deep breath, and he knew she did not believe him. She believed he had done it as an act of revenge, nothing more. “What about the rest of his body? Where is he now?”

  “I don’t know. Fergus and Gawyn got rid of him.”

  She pushed past Duncan toward the door. “Let me out of here.”

  “Amelia…”

  She flung the door open but turned back for one final word.

  “We have shared many pleasures, Duncan, and you have been good to me. Despite everything—my own judgment included—I still have feelings for you, and for that reason I will not expose you as the Butcher. I will take your secret to my grave. But I cannot marry you. I cannot marry a man who takes a life and feels nothing. Even if you see it as a mere casualty of war, how can you not feel something?”

  With that she fled from the room, and he was left standing in front of the dying fire, reflecting very careful y upon that question. It was a valid one. Where was his heart? How was it possible he could be so numb and dead inside? He slammed a fist hard upon the mantel, then sank to his knees.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Moments later, in the privacy of her bedchamber, Amelia wept for the violent circumstances of Richard’s death and the chilling, gruesome indignity of his severed head traveling in a bag to a neighboring Scottish castle as a prize. She didn’t care what he had done. No human being deserved such treatment.

  She wept also for her foolish, aching heart—the mad love she felt for the man who had committed this brutal act of savagery. Her disappointment was beyond measure, her heartbreak inconceivable. all her hopes for a happy life here at Moncrieffe—a life spent with her beautiful lover, who was, for a short time, the true mate of her soul—were crushed. He was not the man she’d believed him to be. She had put too much faith in him, in his ability to overcome his violent nature and embark upon a life of peace and diplomacy. His clothes, his home, his wit, and his charm—all of it was a mask he wore. He’d deluded her father with it, just as he’d deluded her.

  Now she must conquer and lay to rest the passion she still felt for him—which made no sense, after what he’d just confessed. Yesterday he had told her that passion could blind a person. He was correct on that point. Every time she remembered the pleasure they shared in bed, her heart broke all over again.

  Had he ever truly cared for her? she wondered suddenly.

  Or had all of this been for Muira?

  The following morning at dawn, Amelia wrote a letter of farewell to Josephine, along with a brief note to Duncan, left them both on her desk for a servant to find, then walked out of the castle and stepped into her uncle’s coach.

  There was a chill in the air. Puffs of steam shot out of the horses’ nostrils as they tossed their heads and nickered in the faint morning light. How quiet and peaceful it seemed.

  Her uncle joined her a few minutes later with all of his bags and belongings, curious as to why they were leaving so hastily, without saying good-bye to Duncan. She explained that she had broken off her engagement and did not wish to discuss it. He stepped inside the coach, which bounced under his weight, and did not push her to say more, at least not yet. The door closed behind him. She felt very tired. He patted her hand and said he would listen when she was ready to speak of it. Amelia could only nod.

  The coach pulled away from the castle, and she did not dare look back.

  * * *

  The minute Duncan opened his eyes to a blinding ray of sunlight shooting in through the window, he knew he had lost her.

  By some inexplicable means, he had slept through the night, but it was a night haunted by dreams of corpses and blood, and the scorching fires of hell burning at his skin. He dreamed of Amelia, too—watching him from a balcony above while he sank deeper and deeper into a sea of flames beneath a smoky sky. She waited until he was immersed to the neck in fire, then turned and walked away. She did not look back, and he remained there, staring after her, floating on the fiery swell s.

  He sat up in bed and rubbed the heel of his hand over his heart. There was a dul , muffled ache inside him, like distant roaring thunder. He looked at the window. The sun was just coming up.

  Then he saw the note—a sealed letter, slipped under his door sometime during the night or that morning. From Amelia, no doubt. An acute sense of panic gripped him. He swallowed over a debilitating swell of dread, then went to retrieve it:

  Duncan,

  By the time you read this, I will be gone. My uncle is taking me back to England. I am sorry to leave without saying good-bye, but I am certain this is the better way. I do not wish to ever see you again. Please honor that wish.

  Amelia

  He tried to breathe, but his lungs felt tight. She was gone, and she did not want him to follow. She did not wish to ever see him again. There was no hope for forgiveness. The tenderness she had begun to feel for him was no more. It was dead, annihilated, and he was the only one to blame, for he was the one who had killed it. He had slaughtered their love in a savage, bloody massacre. He had murdered someone he’d promised to spare.

  An unarmed man in cold blood. Sliced his head off with an axe, and stuffed it into a bag.

  It was an unquestionably brutal act of savagery.

  But still —still!— Duncan could not bring himself to regret it.

  Even now, he would do it again. He would do it ten times over to protect her. He would sacrifice everything—her love and, in turn, all present and future happiness—to keep that vile monster from ever touching her. Even if it meant never seeing her again.

  Duncan crossed to a chair and sat down, tipped his head back, and listened to the steady ticking of the clock while everything inside him went quiet and still .

  * * *

  «Will you speak to me, Duncan?” Duncan looked up from his book and saw Angus standing in the open doorway, waitin
g for an invitation to enter the study.

  “Come in.”

  Angus entered and stood for a moment, looking around the untidy room. “Iain’s worried about you,” he said. “As am I. You’ve not left these rooms for five days.”

  It was true, but he’d needed time to think. Time to ponder and reflect upon his purpose in the world, the source of his strength, and the value of the sacrifice he had made.

  He was glad Angus had come. There was much to discuss.

  “I regret some of the things I said and did,” Angus told him, “especial y in the banqueting hall . I was not fair to you, Duncan. I should never have doubted you.”

  Duncan closed the book and set it aside, rose from the chair, and shrugged into his green silk morning coat. He adjusted the lace at his sleeves, then approached his old friend. “Did your father receive the package I sent?”

  “Aye, and let me assure you, there was dancing and a feast like no other. You should’ve been there, Duncan. I wish you were.”

  Duncan merely nodded.

  “But you’ve not been celebrating,” Angus noted as he adjusted his tartan over his shoulder.

  “Nay, I have not.” He waved Angus into the room and poured him a glass of whisky.

  “But you did the right thing, Duncan. Do not think otherwise, not even for a minute. Bennett got what he deserved, and Scotland thanks you for it. You shouldn’t be punishing yourself. You deserve a medal.” He accepted the glass Duncan held out.

  “I have no regrets, Angus.” Duncan sat down on the sofa.

  Angus’s eyes narrowed, and he stared at Duncan skeptical y. “I’ll argue that point, because I believe you have one very big regret—the loss of the colonel’s daughter.” He swallowed the whisky in a single gulp and set the glass down on the corner of the desk next to a tall stack of books.

  Duncan crossed one leg over the other and looked toward the window. His silence seemed to stir Angus’s impatience.

  He began to pace the room.

  “You’re better off without her, Duncan. Surely you know that. She left you, for God’s sake. What kind of woman…?”

  He stopped and took a breath. “We’ve been through a lot together, you and me. And despite our differences lately, I consider you my friend. I respect your leadership and your strength and your skills on the battlefield. You’ve saved my life more than once, as I’ve saved yours.” He paused. “Come back to us, Duncan. Forget about the Englishwoman. She was not worthy of you. She was in love with that worm, Bennett, and defended him until the end. You can do better.

  Al you need is a pretty little Scottish lass to turn your head and remind you that you’re a proud and strapping Highland warrior.” He paused again and took a breath. “Make no mistake, I loved my sister, and I’ll always be indebted to you for what you did to her killer, but it’s time for us both to move on. Pick up your weapons again, Duncan. Don your tartan and carry your shield with pride.”

  Duncan frowned at him. “Pick up my weapons? For what purpose?”

  “What other purpose is there but to fight? The rebel ion has withdrawn, most of the Highlanders have retreated to their farms, yet the English are still here. We need to drive them out of our country once and for all , while we still have their fear in our hands. Bennett’s head in a bag is already spreading a wave of terror through the English garrisons. I say we continue our rampage until they retreat completely, back across the border.”

  Duncan considered this. He gazed out the window at the clouds in the sky and recalled the Butcher’s rampage of terror in the past. It had been effective, there was no question of that, and with Bennett’s death the Butcher’s infamy would only grow.

  Yet there were other things to consider. There was the small matter of his conscience, and his dreams, night after night.…

  He met Angus’s gaze. “I believe I can exert more influence through the Moncrieffe title. I have the ear of the King, and despite what has come to pass between Amelia and me, I am certain that her uncle, the duke, will continue to support my efforts to establish peace, if I choose to step forward and make a case for it.”

  Angus scoffed. “Winslowe will not hear a single word you say after what you did to his niece. I’d be surprised if she hasn’t already told him who you are and how you abducted her in the dead of night, and threatened her life. An army of redcoats could come marching in here any day now. Which is why I suggest you don your tartan and ride out of here while you still can. Iain can take your place here. He’s more suited to this kind of life than you are.”

  “Amelia will tell no one,” Duncan said. “She gave me her word.”

  Angus scoffed bitterly. “You trust her word, do you? The word of the English?”

  “Aye, I trust it.”

  “Be sensible, Duncan. Use your head.”

  A wave of anger washed over him, and he stood. “How do you expect me to be sensible? The woman I wanted as a wife is repulsed by me. She thinks I’m more of a monster than that raping, pillaging pig Richard Bennett. For all I know, she could be carrying my child, and I will never know.”

  Duncan could hear the sound of his heart thudding in his ears. Perhaps Angus could hear it, too, because he took a sudden step back.

  “And I do not even have my weapons,” Duncan continued.

  “They’re at the bottom of Loch Shiel.”

  “Fook, Duncan. What are they doing there?”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I cannot say. I barely remember. all I know is that they were weighing me down and I probably would’ve drowned if I hadn’t let them drop.”

  “But your father’s sword—he passed it down to you.”

  “It’s a hundred years old,” Duncan told him. “You think I don’t know that?” He strode to the window and slammed his fist down on the stone ledge. “I think I’ve lost my mind.”

  For a long time he stood there, looking out at the lake; then he felt Angus’s hand on his shoulder.

  “Fight, Duncan. It’s what you were born for. It’ll restore your sanity. Trust me in that, and come with me today.”

  Duncan shook his friend’s hand away. “Nay! It will only make me more of a madman. I cannot do it. Something else has to be done.”

  “What are you saying?”

  He faced Angus. “I’m saying it’s time I retired the Butcher. I did what I set out to do. I killed the foul bastard who raped and killed Muira. Now, I’m done. I’ll kill no more.”

  “Duncan, listen to me.”

  “Nay! I will not listen to another word! Go and tell Fergus and Gawyn to meet me at the cave. We’ll talk about what must be done. You are all free men, and if you wish to continue on your own, I will not stop you, and I will do what I can to protect your identities. But I will not be joining you. I’m done, Angus. I’m going to do what I can to get Amelia back.”

  Angus frowned.

  “I love her. I will not live without her.”

  He loved her. Loved her!

  Angus took an anxious step forward. “You’re making a mistake. She’s English, and she doesn’t understand the way we live.”

  “She understands more than you think, Angus. Now go, please. I’ll come to the cave tomorrow at dusk. The only thing I have left of the Butcher is the shield. I’ll bring it, and I’ll offer it to you, if you wish to continue the fight. If that is your choice, I’ll pledge my loyalty to your cause. You are my friend, Angus, and I will never betray you. But I will not be joining you.”

  Stunned, Angus nodded as he backed out of the room.

  Duncan sank into a chair, looked up at the portrait of his mother, then cupped his hands together and pressed them to his forehead.

  There. It was decided. He was going to lay the Butcher to rest and fight some other way. And somehow …somehow … he was going to earn Amelia’s forgiveness.

  Somehow he would redeem himself in her eyes and win back the gift of her respect.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Duncan stood inside the mouth of the cave, where
he had taken Amelia on the morning of her abduction, and waited for his eyes to adjust to the chilly gloom. He looked at the dried-out fire pit and remembered how she had crouched over it, bound by coarse ropes, trembling with fear. He had sliced the ropes from her wrists, done what he could to ease her fears, and wiped the blood from her wounds.

  An odd thought, real y, for he had always been the one with blood on his hands, and he had not yet been able to wash them clean. He never would, he supposed. Not completely.

  I cannot marry a man who takes a life and feels nothing.

  Over the past few days, he’d had time to reflect upon the wisdom of those words, and what he’d learned about himself was the very thing that gave him hope for absolution—

  because he had felt something. A great deal, in fact. He might not regret taking Richard Bennett’s life, and he would do it again if the circumstances were the same, but the despair … It was present and it was potent. He had always grieved and mourned for the pain endured by every living human being, even Bennett, who was beaten ruthlessly by his own father—a situation Duncan understood all too well . They had much in common, he and Richard Bennett. And yet they were not the same, for Duncan derived no pleasure from the pain of others. He did what he could to prevent it. That was why he fought—to protect the freedom and safety of his countrymen and -women.

  And Amelia. Especial y.

  But in so doing, he agonized over every life he took on the battlefield, even in the defense of his own. He wished the world were a kinder place, a gentler place, and that was why he was here tonight.