Daring

by Jillian Hunter

  “I am living proof of those dangers.” Claude resheathed his sword with dramatic flair. “I fought myself with one of the kidnappers less than an hour ago. I left his body down by the stream and went immediately to the house where I was told you had taken my mistress into the woods.”

  Connor tried to make sense of this. The power of his desire for Maggie had left him disoriented. “Left his body? Left whose body?”

  “He just told you,” Maggie said, shivering lightly. “He’s killed one of the kidnappers. Oh, what a relief. Now all we have to do is find your sister.”

  Connor sagged back against the tree. Between Maggie and his family, he’d be lucky if he lived to see fifty. “Oh, God. How do you know it was a kidnapper? It couldn’t have been. Oh, my God. You know what he’s done, don’t you? He’s gone and killed one of my neighbors.”

  “Are you all right, sir?” Claude asked, shuffling through the leaves to examine Connor. “You’re looking a bit green in the gills.”

  “I think he’s going to faint,” Maggie said in concern. “For a man who works with murderers, he seems to have a sensitive nature. You’ve given him a shock.”

  Connor looked insulted. “I have never fainted in my life.”

  “Don’t fight it, sir.” Claude gave him a consoling pat on the shoulder. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Perhaps you should sit down on this stump.”

  “Yes, sit down, my lord.” Maggie was shoving with all her might to force him down into a sitting position. Then Claude started to help her, prodding Connor in the chest.

  This irritated Connor so much that he swatted at them in self-defense. “Leave me alone. I’m not sitting down.”

  “Sometimes you do not know what’s good for you,” Maggie said in a slow, deliberate voice as if he were incapable of understanding normal speech. “You’ve had a shock. Sit down, stop behaving like a baby, and put your head between your legs.”

  Naturally, there was no body.

  Well, what had Connor expected? Maggie believed Claude’s story because she was high-strung and traumatized from witnessing Sheena’s abduction. Claude believed his own story because he was senile, unable to see properly, and lived in a bygone time of swordplay and chivalry. For all Connor knew, the old fool had probably attacked a tree. After all, he’d mistaken a scarecrow for a man himself. Imagination played nasty tricks on the mind.

  “But I left his body right here after I ran him through the shoulder, sir,” Claude said in confusion.

  “Perhaps it happened at another stream,” Maggie said gently.

  “It happened here.” Claude was adamant, poking the tip of his sword into the turf where Connor, on his hands and knees, sifted through soggy loam and leaves for the missing corpse.

  “Put that blade away, Claude, before you hurt someone,” he said sharply.

  “He’s already killed someone,” Maggie reminded him, peering through her fingers over Connor’s shoulder as if she were afraid of a grim discovery.

  “I suppose it’s possible that I only wounded him,” Claude conceded reluctantly after a long hesitation.

  Connor stood and dusted himself off. “It’s possible that you imagined the whole incident.”

  “He called me by name, sir,” Claude said thoughtfully. “He asked me where Lady Marguerite was, and that was when I decided that enough was enough and I ran him through.”

  Connor felt compelled to humor the old fellow if only for Maggie’s benefit. “Did he put up a fight?”

  Claude brightened. “Oh, yes, sir. He was an excellent swordsman—of the Angelo school. We parried for quite some time, and then I think I tired him out. He executed his engagements with admirable style.”

  Connor pursed his lips, trying to picture this.

  “He tore Claude’s clothes,” Maggie said. “You cannot deny the physical evidence of that.”

  Claude gave a faint smile. “Actually, I tore my jacket when the coachman drove the apple cart into a hedgerow. The kidnapper did not hurt me. I was too swift for him.” He snatched a branch from the ground and lunged, his elbow slightly flexed. “En garde!”

  Connor shook his head. He could see that nothing he said would dissuade Maggie and Claude from believing the worst. Perhaps he should just pretend to go along with them. After all, he knew now that Sheena was alive, if still missing, and if he wanted to win Maggie’s favor, which he did badly, it was clear he’d have to be nice to Claude. It couldn’t hurt.

  “Good work, Claude.” He gave a manly nod of approval, then turned away. “It’s reassuring to know that you can protect your mistress when I am not around.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Claude said gravely to Connor’s back. “I only wish I could say the same of you.”

  Connor continued as if he hadn’t felt this barb. “And since you have handled the matter so efficiently, without spilling a drop of blood, we can all sleep soundly in our beds tonight.”

  Maggie and Claude exchanged troubled glances.

  “But obviously I did not kill him, sir,” Claude said slowly. “Unless of course I did kill him, and his cohorts sneaked back to carry his body away. I did not consider that possibility.”

  “His cohorts?” Connor glanced back, a cynical smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

  Maggie did not share his amusement. “You’re going to have to find him. A wounded madman is the most dangerous sort.”

  Connor thought she was carrying her loyalty too far. “I don’t even know what he looks like.”

  “Neither do I,” Claude confessed. “He was darkly cloaked, and masked. Of course, he is mortally injured now. That should make him easier to identify.”

  Maggie regarded Connor with unwavering confidence. “Find him, my lord. Find him before it’s too late.”

  Connor released a loud sigh. If he hadn’t been interrupted, he might be in heaven this very moment, alone, and naked with her in the shepherd’s hut by the loch. Well, so much for sexual fantasy. She and Claude kept glancing around as if they expected a band of armed brigands to assault them at any second. It probably had something to do with Maggie’s past. Her entire world had been destroyed in a single evening. She had good reason to look over her shoulder. She’d lost her home, her family, her security.

  He understood this. It was a secret pain they shared, but in his case losing his parents had forced him to develop a tough outer shell. Maggie’s strength lay within herself, an emotional fortitude he envied. It had enabled her to survive. But she was still fragile. And she still needed a protector.

  They needed each other. This woman was what had been missing from his life.

  He threw up his hands, relenting. “Oh, fine. I’ll look for the wounded man.” Not that he thought there was such a thing, although God forbid, the possibility still existed that Claude had attacked a poacher or one of Connor’s neighbors. “But first I want to take Maggie back to the house.”

  He didn’t really. A single-minded male, he still had his evil heart set on the bothy, although Maggie didn’t look like she would succumb to his seductive powers right now. It was a damn shame. Being with her was the only thing that would put him in a good mood.

  He stalked off, resigned to his sacrifice. He was obviously beyond help, chasing after a nonexistent villain to please a fanciful old man and his enchanting mistress. He felt like a beast on a long rope.

  Maggie waited a few moments, then turned to Claude in concern. “This whole thing has upset him more than he’ll allow to show. He’s the type who has too much pride to admit he’s afraid.”

  “He didn’t look at all himself,” Claude agreed.

  “Perhaps you should follow him, just to make sure he doesn’t walk into an ambush.”

  “Or stumble upon the wounded man.”

  “Go with him, Claude. He’s strong as an ox, but he did look pale when you told him about the swordfight. Sometimes I think he doesn’t have a true grasp on reality. He spends so much energy taking care of others, he doesn’t take care of himself. He seems to thin
k he’s invulnerable.”

  “I will protect him, my lady.”

  “I know you will.”

  Chapter

  28

  Connor was worn out when he finally returned to the house. He had hiked over hills and sloughed through streams scouring every inch of his estate, the surrounding woods, and unmarked roads that led into the Highland wilds for the wounded man. He probably wouldn’t have had the strength to confront him if he’d found him. Still, the instant he saw Maggie hurrying down the hall, he felt a jolt of energy go through him like an electrical charge.

  She was the reason he’d spent five hours humoring a doddering old butler and pretending to look for a dead body that had never been alive in the first place. He had already forgiven her, though. He grinned inwardly at the thought of how she could repay him.

  “Thank heavens you’ve come home unharmed, my lord.” She hugged him as if he’d just returned from the Crusades. “Did you find anything?”

  They stood in a candlelit recess of the narrow hallway. He turned deliberately, aware he was trapping her against the wall. She felt small and defenseless. He felt aroused and uninhibited, remembering the delicious warmth of her body, how easily she had responded to his touch.

  “Do you think the wounded man is lying in wait somewhere?” she whispered anxiously. “Do you think he’d dare break into the house?”

  “We can’t be sure, lass, but you’d better not leave my side just in case. It might even be a good idea if you slept in my room tonight.”

  Maggie pressed her shoulders to the wall, trying not to smile. “That sounds like a good idea.”

  “Doesn’t it though?”

  He liked the way her eyes caught the candlelight, reminding him of the sun reflected in the sea. He liked her hair loose and tangled in wild curls over her shoulders because she looked as he imagined she would look after a night of hard loving in his bed. He slid his arm around her waist, breathing in her fragrance, dragging her against him to kiss—

  “I hear people in the drawing room,” he said, lifting his head abruptly. “Why do I hear people?”

  Maggie made an effort to break away from him. “I had to alert the neighbors of the danger of a wounded man in the area.”

  “Why did you do that, Maggie?”

  “Because— Are we on a first-name basis now, my lord?”

  “Yes, I think we are. We crossed a line today in the woods, and there’s no going back. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

  “I’m touched to hear you say that, Connor, especially when I know you had more important things on your mind like finding the—”

  He silenced her with a slow, sensual kiss. Maggie melted against him as his tongue penetrated her mouth, as he pressed her against the wall, molding their bodies together. He made her so light-headed, she would have collapsed if he hadn’t held her upright. His presence overpowered her.

  “Tell my neighbors to go away,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Tell them the woods are safe again. I’ll meet you upstairs in my room in a few minutes. We can sit in front of the fire with a bottle of—well, I don’t have any champagne, but there’s wine.”

  Maggie closed her eyes as he buried his face in her neck, sighing with pleasure. “I’d like that too, my lord—Connor, but it’s rather impolite in view of the fact they were about to launch a search party to find you.”

  “My neighbors hate me.” He moved his mouth down her throat, leaving a trail of little love bites. “Why would they want to help me?”

  “I’ve spent almost five hours convincing them you aren’t as bad as you seem.” Swallowing a groan, she gave him a nudge toward the drawing room. “It’s up to you to prove I’m not a liar.”

  Connor avoided his neighbors whenever possible. He knew they hated him. They resented him because he lived in Edinburgh most of the year, and when he did return, he either went hunting or secluded himself with a woman. They didn’t really understand what he did for a living, or the importance of his position, but they had always been afraid that some of the criminals he’d prosecuted would descend on their Highland haven to cause trouble.

  The threat of a stranger in the woods had confirmed their worst fears. Connor drew danger to him wherever he went.

  He strode into the room, determined to send them all packing; he had other more enjoyable plans for the evening. The duchess and her hounds had taken over the sofa. Captain Balgonie, a retired soldier, was warming his behind at the fire, and Sir Angus McGee, a rotund and well-to-do sheep farmer was dozing in a wing chair, tiny snores escaping him. Connor shook his head. It was amazing that Maggie had kept them from one another’s throats for almost five hours. They didn’t just hate him. They hated each other too.

  He took off his coat and poured himself a glass of whisky from the sideboard. His long golden hair fell around his shoulders. The firelight accentuated the deep hollows of his face. He looked more like a pagan warlord than a civilized Highland laird. Indeed, he didn’t feel the least bit hospitable. “I’m sorry you were dragged from the comfort of your homes. It was apparently a false alarm.” He downed the whisky in one swallow, trying to decide which of his wines Maggie would prefer. “You can all go home now,” he said bluntly.

  The duchess pushed a dog off her lap. Another immediately took its place. “Don’t tell me you failed to find the wounded man, Buchanan.”

  “The wounded man is a figment of Claude’s imagination,” Connor said very quietly, just in case Maggie was outside listening.

  “We should have gone after him ourselves,” Captain Balgonie said. “Probably too late now.”

  Sir Angus opened his eyes in annoyance. “We decided against looking ourselves. You’d remember if you didn’t drink as much. We voted to stay here to protect Lady Maggie.”

  Connor was pouring another whisky when Maggie slipped into the room. Heat flooded his body as she brushed past him. He clenched his jaw to control the urge to grab her. He wanted these people out of his house. More precisely, he wanted this woman in his bed. A knot of desire tightened his throat, deepening his voice as he spoke.

  “I am perfectly capable of protecting Miss Saunders should the need arise.”

  Maggie sent him a pleased glance.

  Sir Angus scowled at Connor, apparently unconvinced of this. He grew heavier every year, a short oval-shaped man with skinny legs and buckled shoes who reminded Connor of Humpty-Dumpty as he sat perched on the edge of the chair. “How could you protect her if you’re prone to fainting at the mere mention of bloodshed? I must say I was surprised when Lady Maggie told us how sensitive you were.” Connor almost choked. The look he threw Maggie as she hurried over to slap him on the back was black enough to wither an evergreen.

  “Some of my best men passed out on the battlefield. A man fainting isn’t anything to be ashamed of,” Captain Balgonie said.

  The duchess snorted. “Yes, it is. It’s a damn disgrace. Men were men in my day. Maggie’s father was the heart of valor, wasn’t he, my dear?”

  “Yes, your grace,” Maggie said dutifully.

  Connor put down his glass. “I’m sorry you were all inconvenienced, but you must be eager to return to your own homes. I’ll ring for Dougie to show you out. Sleep well.”

  Maggie made a face at him. “That isn’t polite,” she whispered behind her hand.

  “I don’t care. Stop telling people I’m a fainter. The whole time I was in the woods, Claude kept asking me if he should return to the house for smelling salts.” He walked toward her, his eyes glittering with unholy determination. “Would you like me to embarrass you in front of everyone?”

  Maggie swallowed nervously, slipping behind the unoccupied wing chair as if a piece of furniture could save her from the rugged Highlander who was slowly stalking her with seduction in his eyes. The devil would disgrace them both.

  “Stop it, Connor,” she whispered. “There are people in the room.”

  He grinned, advancing on the chair. “If you don’t get rid of them
,” he mouthed, “I am going to be a very bad boy.”

  “I-I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding,” Maggie stammered, terrified he would indeed carry out his threat. “His lordship doesn’t faint at the mention of bloodshed. In fact, he has only come close to fainting once in my presence, and that was when he shot a scarecrow into pieces.”

  “That’s even worse,” the duchess exclaimed. “How would he react if he had to shoot a real man?”

  “He thought it was a real man at first,” Maggie said, smiling despite herself at the memory. “And he tore off his coat, shouted like a Viking, and went berserk in my defense. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

  No one said a word. Maggie thought they were probably too impressed to comment. Connor looked like he wanted to disappear into the woodwork. “We’ve held you here long enough,” she added tactfully. “Please don’t let me keep you from your beds another minute.”

  Connor seized the advantage and took her by the wrist, propelling her to the door. “The servants will be glad to accompany anyone who is afraid to ride alone. You will excuse us now. Miss Saunders has offered to serve as my secretary for the evening to help me catch up on my work. All those depositions, you know.”

  Maggie stared up at him. “I have?”

  “Yes, you have.” He stroked the inside of her wrist with his thumb. “Our after-supper appointment? The court is counting on your cooperation.”

  “I’m afraid there isn’t going to be any supper,” she said after an awkward hesitation. “The servants won’t be seeing anyone home either. You see, your male and female staff are in a state of civil war. Neither sex will lift a finger to help the other. The men won’t bring the coals to the cellar so the women won’t cook. The women won’t cook so the men claim they don’t have the energy to bring up the coals.”

  “Good God,” Connor said.

  “I am working on the problem,” Maggie continued, “but I must say you need to take a firmer stand. You’re the one they’re afraid of.”