How to Blackmail a Highlander

by Michelle McLean

  That kiss aboard the boat had shaken him to his core. More than he wanted to admit. He hadn’t been able to avoid her for the rest of their time on the ship, but he’d done his best to keep his distance. Continuing their journey once the ship had made land was something he couldn’t allow. She rattled him. Upset his carefully balanced world. And the only way he would restore the order he desperately craved was to eject her from his life as quickly as possible. The fact that doing so was also in her best interest merely solidified his determination to send her back to her family. And the man who waited to wed her.

  A man who wasn’t him.

  He grimaced and tried to bury the memory of her lips moving against his. The feel of her soft body melting against his own.

  He shook his head. She wasn’t his to moon over. And he didn’t want her to be. Sending her home was for the best.

  For both of them.

  Maybe he needed a few more drinks.

  He checked the wagon one last time, tucking in a corner of the canvas covering that was perfectly fine and then turned to find Alice. He wasn’t going to rest easy until he saw her physically board the ship. She’d flounced past the inn window with one of Forsythe’s daughters a few times, ensuring he saw her anger. He’d seen it, all right. It still brought a smile to his lips.

  He shaded his eyes with his hand and scanned the harbor. The ship looked to be moments from departing. He caught sight of Forsythe following his daughters up the gangplank. Several yards ahead of them, the wide-brimmed hat and overly trimmed cape of the annoyingly delectable Lady Alice was stepping onto the deck of the ship and making her way swiftly below. Apparently, she had no wish to wave goodbye to him as the ship departed. Couldn’t say he blamed her.

  Philip released a pent-up breath. The weight that had been resting on his shoulders from the moment Lady Alice had barged her way into his room at the boardinghouse lifted, along with the anchor on the ship. He tried not to dwell on the pang that hit him at the thought of her sailing out of his life. Now that she was safely on her way back home and soon to be her father’s problem once again, Philip could admit to himself that a small part of him was sorry to see her go. A very small part. Tiny. She’d been amusing, at the very least. But the woman was nothing but trouble and far too distracting. They were both better off with her gone.

  With that done, he hopped up onto the driver’s seat of his wagon and flicked the reins in his hand to get the horses moving. Time to go home. Where the headstrong, spirited women were all safely married to his kinsmen and none of his concern.

  He traveled for several hours, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the docks as possible. The roads thus far were still fairly well-traveled, and it was slow going with the heavily laden cart. He’d be much more at ease once he reached the less populated areas of the Highlands. It would be easier to spot enemies coming when there weren’t so many faces to watch.

  Up in the distance, the warm glow of an inn’s lights beckoned him. He’d sleep in the heather for the remaining nights of his journey. But he’d get one night in a good bed before he’d leave the main road. He pulled the wagon into the shed on the side of the inn and beckoned to one of the stable boys.

  He held up a dirk. “Ye ken how to use this?”

  The boy nodded, his eyes darting from Philip to the weapon.

  Philip jerked his head at the wagon. “Keep an eye on that wagon for me until I leave in the morning, and if no harm comes to it, the dirk is yers to keep. Can ye do that?”

  “Aye, my lord,” the boy said, enthusiastically nodding his head.

  “Good lad.” Philip took a coin from his sporran and tossed it to him.

  He looked over everything one last time and was about to turn around when a slight movement caught his attention. He froze, his hand on his sword. The boy frowned and opened his mouth, but Philip put a finger up to his lips and the boy nodded, though he kept a keen eye on the wagon.

  Philip waited, his body tensed to react. His eyes roved over the wagon. There it was again!

  This time he lunged, his hand plunging beneath the canvas until he grasped something warm, firm, and very much alive. His prisoner gasped and slapped at his hand. He ignored her, ripping away the canvas so he could haul her out of the wagon.

  “What the hell are ye doing here?” he all but growled at Alice who stood trembling and disheveled but as defiant as ever in his iron grasp.

  “Making sure you keep your word.” She jutted that pert little nose of hers in the air, acting for all the world like she had not just been caught as a stowaway.

  “I saw you get on that ship.”

  Her lips twitched in a defiant half smile that sent his blood thundering through his veins. And not just because he was angry.

  “You saw the Misses Forsythe get on that ship. Preceded by their maid, who was happy to trade her cooperation in my plan for my new hat and cloak. The Misses Forsythe gladly kept their father occupied long enough for her to board the boat in my stead. I believe they had a rather fun time fooling their father. Poor dears are rather bored, never allowed to have any fun.”

  “They’d do no such thing.”

  Alice snorted. “Obviously, they did. Women tend to stick together, Mr. MacGregor. At least in some matters. I promise you, they were more than happy to help me. Especially as they’ll get to keep my trunk and its contents as payment.”

  Philip released her and stalked to the end of the shed and back. Twice. He didn’t worry she’d bolt the moment he released her. Hell, he apparently couldn’t rid himself of the woman even when he tried. Her sheer tenacity would be admirable if it didn’t fly in the face of everything he’d so carefully planned.

  On his third pass, he stopped in front of her and planted his hands on his hips, thoroughly prepared to give her the dressing down she so richly deserved. She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, waiting.

  He pointed his finger at her and opened his mouth. Then closed it. Opened it once more. But when that eyebrow quirked up even farther with obvious amusement, he blew out a frustrated breath and threw his hand down.

  “Bah!” he said, unable to come up with a single, solitary thing to say that would make a dent in that stubborn, thick head of hers.

  He turned on his heel and stalked toward the inn. Like it or not, he was stuck with her. Again.

  He entered the inn with her hot on his heels. He would deal with her later. Once he was full of good food and ale. If he was lucky, maybe he could avoid her until morning. A good night’s rest wouldn’t come amiss, either.

  Of course, once she slid onto the bench across from him he realized there would be no escape. A loud grumble from the general direction of her stomach sent a shard of guilt stabbing through him. She’d been hidden in that cart since that morning and likely hadn’t eaten the entire day. Albatross around his neck or no, he couldn’t let her starve.

  He had a quick word with the innkeeper and arranged a room for the evening. Only one, unfortunately, as that was all they had available. Not ideal, to be certain. But he’d deal with the implications of it once they’d eaten. He thought better on a full stomach.

  He ordered them both large portions of the inn’s stew and a loaf of crusty bread. For a blissful five minutes, they didn’t speak while they shoveled spoonfuls of surprisingly tasty food into their mouths. He knew the truce wouldn’t last, but he was damn well going to enjoy it while he could.

  Which didn’t turn out to be long. She finished long before he did and began peppering him with questions.

  “How far are we from Glenlyon?”

  He took his time finishing the food in his mouth before answering. “Four days journey. Maybe five.”

  “That far?”

  He shrugged and ripped off another piece of bread. “Faster without the wagon. Faster still without you.”

  She ignored that. “So, we must spend at least three more nights together.”

  “Aye,” he said. “Except tomorrow we’ll not have a fine inn in which
to lay our heads. Ye’ll have to sleep in the rough, with naught but a fire and my goodwill to keep ye safe.”

  She scowled at him but didn’t seem overly concerned. They both knew he’d protect her with his life. No matter what his personal feelings were. Not that even he could identify them half the time. Aggravating as she was, the imminent prospect of sharing a room with her was conjuring thoughts that had no business being in his head.

  His foul mood lasted until they were safely ensconced behind closed doors. While they hadn’t completely escaped notice, no one seemed too interested in either of them. A blessing to be sure. This far from London, he didn’t expect to run into anyone who would recognize the lady, let alone him. But he wouldn’t rest easy until they were safe behind Glenlyon’s fortified walls.

  Alice looked around the room, her eyes widening slightly as they took in the single bed. “And shall we be sharing this bed, my lord?” She gave him an amused smirk.

  He frowned. “No. I’ll sleep on the floor. You may have the bed.”

  Her amusement faded. “That won’t be very comfortable.”

  “It seems an odd time for ye to be suddenly concerned for my comfort, considering yer mere presence on this journey is decidedly against my comfort. Besides, I willna be doing it for my comfort or benefit.”

  She released an irritated sigh that would have made even his sainted grandmother raise her brows. “Must you always be such a martyr to your honor?” She held up her hand to stave off his immediate rebuttal. “I appreciate the concern for my virtue. However, I think I can trust you not to behave in any fashion to which I’d object. The bed is large enough for us both and none would be the wiser.”

  His mouth quirked up at that. The little minx. Knowing her, there were very few behaviors of his she’d object to. Other than leaving her behind, that is.

  “As flattered as I am for yer trust, my lady, I’ll be guarding the door against any out there who may have designs on yer virtue. Ye are safe from me, I assure ye.”

  “I never doubted it,” she said, though her frown hinted at disappointment. “Is the protection truly necessary?”

  He stared at her. Her supple, smooth skin that blushed slightly when she was angered…or aroused. Her ringleted hair that still artfully framed her face, despite a day hidden in his cart. The eyes that flashed amber fire with the passion that burned beneath her surface. Oh yes. There would be many a man who would desire a taste of what she had to offer and wouldn’t stop to ask if she were willing. But he didn’t wish to frighten her. So, all he said was, “Whether they will or no, I’ll be there all the same.”

  “Won’t the bolt on the door be protection enough?”

  “It should be sufficient, aye. But I’ll no’ take any chances with yer safety.”

  Her cheeks flushed at that, and she stared at him, her eyes searing his.

  He cleared his throat. “I must check on the wagon before we retire for the night. Bolt the door behind me and open it for none but me. Understand?”

  She nodded and came toward him, stopping mere inches away. “And if some unsavory character should try to enter the chamber while you are gone?” She blinked at him, all sweetness and innocence that he knew hid a will of iron.

  “Then scream for me, my lady.” He gestured to the window behind her. “It overlooks the courtyard. I’ll hear ye. But I should hope even you can keep out of trouble for five minutes.”

  “I shall try,” she said, her grin suggesting otherwise.

  He shook his head but kept his long-suffering sigh to himself until he’d left her safely bolted in the bedchamber.

  If they both made it to Glenlyon alive, it’d be a miracle.

  Chapter Eight

  Alice watched Philip walk away, admiring the view his kilt-covered backside made as he stalked down the corridor. Once he was out of sight, she ducked her head back in the room and bolted the door, really quite pleased with herself. Though Philip was proving to be a much bigger problem than she’d anticipated. She’d never had to work so hard to get a man to do what she wished. Then again, Philip cared nothing for who her father was, or how large her dowry was, or how close her family was to the king. He did care for her, however, no matter how often he protested the fact. Well, perhaps not on a deeper, personal level…they barely knew each other. But he certainly liked what he saw when he looked at her.

  Not that he seemed inclined to do anything about it. The Highland rogue had surprised her at every turn. She hadn’t expected him to be so…honorable. She knew any number of supposed court gentlemen who’d have had her on her back with her skirts over her head at the first sign of interest from her. Yet even when she’d almost thrown herself at Philip, he’d held himself aloof. At great personal effort, she could tell, though he’d tried to hide it. But still, he’d managed. So far.

  She smiled to herself, thinking of the coming night when the two of them would be closed off together in the small chamber. Any number of things could happen once the candles were extinguished. She fervently hoped his honor disappeared along with the light…and took her virtue with it. Philip was too fine a figure of a man for her not to want him, and their time was running short. She had no idea what her future would bring. But she was bound and determined to control as much of it as possible.

  She could admit that she hadn’t been so bothered by her life and the conventions that ruled it until they ran contrary to her own wishes. Her life had been wonderful. Full of fine houses, parties, pretty things to wear, amusing friends, and frivolous pastimes. She could even admit that had her parents chosen someone else for her—a dashing young lord or perhaps an ancient but harmless noble who’d leave her a rich widow, without requiring much in return—perhaps she would not have run.

  But something about Woolsmere made her skin crawl. A sinister air hung about the man—something in his eyes when he looked at her. She couldn’t pinpoint it, couldn’t prove anything. But she knew deep down inside that if she wedded him, she’d not be long for the world. And though the match was a prestigious one, it had surprised her how little her parents had taken her feelings into consideration. They’d always been generous and affectionate with her. She didn’t doubt they loved her. Yet still, their choice had been made and nothing she’d said had swayed them. And she wouldn’t accept that.

  She would be in control of her fate. Not her father, or some other man, and certainly not Society’s unfair rules. And the giving of her maidenhead was one pleasure she would save for the man she chose.

  With that thought in mind, she went to the small table in the corner of the room and picked up a pitcher to pour out some wine. Only to find it empty. She sighed and looked around the room. Nothing else suitable to drink. Not even water in the ewer on the stand. A quick glance out the window showed her Philip standing outside the stables giving more instructions to the stable hand. Alice rolled her eyes. Really, handsome though the man may be, his rigid insistence on doing everything a specific, and usually overly complicated way, drove her mad. How difficult was it to tell the child what to do? There’s the wagon. Watch it. Don’t let anyone touch it. Here’s a coin. Simple. She could see the poor child’s eyes glazing over even at her distance.

  She marched to the door, hesitatingly briefly. He’d told her to stay in the room. For her protection. But her parched throat pleaded otherwise. She’d just open the door and see if there was a chambermaid or someone wandering by she could send to fetch her some wine. The deserted corridor crushed that hope.

  The stairs to below were a few scant feet away, and the glow of firelight beckoned warmly to her. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She’d go down, quickly fetch something to drink, and come right back. It was a reputable place. And there were plenty of witnesses below. Philip was being overly cautious.

  She marched downstairs, head held high like she had every confidence in the world, as she generally did, even though her current situation was a bit out of the usual for her. Still, she managed to find one of the serving girls, w
ho apologized profusely for the empty pitcher and ewer in the room and promised to bring both wine and water straightaway. Alice made her way toward the room, both proud that she’d taken care of the problem on her own and silly for being at all nervous about disobeying Philip’s orders.

  She’d nearly gotten to her door when a man stepped from the shadows. She stopped with a gasp that she immediately clamped her mouth shut on. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d startled her.

  “Pardon me,” she said, taking a step forward. She expected him to tip his hat and get out of her way.

  He did neither.

  “What are you doing wandering about the corridors all alone?” he asked. The scent of alcohol on his breath singed her nose.

  “I’m not all alone. There are half a dozen people down the stairs, and a maid is following on my heels with some items for my room. As is my husband,” she added, when he showed no indication of moving.

  “Husband, is it? I doubt any man would leave such a delectable little piece such as you lying about unattended.”

  That was it. Philip told her to scream if she needed him. Well, she needed him, and she had no qualms about letting everyone in hearing distance know it.

  She opened her mouth, but before she could utter a sound, the man’s hand clamped around her neck and squeezed.

  “None of that now.” He pushed her toward her room, his hand squeezing her neck tighter.

  She clawed at it, clawed at him. There was no way she was letting him force her into that chamber with him. She prayed Philip would hurry, but for all she knew he was still explaining to the stable boy, in minute detail, the exact way in which one should stare at a wagon all night.

  She must get the man’s hand off her long enough to scream. That would surely bring someone who could help.