by Amy Quinton
Goodness, what a load of malarkey.
She silently prayed for forgiveness for her many falsehoods this night.
The man still gave her a skeptical look, but then looked over at his wife, who caught his eye and started furiously shaking her head.
Mr. Jones cleared his throat. “Well, then I guess that’d be fine. If you’re sure?”
Oh, thank God.
“Oh, I’m sure—oomph!—all right,” she said as she climbed down from the carriage. This was the best plan. If Kelly was tracking her, he’d follow the carriage straight into town. She’d be headed in the other direction via horse. It was perfect.
“My lady…”
“Oh, I’m no lady.”
“Ma’am, are you really sure? Ole Bruce, he’s really quite stubborn, and I have no saddle.”
“Oh, not to worry, my good man. I excel at dealing with stubborn. Stubborn should be no trouble at all. The duke sometimes calls me Amelia Stubborn Chase. Or Mrs. Stubborn. Or just plain Stubborn.”
She really should quit while she was ahead.
The man looked at her dubiously. She clearly wasn’t dressed for riding bareback across the countryside and her story was wildly farfetched. Meanwhile, his wife had already ensconced herself in the carriage and was leaning her head out of the open doorway to beckon her husband. “Come on, Harry. Best not to look a gift horse…” she hissed.
“As you say, Mary.” He turned to Amelia and reached out to shake her hand. He grabbed hers with both of his and shook enthusiastically. “Thank you, ma’am. Thank you so very much. May God bless you and see you safe this night.”
She patted his hands with her free one. “Thank you, my good man. Now do hurry on and see your Mary home safely. I’ll be quite fine.” He released her and she turned to her new ride. She reached up and patted her new horse on his withers. “Horace and I will get along famously. You’ll see. Well, I guess you won’t, actually. But it’ll be fine. Really.”
“His name is Bruce, ma’am.”
“Bruce, then. Do hurry, Mr. Jones.”
“All right, if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
He climbed up to the driver’s perch of the carriage. “We’ll be on our way then, if you’re sure,” he called down.
“That’s fine.”
“I’m releasing the brake…” Clearly, he was giving her plenty of opportunity to change her mind.
“That’s probably a good idea.”
“Do you…?”
Sigh. “Just go, my man. I’ll be fine.”
His “Right-o,” was followed by an unmistakable sound of relief from within the confines of the carriage, and then finally he turned to the horses with a loud “Yee Ha,” a whistle, and a whack of the reins.
And those horses—those large, naughty, fickle, equine fiends—launched themselves forward with great speed.
Pfft. Picky, temperamental beasts with no sense of loyalty.
Amelia turned from the sight and looked up at her new companion, Ole Bruce. He appeared to be watching his owner leave, though he seemed wholly unconcerned over the prospect.
“Well, Horace, it’s just you and I, my horsey friend.”
“Haw Hee…”
“Er, my donkey friend.”
Amelia patted Horace absentmindedly as she looked to her right. She’d head that way; hopefully toward safety and not more enemies disguised as friends.
Chapter Fifteen
The Next Morning: A Familiar Abandoned Tenant Hut
Alaistair MacLeod arrived at the abandoned tenant hut by horseback a few ticks before six in the morning. The place still looked as abandoned as it had the last time he’d seen it. More so, for this time, not even a single waft of smoke drifted up through the chimney that would otherwise suggest someone’s presence within its walls. Och, it would be deuced cold inside.
At this time of the morning, patches of fog still hovered near the ground, while numerous wisps of it climbed the outer walls of the hut like ghostly fingers rising up from the ground, augmenting the already eerie gloom that characterized such a dilapidated dwelling.
Alistair tied his horse to a nearby tree and crossed the remaining distance to the hut on foot, the morning dew wetting the toes of his boots as he shuffled across the damp ground. He could feel the humidity creeping up his kilt.
The front door was held secure by planks of wood stretching across the width of the frame, the hinges having been removed ages ago. He laughed to himself as he remembered the last time he was here with Stonebridge.
Alas, there was simply no way Mrs. Chase had entered through that door. Wooden planks were nailed on both sides of the door to keep it from falling in our out.
Och, he’d look inside anyway. Really, with Amelia Chase, one never knew.
He walked the perimeter of the hut until he came to the cabin’s lone window—or where a window was once located, to be more precise. Beneath the window was a stack of fallen logs, recently disturbed.
He peered inside, though it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the shady interior. Cracks and chips in the walls allowed pinpoints of light to penetrate the shadows, and several large holes in the fusty, thatched roof allowed in large, concentrated beams of light.
One such beam highlighted the remains of two wooden rocking chairs and the edge of what MacLeod knew to be a three-legged table. They’d brought the table in quite a few months ago when they’d used this place to detain a suspect in their investigation.
And a second ray of light illuminated the sleeping form of Amelia Chase. MacLeod was admittedly somewhat surprised to see her there, lying on the floor, tucked into a tight ball for warmth. He felt a moment’s pity for the lass, for last night must have been devilishly cold.
At the same time, he felt a spark of admiration upon seeing her safe. She’d evidently escaped her captors; it was impossible not to approve.
And utterly impossible not to acknowledge the sense of relief he felt, knowing she was unharmed.
He decided to forgo following her method of gaining entry to the shack, climbing through the window frame. Besides, his shoulders would never fit. Rather, he picked up a hammer hidden in the weeds, kept there for just such a purpose, and walked back to the front of the cottage to begin ‘unlocking’ the front door.
Of course, the noise he made pulling the planks of wood off the front of the cabin was enough to wake Amelia.
“Who’s there? I’ll have you know I have a really, really big dog in here with me. With big vicious teeth. He’s asleep now, but I can wake him at a moment’s notice. And I have a big gun. And I know how to use it. Not to mention I expect my husband to return any moment now. He’s a big, strapping man. A highlander. Ever hear of one of those?”
He chuckled to himself. “No, I’ve never heard of one of those. Is he verra big?”
Silence.
After a few moments when she still didn’t reply, he paused in his task and asked, “Mrs. Chase?”
“Yes?”
Her voice sounded subdued and he shook his head, wondering at her sudden reticence. He wouldn’t press her. For the moment, opening the door was his priority. “Nothing.”
A few minutes later, MacLeod finished removing the outer wooden ‘locks’ and pulled the heavy oak door out of its opening. He had just set it against the outer wall of the cottage when a fire ball of petite woman ducked beneath the inner ‘locks’ and flew out of the cabin straight into him, literally knocking him on his arse. Which was something, considering his size.
And of course, she went down with him.
He was somewhat taken aback by her behavior.
For a moment, words…thoughts…actions…failed him. She was just there hanging on while he lay on his back looking down at her spread across his chest. His arms remained out-stretched as he was not entirely sure what to do with them. Hug her back? Push her off?
“Mrs. Chase?”
“Mmph,” came some sort of muffled response. She had her face buried
in his chest and her arms around his waist. The burst of heat from her breath caused goosebumps to lift on his neck and the fine hairs on his arm to stand on end.
“What happened, lass?”
“Mm…mmph.”
Another muffled blast of heat. She squeezed him tighter and shook her head.
“Mrs. Chase…?”
“Mmm…mm…mmmm!”
Och, there was nothing for it. He laid his head back on the ground, lifted his eyes to the blue skies overhead, and after a quick exhalation of breath, wrapped both his arms around her and returned her embrace.
God, she felt damn good, lying there in his arms.
He was near to going numb by the time she rolled herself off him and sat up, surreptitiously swiping her eyes. He pretended not to notice.
When she finally looked at him, her eyes were guarded and wary—nothing like the confident, boisterous woman he’d come to know. He declined to remark upon her uncharacteristic behavior, and instead, helped her up and asked, “What happened, lass?”
His voice was gentle as he could make it, considering he wanted nothing more than to chase Kelly down and pound the man’s face into the dirt with his fists.
He stood there, as patient as a man like him could be, while she cleared her throat and let forth a small cough. He still held her arms, gripping her beneath her elbows, reluctant to let her go.
Eventually, she looked up at him, her eyes still shielded. “It was Kelly.” Her voice was raspy and soft, but she continued on anyway. “He climbed in through the library window and abducted me. He…he drugged me!” Each word she said was louder than the previous.
Ultimately, she pulled out of his arms and paced the ground in agitation, but she’d stop and glare at him after every few words as if he were responsible for what happened.
“He. Drugged. Me!” She punctuated each word with a fist to her opposite hand.
He smiled inwardly at the return of her fire. Her earlier vulnerability was so ill-suited to the woman he knew, it made him uncomfortable to witness it, and at the same time fired a fierce need within him to protect her with his life.
She winced, utterly unaware of his internal turmoil, and resumed more quietly, her voice a touch above a whisper. “He said he had no choice. When I came to, he and I were traveling by carriage. He never told me our destination. And if you’re wondering why my voice sounds funny, it’s because I’ve been talking nonstop for hours trying to annoy the stuffing out of him.”
Och, it would have taken her hours to annoy Kelly; he was far too easy going and it took an enormous effort to aggravate that man. Well, at least, the Kelly he thought he knew.
For MacLeod, even ten minutes sounded like a nightmare, for he loved all things quiet and he viciously guarded his own solitude.
Still, he smiled at her determination, though he daren’t let her see it. She was…prickly…at the moment and he needed to hear her tale. If she’d stop pacing and stick to the point, he’d have it.
“Unfortunately, the man has the patience of a saint, and my attempts to anger him bore no fruit. Eventually, though, we stopped to make camp,” she resumed talking and walking in circles. “I walked off to take care of my…well, you know…”
He watched her, giving her time to complete the point she was obviously trying to make. At the same time, she was utterly unaware he had the incredible urge to grab her shoulders and hold her still. Now that the sense of urgency regarding her safety had eased, his habitual impatience had returned in force. He wasn’t annoyed with her, per se, but more to the point that he wanted them to be on their way so he could hunt down Kelly right now, not standing here talking in a field by the side of a dilapidated hut.
He embraced his cantankerousness like an old, worn coat, familiar and comfortable.
He also had the nigh uncontrollable urge to hit something. Hard. Preferably Kelly. Yet there was nothing he could do about it now.
“You know…” She pointed to the ground while turning beet red.
He crossed his arms and stared at her. Surely, after standing completely naked before him, kissing him to within an inch of his life until he thought his cock was going to explode in his kilt like a green lad—surely after all that, she wasn’t embarrassed to say she needed to take a piss?
But then again, he’d known quite well how mercurial her moods could be and how very much she was like her brother in that respect. Dansbury could change moods, seemingly with the drop of a hat or the wave of his hand.
Aye, they were definitely related.
“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”
He said nothing.
“To the ladies’ retiring room…?”
He nearly laughed at the imagery that invoked. A ladies’ retiring room in the woods? Obviously, he wasn’t quite as impatient and irritated as he’d thought.
She shook her head and continued, “Anyway, I stumbled upon some mushrooms I recognized. I knew that when they are brewed in a tea, they are tasteless and will put a man to sleep for hours.”
She smiled, seemingly at the memory of her successful daring.
“You drugged them?” He was genuinely surprised. Despite the questions to Kelly’s allegiance, the man was a trained spy and a good one, at that. To think this spitfire of a woman had gotten the best of the man was…interesting.
“Why, yes. I did.” She paused midstride and finally (finally!) smiled at him. The sun followed suit and lit up the clearing they were standing in.
She continued. “Once they were asleep, I managed to free myself from my bonds, then—”
“Wait,” he interrupted, “you were bound and able to get out of your ties?”
“Well, don’t act so surprised, MacLeod. It’s not above my huckleberry…” She sighed when he arched his brow as he looked at her with some confusion. Such an odd choice of words. “Yes, it really wasn’t that difficult.”
She watched him a moment, possibly searching for his approval, so he urged her to continue. “Go on.”
“They’d left the horses in their traces, presumably in case they needed a fast getaway. Anyway, I certainly wasn’t going to look a gift horse…” She snorted.
He showed her his favorite impatient look as she snorted and chuckled over her pun.
She cleared her throat. “Yes, well…so I drove the carriage, then—”
“You drove the carriage?”
Amelia stopped and put her hands on her hips in exasperation. “Look, you seem to want me to get to the point, but you do realize that if you continue to interrupt me, it will make the telling take that much longer?”
“Aye, I ken. Go on.” Dammit, she did make an excellent point.
“Well, a few miles up the road, I had the good fortune to stumble upon a man and his very, very pregnant wife. They were stranded, with a wagon that had an irreparable broken wheel. So I offered them a trade they couldn’t refuse—the carriage for their donkey. He really was a nice man, but I couldn’t imagine…” his growl got her attention
She scowled at him in return. “Right. I figured if Kelly and his man came to, they’d continue tracking the carriage right on to town, buying me time to ride across country on Horace.”
“Horace?”
“The donkey. They called him Bruce, but he didn’t look like a Bruce to me. Of course, that was when I still thought he was a horse.”
“You mistook a donkey—”
“Look, it was dark and I was tired and marginally scared, it was an honest mistake. Anyway, I stumbled upon the hut, and here I am.” She smiled and held her arms wide, pleased with herself.
“Where’s…Horace?”
She broke eye contact and spoke to the ground. “I let him go,” she mumbled.
“You let him go?” Just when he was beginning to admire her fortitude, she proved she was completely mad.
She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Do you always repeat what people say?”
“Only you.”
“Oh.” She looked contrite
for but a moment, then looked him over, her lips pursed. “Well, I thought it would be best not to advertise my presence here.”
“But you don’t know where here is.”
“Actually, I do.” She smiled with knowing. “The farmer mentioned this was Stonebridge Park. I had hoped to find the house, but when I came upon this shack, it was so late and cold, I thought not to take my chances stumbling around in the dark. Figured I’d wake up and look for the house in the morning. I assumed it wouldn’t be too far for me to walk.”
“Stonebridge Park is upwards of a thousand acres.”
“Oh.”
“Yes. The house is no less than ten miles north west of here.”
“Oh. Well,” she said brightly, “I suppose it all worked out in the end, so no foul. I guess you want to find Kelly’s camp and see if they’re still there?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No. They’ll be long gone. Even if they aren’t, there’s not a lot I can do without the right kind of supplies or additional men.” Not to mention Dansbury would kill him if he put Amelia’s life at risk to pursue Kelly.
He would never put Amelia’s life at risk to pursue the man, traitor or no. The thought had him rubbing absentmindedly at his chest.
Besides, they’d discussed this with the duke before setting out. Dansbury had essentially commanded that Mrs. Chase be the priority. If it were a possibility, they’d bring Kelly in, finally, but otherwise they were to leave off until Amelia Chase was safe and completely out of harm’s way…
For once, he’d agreed, which was somewhat out of character for him. It’d certainly surprised both the duke and Dansbury.
Hell, they weren’t the only ones.
“Oh. Well, good. I have no interest in seeing that pribbling, clay-brained pignut anyway. Good riddance, I say. I wash my hands of him.” She slapped her hands together as if she was literally brushing Kelly from her the palms of her hands.
He would never own up to almost laughing out loud. Pribbling, clay-brained pignut? She must be a fan of Shakespeare.
“So, then, where are we going?” she asked.
