by Amy Quinton
“Greenwood Park.”
“And where is that?”
“Several days’ ride north east.”
“All right. Is there a problem with going to Stonebridge Park? It is much closer…”
“Yes.”
“Might I inquire as to what that problem is?”
“No.”
“No?” she asked, unable to hide the incredulity in her voice.
He paused to look at her. All right, so maybe he wore his favorite glare?
She tried a different tactic. “Do I have any say in this?”
He shook his head, but lest she question his resolve, he added, “No. Now, let’s go.”
He started in the direction of his horse, Amelia followed on his heels.
“Now, just you wait a minute, MacLeod. What about my brother?” she argued from behind.
“I’ll let him know ye’re safe.”
“You’ll let him know?” She sounded astonished and angry. “Won’t he be joining us at Greenwood Park?”
He turned his head to look back at her, so she could see the gravity behind his answer. “No.”
She stopped and placed her hands on her hips. “I’m sorry, but I’m not a fan of this plan. I came here to see my brother, and I demand you take me to him.”
He turned to fully face her. “You demand it?”
“Yes.”
“Like it or no’—too bad.”
She stomped her foot. “No. No, MacLeod. Too bad is not an acceptable response, you big weedy, idle-headed, minnow. You do not get to decide, you oversized brute, you villainous, earth-vexing, lout.”
Not acceptable, eh? Idle-headed, minnow? Weedy? Earth-vexing? MacLeod relished what he was about to do next.
He ignored her astonished protests as he wrapped one arm around her back and tucked his other beneath her knees, then he lifted her high off the ground as he marched her over to his horse, carrying her like a babe.
Oversized brute, eh? He’d show her oversized brute.
“MacLeod, you big ox, put me down and stop manhandling me this minute. I am not going anywhere until we come to terms on this.”
He carried on, completely unconcerned about her protests.
He set her down once they reached his horse, though he was still unprepared to hear her arguments. She didn’t have enough information about the situation they were in to make the best choices. Besides, she’d proven more than once that her preferences were questionable, at best.
He shot her a warning glance to convince her not to be a pain in his arse. “This is no’ a committee, and we are no’ putting this to a vote.”
“Why not?”
Och, the lass was determined to be one anyway.
And he didn’t answer her. Instead, he crossed his arms across his chest and glared at her. Perhaps he could intimidate her into submission without the need for an argument. They didn’t have time for a delightful row. They needed to be underway, now, and he wanted her cooperation, for once, without argument. Was that too much to ask?
Apparently, so. She mimicked his stance, which surprised him, and he had to fight not to reveal the surge of admiration he felt. But despite her bravado, she had to know she didn’t have a choice. He had the advantage.
“MacLeod. Whether I like or not, I realize I need you at the moment. I have no way out of here save for by my own two feet.”
He wanted to grin at her concession; he was a little smug. He settled with a stern look that told her she had best remember that going forward.
“But I also know you are an honorable man, and I’m not putting a finger on that horse until we come to an agreement. Therefore, I have the advantage in truth.”
Dammit, she was too clever by half.
MacLeod looked up and skimmed the sky, searching for patience, before glancing back down at Amelia. “Look, Mrs. Chase. I will no’ hesitate to bodily pick you up and place ye on ma horse. But in the interest of my own peace, I will explain to you the situation, since you seem unwilling to attend to it: you were kidnapped out of an aristocrat’s home. Clearly, you have men after you. Dangerous men. And they will no’ give up.” He stepped forward and regarded her upturned face. She looked back at him earnestly, her emotions alive and easily readable in her expressive eyes. Och, he had to concentrate to remain firm with her.
“Further, I gave your brother, my closest friend, my word that I will keep you safe, and I do no’ take that responsibility lightly. You are in a foreign country. You do no’ know your way aboot.”
He leaned down. He was practically nose to nose with her now. His voice softened and slowed. “Now, I am the only man you can trust, the only…man…” he paused as a burst of emotion forced his heart to feel like it was tumbling about in his chest. He swallowed a lump in his throat and took a deep breath. “…the only man who can keep you safe from those who will not hesitate to harm you.” He nearly choked on the word harm, but there was more. “They will kill you should they decide to do so.”
The thought that he and he alone was there to keep her safe was both a blessing and a curse.
Her eyes widened and she licked her lips. The movement caught his attention, and suddenly he wanted nothing more in this hellish, miserable, unfair world than to kiss those full, red lips once again. He leaned in closer, an involuntary response to her siren’s call.
But she backed away and her expression—which had, for a moment, clearly returned his desire—shuttered before brightening. She wore a smile like he’d never seen on another and probably never would. “Why, MacLeod, I believe that is the most you’ve said to me in one breath since I met you.” She patted his arm. “We’re making progress. I believe by the time I’m through with you, you’ll be talking to strangers on the street.”
He took her flippancy as acquiescence. God, she was exactly like Dansbury. And her glib tone adequately doused his ill-timed desire. “Come on,” he growled.
She hid her smile as easily as a thief could stow a stolen coin in their pocket, and it almost felt as if he were the victim of some theft, as if someone had stolen her smile and her light from him.
He shook off such thoughts and looked at her expressive face. After a moment, he was convinced she finally understood the danger she was in and that’s what mattered.
She pursed her lips, but he didn’t miss her sigh of surrender. “Fine. But I don’t like it, and I’m really starting to not like you.”
“Guid.” He placed his hands on her waist to lift her up.
“And while we’re on this journey together, I expect to hear an apology or ten from you—sooner rather than later, I might add—for the numerous times you refused to believe I was Dansbury’s sister.”
Aw, hell. She was no’ going to let him forget that, was she? Could he blame her?
As MacLeod climbed up behind her, he couldn’t help but remark, “What, you’re not going to beg me to take you to see Dansbury again?”
She sighed and all but mumbled her response, “Truth be told, I could use a bit of quiet.”
He was genuinely surprised. He thought she thrived on being around people. Lots of people. “Really?”
She turned to look back at him and said with a world-weary sigh, “MacLeod…shut up and take me to the safest place you know, all right?”
“Aye.” He chuckled to himself. Thankfully she was seated before him and couldn’t see the smile that fell awkwardly upon his face.
“Where were you, MacLeod?” Amelia sat before him on his horse, but he heard a suggestion of hurt in her voice all the same. He only just stopped himself from leaning down and placing a kiss on the crown of her head, which was categorically unlike him…or at least, unlike the him of the last five years.
Still, he owed her the truth. He was aware that she’d been briefed on his mission by Aunt Harriet, to a point, so he decided to tell her. “Initially, I was on the hunt for Kelly, the man you just escaped from.”
She snorted sarcastically. “Obviously, that didn’t work out so well.”
He didn’t take offense to her observation. It was the truth, for all that it rankled.
“Aye. But not long after, I was pulled off the mission. Even I don’t understand why, but it’s not my business to argue with a direct order. Besides, I trust Stonebridge, and there are very few people I trust.” But, by God, he didn’t have to like the decision, especially now.
He didn’t know why he was being so forthright with her. She made it easy to open up, practically pulled this stuff right out of him as if she owned his damn mouth. Perhaps it helped somewhat that she was sitting before him on his horse and not watching him while he spoke.
“And after?” she prompted.
His hands inadvertently tightened on the reins. “I had to go to my estate for a spell.”
She half turned in the saddle before him. “Is this the same estate we’re headed to?”
Unfortunately. He looked away, pretending to take in the scenery. “Aye.”
It was unfortunate because it meant she would learn all his secrets. He would be bare before her, and she didn’t even know it. Further, she didn’t realize the power she would wield with that knowledge, nor did she understand, yet, the sacrifice he was making to keep her safe.
And he could only hope that, in the end, she would never use that information against him, for she could kill him with it as sure as putting a knife through his heart.
Yet, even realizing all that, he was still willing to take her to his home, and he did so without hesitation nor question.
Damn.
She was silent for a moment, and he happily gave her that time, though it frightened him a little. What thoughts were going through her mind now and would he continue to answer her questions so readily? He was half afraid to find out what she was thinking and more than a little eager to know, which was a new feeling for him. Further, he hated that he couldn’t watch her expressive face while she was off in her mind and wasn’t that pure lunacy? Yet knowing that didn’t change his desire to do so.
Eventually, she asked. “Where are we headed, by the by?”
“Scotland.”
“Really!? To the Highlands?” He couldn’t miss the note of excitement in her voice; she practically bounced in the saddle with anticipation.
“Nae.” God, to say no still pained him, even after all these years. “My place is just over the border.”
She slumped for just a moment, but perked back up right away—just like Dansbury. “I’ve never been to Scotland, of course, but I’ve wanted to visit. What about your parents? Are they nearby? Will they be in residence?”
“Nae.”
“Oh. My condolences.”
He laughed, once. Sarcastically. “Oh, they’re very much alive,” at least last he’d heard, “but they don’t live nearby,” They live in the Highlands, on the Isle of Skye. His true home, the land of his heart. “and will not be visiting.” MacLeod cleared his throat. “We are estranged.”
He didn’t know why he added that last bit. He supposed he knew she’d learn the truth eventually.
“Why?”
Of course, she would ask, and he answered vaguely, not quite prepared for that conversation. She’d better understand why later, after she met the people, his true family, who lived with him. “Let’s just say we disagreed on something verra important and leave it at that, aye?” He softened his tone and added, “You’ll understand soon enough. lass.”
And at that, he spurred his horse into a faster pace, hoping she would understand that this little tête-à-tête was finished.
He’d handed her enough of his soul for today.
Chapter Sixteen
Later That Afternoon: The Noisy Bird Pub & Inn
It was unusually warm for this time of year. MacLeod wiped his brow with a length of linen as he stepped off the road and up onto the pavement, the movement causing a blast of fresh air to swirl up his legs and cooling his…
Aye, thank God for kilts…traditionally worn.
MacLeod opened the door to The Noisy Bird Pub & Inn and stepped inside, pausing to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. He’d left Amelia here while he took care of posting a letter to Dansbury with word of his sister.
It was quiet inside the inn, which was odd, considering…
The low light made seeing difficult, but gave one the illusion that the air was much cooler than it was. MacLeod unerringly looked to the table where he’d left Amelia Chase sitting with a drink and a bowl of shepherd’s pie.
And of course, she wasn’t there.
Is this a habit of hers? Can she no’ help herself?
MacLeod approached the innkeeper, currently at work wiping down the main bar. “The American woman that was seated across the way…where is she?”
“Oh, ya mean Mrs. Chase?” At MacLeod’s nod, he added, “Fine woman. Fine woman, indeed.”
MacLeod didn’t agree or deny it, but simply waited for the man to continue with what little patience he could muster given the circumstances. When waiting produced no results, he crossed his massive arms across his chest, a habit he seemed to need to employ more and more often of late.
The innkeeper got the message. “Right—let’s see. She spoke with the Preacher Hayworth for a spell, then Pat, the post man. Erm, let’s see, then there was James, the costermonger. Shirley, one of the Hughes’ milkmaids. Jayne, another one…” The barkeeper’s voice drifted off as he ticked off person after person. MacLeod was surprised, though he shouldn’t have been. “Aha! I’ve got it. She left with Angus, the butcher, who needed help with a critter who kept pestering him for bones. A dog, I think.”
Finally. “When did she leave?”
“Hmmmm. Good question.”
MacLeod wanted to shake the man, who appeared lost in thought counting the minutes now.
“I’d say ten, no, twenty minutes ago. Aye, that’s it. Twenty-five minutes ago, give or take five or ten minutes.”
MacLeod thanked the man, then turned on his heel and left, destination: Angus the butcher. He’d find it himself; it’d probably take more time to listen to the barkeep give directions than it would for him to stumble upon it on his own. The town was only little.
Five minutes later, the bell over the door of the butcher’s shop chimed in greeting as MacLeod walked inside. The place smelled disagreeably of blood and meat.
And once again, all was quiet, dammit.
A short, balding man with a bloodied apron appeared from the back, wiping his hands on the backside of his trousers as he sidled over to the counter. “Can I help ye?”
“I’m looking for Mrs. Chase.”
“Oh, yea, Mrs. Chase. A fine woman. A fine woman, indeed.”
MacLeod went straight to folding his arms across his chest and glaring the man down.
“Right—she was here, but a house maid from that big house on the hill, the Stevens’ house, arrived in desperate need of some assistance. Let’s see…she wanted…”
MacLeod didn’t wait around for him to finish. It didn’t matter why, he just needed to find her.
Ten minutes later, MacLeod was at the servant’s entrance to the Stevens’ House. A house maid answered the door.
Her eyes widened to the size of a dinner plates, and her jaw dropped open as she looked him up and down from the bottom of his kilt to the top of his head and said, “Cor…”
“I’m looking for Mrs. Chase.”
“Cor…”
“Loud woman, about yae high.” He held up his hand a few inches below his shoulder.
“Cor…”
“Do you speak English?”
The maid nodded her head yes, but said, “Nay.”
“Well, which is it?”
The maid shook her head no, and said, “Aye.”
Exasperated would be a mild description for what he was beginning to feel by this point. Hell, this entire day was turning into a comedy of errors—or a tragedy—he wasn’t quite sure which.
“Which way did she go? Did she leave with someone?” he tried again
.
“Butler…”
“Thank you.” MacLeod left without another word and walked around to the front of the house. The door opened before he had a chance to knock on the door, the butler standing in the frame stiff and formal, his pretentious nose practically touching the sky.
“May I help you, sir?” said the manservant, in typical butler-esque fashion.
“I’m looking for Mrs. Amelia Chase.”
The butler raised his brow and took in MacLeod’s appearance. Clearly, the man wasn’t sure whether it was safe to answer.
This time, MacLeod decided to try a new approach. “She’s ma wife.”
Right away, the butler’s bland façade turned into a scowl of disgust, and he lifted his nose higher in the air, if possible. The man sniffed once, then attempted to close the door in MacLeod’s face, but MacLeod placed his big booted foot in the doorway, foiling his attempt.
“She told you she was a widow, didn’t she?”
The butler nodded once.
Of course, she did. MacLeod sighed and shook his head in exasperation, his fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose as he felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or bellow to the sky in frustration. Of course, this man knew Amelia was a widow. She’d probably told everyone she met here today her entire life’s history.
There was nothing for it. When he found her, he was going to kill her. She needn’t worry about Kelly and his men.
MacLeod pleaded with the butler. Man to man. “Look, mon, I need to find her. It’s important. Verra important.”
The next step was to lift the butler by the velvet lapels of his coat, part of his ridiculously formal livery, and force an answer of him. In truth, MacLeod hated resorting to physical violence when a person was only doing his job. In fact, in other circumstances, he might admire the butler’s fortitude in the face of an obviously angry and frustrated man. But MacLeod was beginning to grow alarmed over his inability to catch up with Amelia, which meant he was willing to bend his own rules a little in this exceptional circumstance.
Fortunately, he didn’t have to resort to that.
“She left with George, the blacksmith.” The butler all but spat out the words before he slammed the door in MacLeod’s face, successfully this time.
