What the Scot Hears

by Amy Quinton

  He remained that way—pushed tight to her core, his eyes closed, sweat on his brow, and his breathing heavy—for long minutes before he finally rolled to the side and pulled her on top of him, collapsing into a boneless heap.

  Amelia could do nothing more than go along with him. She felt adrift in post-coital pleasure with the occasional aftershock pulsing between her legs.

  Within minutes they were both sound asleep.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The Next Day: The Back Gardens

  Alistair MacLeod sighed contentedly as he lay on his back in a field of grass and wildflowers. Amelia was tucked tightly into the crook of his arm. This afternoon they were both enjoying the unseasonably warm and unusually bright weather by watching the clouds roll by on a perfect canvas of bright blue. Per Mel, cloud-watching was something she’d often enjoyed as a young girl, and she was delighted to find him amenable to joining her in the pastime. It had been a long time since he’d indulged; he’d forgotten what it felt like to be so carefree.

  Aye, a very long time.

  Amelia pointed to a large cluster of fluffy clouds. “I think that one resembles a dragon with his wings spread wide.”

  MacLeod squinted and stared at the cloud in question. “Nae. I see a mama fox with a couple of cubs frolicking about.”

  Amelia sat up and looked down at him. “A mama fox? Truly?”

  “Aye.”

  Amelia studied him for a moment. MacLeod simply returned her gaze. She pursed her lips then and asked, “Speaking of foxes. Why did you send a man to rescue my fox?”

  MacLeod looked back to the sky and considered her question carefully. When he spoke, he did so while looking heavenward. “Animals don’t betray you.”

  Amelia plucked and pulled at his shirt, nonchalant like, but he could have sworn she’d stiffened the tiniest bit.

  Nevertheless, she rested her chin on his chest and asked, “Tell me about her.”

  MacLeod sighed, both pleased and irritated she could understand him so easily. “I had known Delilah for many years. Since we were children. She wasn’t from Scotland originally, but she moved to the Isle of Skye when she was verra young and lived there most of her life.”

  MacLeod looked at Amelia; her face was so full of concern. He couldn’t help but reach up and tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear before he continued. “We were engaged to be married.” He shrugged. “It seemed to make sense. I thought I loved her, but she betrayed me.” MacLeod swallowed hard. “It was she who led the men to Alain the night he was shot…”

  She didn’t say anything, just joined him in allowing the emotions that statement brought forth to settle around them both. At least she didn’t offer him pity.

  It also allowed him to continue. “Alain almost died that night. He was shot in the head. As you know, it caused a significant amount of damage to his brain. It was months before he recovered and we understood the full impact of his injury; it was a miracle he didn’t die. But Alain, who was my father’s heir being the oldest twin, was clearly no longer capable of handling those duties, so they fell to me. I never wanted it, of course, but would have done my duty. And was preparing to do so. But then I learned my parents’ plans for Alain. They wanted to commit him to Bedlam…” He heard Amelia’s gasp of horror, but carried on. “…to hide him from society, so they didn’t have to deal with his disabilities. But I wasn’t having it. Alain is my brother, my twin. There was no way in hell I was going to allow him to die a slow death, tucked away in a dank, dark cell in Bedlam. So I took Alain and left, making my own way. I would care for him; I had the funds of my own, and well, here we are. I haven’t spoken to nor seen my parents since.”

  Amelia clenched her hands into fists, gripping his shirt with fierce intensity. “Oh, God, Alaistair…”

  MacLeod pulled her down and kissed her on the forehead. “Shh…it’s all right. It was five years ago now, and Delilah is long gone. She was hanged for her crimes, a fitting end for a traitor. I cannot deny that it has impacted my life. As you know, I don’t trust easily. As for my parents? They weren’t the most loving of parents, and I have made peace with our estrangement. I have people around me whom I do trust, though it doesn’t come to me easily.”

  Amelia seemed intent on the ties of his shirt when she asked, “I understand now, why honesty and trustworthiness is so important to you; I would feel the same way in your shoes. But what if you were in trouble…like life or death sort of trouble…and little white lies would offer you protection?”

  MacLeod chuckled. “Obviously, in my line of work, I cannot argue against the value of deceit. My survival depends upon it.”

  “Hmmm,” was all she said, and before he knew what was what, her fingers were drifting down, headed nonchalant like for his sides.

  But he wasn’t fooled for a minute. He knew right away what she was about. “Mel,” he growled a warning.

  “What?” She tried to sound all innocent. It wasn’t working.

  “Doona even think it, you ken?”

  “Think what, Alaistair, you big fustilarian?” Again, the innocent ploy while her fingers walked unerringly down.

  “Woman…”

  And then she did it. She dove in for the tickle.

  “Amelia Jayne Chase,” he choked out between laughs. “I’ll have you know I’m quicker than I look for a big fustilarian.”

  “But not as quick as me.” She teased and before he knew what she was about, she was holding up his kilt pin.”

  He laughed. “Wherever did you learn a trick light that?”

  “Acting school?”

  “Acting school? This wouldn’t happen to be one of those little while lies we were just discussing, now would it?” he asked, one brow raised. Perhaps a touch of distrust colored the tone behind his teasing words.

  And she noticed; her smile faded. “Alaistair, I meant nothing by it.”

  Suspicious flared, but he suppressed the impulsive feeling and he felt like an absolute cad for it, which brought forth all his usual fears of ever having a normal relationship with a woman. She’d done nothing, truly.

  Just terrified him.

  And now he’d ruined a perfectly fine morning.

  Fucking hell. Would he ever outrun his past?

  MacLeod shoved that thought away and pulled her back into his arms. Her expression was unreadable and wasn’t that a first? “God, Mel. I’m so sorry. I don’t…I…” He released a long breath. “Just that. I’m sorry.”

  Hell, he had to try or he’d never leave his past behind.

  Five years was entirely too long to wait to fix this. How miserable would he be in five more?

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The Next Day

  The Duke of Stonebridge’s arrival was as unwanted as a tax collector, a necessary evil but deuced inconvenient even at the best of times.

  MacLeod ignored the tightening in his gut that portended bad news from his longtime friend and braced himself with a smile. He leaned back in his chair and propped his booted feet on his desk, both hands tucked behind his head.

  A few minutes later, Stonebridge walked through the study door, the picture of a perfect mess, a frustrated scowl etched upon his brow. It was a surprising state for a man who wasn’t often dressed less than impeccably.

  The duke all but stopped in his tracks when they locked eyes, his mouth dropping open in surprise.

  “MacLeod?”

  MacLeod nodded. “Duke…”

  Stonebridge let loose a startled smile then. He seemed surprised, but pleasantly so. “It’s good to see you so…”

  “Not myself?”

  “I was going to say happy, my friend. Life appears to be agreeing with you.”

  “Aye, so it is.”

  Stonebridge stared a few more minutes, appearing somewhat incredulous before taking a seat before the desk.

  Fortunately, the duke knew better than to inquire as to the cause of such unexpected contentment. Sure, MacLeod may be happy, but he hadn’t changed that
much. He still fiercely guarded his privacy. “So what brings you here, Duke?”

  The duke began a staccato rhythm on the arm of his chair with one long finger, a longtime habit he’d never quite managed to break. “It’s Dansbury. He’s gone rogue looking for Kelly, and I need to pull him back.”

  MacLeod dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “Och, can you blame him?”

  “Of course not, but that is irrelevant. You must realize this situation is greater than personal vendettas.”

  “Personal vendettas? Might I remind you Kelly made it personal when he betrayed his colleagues and abducted the mon’s sister!”

  “I haven’t forgotten, and I understand what you’re saying, friend. But Dansbury is too angry to see reason at the moment, and even if his anger is justified, he cannot go off half-cocked chasing down Kelly and acting on pure emotion. You of all people know this. Hell, he knows this.”

  “Aye, yet if Kelly were standing here right now, I’d rip the man’s head from his shoulders without a second thought and still sleep like a baby tonight because I’m quite sure my emotions would feel damn guid about finding satisfaction in his death.” So maybe that was an exaggeration. Sure, he still, after everything, thought the man would never hurt a woman…and the duke agreed; they’d discussed this at length before…but Kelly had still put them all through hell. And was possibly—probably—a traitor.

  “Which is precisely why I’m glad you’re here and not chasing the man down, too.”

  “So why exactly are you here, then?”

  “I need to question Mrs. Chase.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “Did I stutter?” So much for his previous good mood.

  Stonebridge stood then, aggression oozing from him in palpable waves, which gave MacLeod pause. The unflappable Duke of Stonebridge was not a man to react with physical violence.

  “Damn you, MacLeod, you are better than this.”

  Nor did he usually color his words with emotion.

  “Och, better than what? Better than a traitor and a lying bastard? Aye.”

  “Better than a man who would let emotion cloud his judgement. Better than a man who would accuse a friend of treachery before he had all the facts. Better than all of that.”

  “Are ye truly trying to convince me that Kelly might have reasons for doing what he did?”

  “No…”

  “Guid.”

  “…but that’s precisely my point, we don’t have all the facts.”

  “And this is a problem, how?”

  Stonebridge glanced away. “It’s complicated.”

  MacLeod slammed his fists on the table and stood now, too. “Och, you unbelievable bastard. Considering everything that’s happened: the secrets, the lies, the treason—are you telling me you’re still holding out on me? Are you withholding the full truth?”

  “MacLeod, don’t do this. You know better than—how long have we worked together, known each other? You know it is I who is ultimately responsible for everything and everyone on this team and that I take that responsibility seriously. I am the sole person here who every damn day must make the hard decisions that might put you or someone else’s life in danger. People I love’s lives in the path of real danger. So yes, I have my secrets, and if I feel it necessary they remain secret, I will keep them so.”

  “Right. I could have sworn you mentioned the word ‘team’ in that load of tripe you just spewed, but go ahead and keep your secrets. Just know that in doing so, you will always keep a wall up between you and every man on your team by making it painstakingly clear that you do not trust our judgement. So you know what? I’ll go get Mrs. Chase and you’ll see she has nothing to hide and nothing to share that I didn’t already recount in my last report.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ten minutes later, Mel whirled in to the office. Right away, MacLeod’s heart felt relieved in a way that was difficult to put into words. They shared a brief, knowing look before he began the introductions.

  “Stonebridge, may I introduce you to Dansbury’s sister, Mrs. Amelia Chase of America? Mrs. Chase, this is His Grace, Philip Langtry, the Duke of Stonebridge.”

  With a wry grin, Mel curtsied. MacLeod almost laughed. A curtsey? Though the proper response, he didn’t know she had it in her to do so.

  “Your Grace.”

  “Mrs. Chase, a pleasure. You seem to be recovered and doing well after your ordeal.”

  “But of course, that errant, beetle-headed, codpiece didn’t stand a chance.”

  The duke laughed, though his laughter sounded strained to MacLeod’s ears. “Good. Please have a seat.”

  Mel sat, followed by the men, but not before MacLeod shot Stonebridge a warning look to watch himself. Not that he thought Mel couldn’t handle things just fine, but the Duke of Stonebridge was not a man to be taken lightly; he was head of their team for good reason.

  “Mrs. Chase,” began Stonebridge, “I’m not sure what you’ve been told, but I’m here to ask you some questions about your abduction.”

  “Of course.”

  “MacLeod has already recounted the basics, so I’m only going to ask you pointed questions.”

  Amelia sat back and relaxed into the chair. She appeared utterly at ease and ready to take on the Duke of Stonebridge. “Shoot.”

  MacLeod smiled his approval and sat back to watch the show, fiercely proud of her strength. She was going to put the duke on his head, and he was looking forward to watching the show.

  Stonebridge did not yet realize this, and if he didn’t know any better, and he knew his friend quite well, he would say that he was setting Mel up. It was in the way he sat so tense, with tension apparent in his jaw. Mel could take care of herself, but for the first time, MacLeod felt a spark of distrust in the form of a tingle skate down his spine.

  The duke pierced her with his gaze, though his words were all conciliatory. “First of all, now that you’ve had more time to consider everything that happened…”

  Amelia grinned, a cheeky smile. “You mean, now that I am no longer a hysterical, simpering miss…”

  “I never said that.”

  “You didn’t need to. But it’s what many men in your position think of women in their mind.”

  The duke remained unruffled. “It’s perfectly natural for anyone, myself included, to overlook details while our emotions are in a heightened state of—”

  “And before you do suggest it, I’ll have you know I’ve never been hysterical or simpering a day in my life.”

  The duke and Mel eyed each other then, sizing each other up for what was shaping up to be an entertaining confrontation.

  After a moment’s pause, the duke smiled and said, “Well, that’s good to know. Americans are rather notoriously robust.”

  Mel dipped her head in acceptance of the compliment.

  “Let me ask you this, then: did you ever feel as if your life was in danger while with Mr. Kelly?”

  “No.”

  The duke quirked one brow. “You seem fairly confident of that.”

  Amelia shrugged and spread her hands wide. “I’m good at reading people. No, I excel at it.”

  “I see.” The duke leaned forward. “And how did you come by that skill?”

  MacLeod, taking exception to the tone of Stonebridge’s voice, sat forward in his own chair and crossed his arms. He kept his council but was ready to intercede should the situation call for it.

  Mel cocked her head as if reconsidering her opponent. “As an orphan, one is forced to learn many skills not found in your typical London drawing room. It’s necessary for survival. Even in America.”

  The duke smiled, his tone deceptively calm, but MacLeod saw right through his false charm. “I see. So your recent escape from a skilled agent was a bit more than just pure luck?”

  MacLeod launched to his feet, knocking over his chair in the process. “Look here, Duke. I doona think I like the tone of yer voice, and the c
urrent direction of this line of questioning. I don’t see the point to it.”

  The duke looked at Mel as he answered. “And I don’t like putting the lives of my agents on the line for someone I know so little about.”

  “Goddamn it, Duke.” MacLeod prepared to leap over the desk.

  “Alaistair, it’s all right,” came Mel’s subdued reply, which startled him enough that he turned toward her.

  She sat there for a moment, all color leeched from her face, with her hands clasped, one thumb worrying the other. After a minute, she glanced at him, the briefest of looks, then turned to face the duke. “You know, don’t you?”

  “More than you would like, I suspect. But not nearly enough.”

  Mel looked to him, tears welling in her eyes. MacLeod’s blood pounded in his ears.

  No. Just, no.

  He wanted to turn back the clock. He wanted to flee the room. Already, he could feel the twin sensations of anger and betrayal seeping into his mind though she hadn’t yet said a word. He almost cried out for her not to speak. If he could prevent her from saying anything, they could carry on as if nothing had changed.

  But already everything had changed, and he knew it would be bad. All the many times he doubted this woman came hurtling back to the forefront of his mind like a recurring nightmare. He both didn’t want to hear this and couldn’t stop from desiring the truth, at last.

  Even if it meant learning about another betrayal by yet another woman.

  Damn it!

  MacLeod turned his back to look out the window, one hand pulling through his hair. Still, he listened to every word and watched with scrutiny her reflection mirrored in the panes of glass. She spoke to his back.

  “Even as a young child, I was gifted with a certain amount of charm and wit. It quickly became all too apparent that people, especially men, treated me differently because of it. Still, there wasn’t enough charm in the world to find me a set of parents who were willing to adopt me.