The Highlander's Excellent Adventure

by Shana Galen

“Lass, I—” Duncan’s throat was tight. He swallowed.

  A loud rap sounded on the door. “Christ and all the saints,” Duncan muttered. Then louder, “Go away!”

  “I will not go away.” That was the unmistakable sound of his mother. “I know that trollop is in there with you, and I want her out of my house. Now!”

  Twenty

  EMMELINE

  Emmeline departed, leaving Stratford to help James Murray up off the floor. Even if she’d wanted to assist—which she did not—the men probably would not have desired her involvement. Men and their pride. James Murray seemed to have a healthy dose of it, and God knew that Stratford had more than his share.

  She’d gone to her room, put on the nightclothes Lady Charlotte had supplied for her, and climbed into bed. She’d been longing for a bed for days, but now that she lay down, she could not sleep. She tossed and turned and finally lay on her back and stared up at the ceiling, her fists clenched at her sides.

  So Stratford was a bastard. The idea had crossed her mind in the past. She was not one for gossip, but her sisters loved to gossip and share any tidbits they heard. And they had heard the rumors about Stratford, though no one believed it. Emmeline hadn’t believed or disbelieved. She hadn’t really cared, but she realized that if the rumors were true, it would explain some of what she had seen in the Fortescue family. The baron was a reserved and demanding man. He was not the kind of father she had known. Baron Fortescue was strict with his children and had almost impossibly high expectations. He was not a father a child went to for comfort. Once Stratford had fallen from a tree and his parents had only found out because his siblings had informed them. Stratford had kept a straight, unemotional expression while his arm was poked and prodded. Eventually the doctor was called and determined the arm had a slight fracture.

  As much as Emmeline hated her mother’s criticism, she had always known her mother loved her. Stratford had not grown up with that assurance. He had been a constant reminder of his mother’s mistake. He was the proof of her infidelity and the baron’s cuckolding.

  Should it be any surprise, then, that Stratford could not believe Emmeline loved him? At times it was hard for her to believe he thought her beautiful and desirable. She’d grown up being told her body and her face were not good enough. But she’d been loved, and perhaps that was enough for her to find some worth in herself.

  She turned over again, trying to convince her mind to quiet, when she heard a loud bang and then what sounded like Lady Charlotte yelling. Emmeline thought it was probably best if she pretended not to have heard, but then the sound of Duncan Murray’s voice rose and was followed by the quieter tones of Ines.

  Emmeline had wondered where they’d disappeared to after dinner. It had not been difficult to speculate, and Lady Charlotte had obviously had little trouble finding them.

  Well, Emmeline couldn’t leave Ines to battle the dragon on her own. She rose, pulled a blanket over her nightgown, and went to her door. She peeked out and almost went back inside again, but she caught sight of Stratford looking out of his door, further down the corridor. If he had seen her, she wouldn’t want him to believe she was afraid.

  “Ye cannae put her oot in the middle of the night,” Murray was telling his mother, as Emmeline started down the corridor.

  “This is my house, and I do what I like. If you do not like it, you should leave.” Lady Charlotte, still dressed, hair perfectly coiffed, stood outside Murray’s room. As Emmeline neared, she noted Ines was wrapped in a sheet and nothing else. Not much question as to what she and Murray had been up to then. But far from looking embarrassed or humiliated, Ines faced Lady Charlotte defiantly. She might have been wearing the Crown jewels instead of an old sheet.

  “We will leave, if that is what you wish. Duncan and I will dress and be gone.”

  Emmeline passed Stratford’s door, and he peeked out of a crack. “You’re taking your life in your hands if you go down there.”

  “Coward,” she threw at him.

  “Hell, yes.”

  Emmeline moved forward as Lady Charlotte turned to her son, her gaze piercing him. Clearly, she wanted to see what he would do. Would he take Ines’s side or let her be thrown out into the cold and dark? “You will not accompany that trollop,” Lady Charlotte ordered, her gaze on her son.

  Emmeline too looked at Murray for his reaction, but Ines did not falter. “He will accompany me.”

  How lovely to be so confident. But Emmeline was not certain her confidence was warranted. Murray, a blanket wrapped around his midsection, looked like a hare caught between two snarling foxes.

  “Silly girl. Do you think he loves you? Do you think he will marry you?” She looked at Murray. “Do you love her, Duncan? If you wish to marry her, say so now.”

  Duncan hesitated, and Emmeline almost wanted to hit him to make him speak. Emmeline did not think Lady Charlotte, terrifying as she was, would shun the woman her son loved. Couldn’t Murray see that she wanted to hear him say he loved Ines? She wanted to know what he really felt.

  Emmeline had moved close enough to catch Lady Charlotte’s attention now. The woman blew out a breath. “Wonderful. We have awakened the entire household. Go back to your room, Miss Wellesley.”

  Emmeline shook her head. “Not without Ines.”

  But Ines was looking at Murray. And Duncan Murray was not looking at Ines.

  “Duncan?” Ines said. One word. One name, but there were a thousand questions in that word. Do you love me? Will you stand with me? Will you fight for me?

  “Ye cannae put her oot in the middle of the night,” Duncan said again to his mother. “Colonel Draven will come for her in a day or so.”

  Ines took a step back, as though she had been punched. Emmeline could imagine it felt as though she had been.

  “Ines,” Emmeline said, and reached out her hand. “Come with me. You may stay in my chamber tonight.”

  Lady Charlotte might throw them both out, but Emmeline couldn’t leave Ines to fend for herself. And if Duncan was willing to abandon her, as he just had, he should be drawn and quartered.

  “Fine,” Lady Charlotte said, seeming to crumple a bit. Was she too disappointed? “She is your responsibility, Miss Wellesley. If I find her fornicating with my stable hands, I shall hold you responsible.” Lady Charlotte looked at her son. Had the comment been a last effort to provoke him?

  Emmeline glanced at Duncan. Surely he would not allow that comment to go unchallenged. He seemed ready to say something, but his mouth did not open. Ines ran to Emmeline and buried her face in Emmeline’s shoulder. Emmeline wrapped an arm about Ines’s slim shoulders and guided her back to Emmeline’s room. When they passed Stratford’s door, it was closed.

  Once inside, Emmeline seated Ines by the fire and built it up as Ines was shivering. She knelt before the chair where she’d put the other woman and took her hands. “I wish I had some wine to offer you,” she said. “You’re shivering. Here.” Emmeline removed the blanket from her shoulders and draped it over Ines.

  “I thought he loved me,” Ines said, staring into the fire.

  Emmeline squeezed her hands. “He does love you. Anyone with eyes can see that. Even his mother.”

  Ines looked away from the fire, tears glittering on her eyelashes. She looked so pretty. Of course, she did. When Emmeline cried her face turned red and her eyes became puffy and snot poured from her nose.

  “Not enough,” Ines said.

  Emmeline hugged her. “I believe this is the sort of situation where one says, It’s complicated.”

  Ines pulled back and shook her head. “Lace designs are complicated. That horrid game you English play, whist, is complicated. Love is not complicated.”

  Emmeline opened her mouth to argue that sometimes it was complicated, but then she closed her mouth again. Ines was correct. Murray either loved Ines enough to fight for her, to sacrifice for her, or he did not. The equation was actually very simple.

  “You’re right,” Emmeline said. “Murray h
as no excuse.” And then to herself she murmured, “Stratford has no excuse.”

  He either loved her enough to believe that she could love him back, that he deserved to be loved back, or he did not. She had laid her feelings bare. She had done that one thing she had sworn she would not do—give her heart to a man. It had taken most of her childhood to pry her heart away from her mother and cushion and wrap it so her mother could no longer cause her pain. Now she’d been fool enough to offer her tender, bruised heart to Stratford. Whereupon, he had looked at her gift and returned it.

  Stratford might not believe he was worthy of Emmeline, and if he would not fight for her, even if that fight was within himself, then that assessment was all too correct. He didn’t deserve her.

  STRATFORD

  Stratford waited until all the noise and voices quieted and the house was still once more. Then he took the bottle of whisky he had slipped in his coat at dinner and went across the hall to knock on Duncan’s door.

  “Go away,” Duncan said.

  Stratford tried the latch, found it open, and walked in. Duncan was lying on his bed, dressed in loose shirt and trousers, staring up at the ceiling. When Stratford entered, he half-rose, his eyes looking ready for murder. Stratford paused until Duncan saw who it was and plopped back down. “Och, it’s ye.”

  “Good God, man. That bed is huge.” It was one of those massive, carved beds with four posts and half a forest’s worth of wood, which had been whittled into elaborate Celtic symbols.

  “I’m nae a wee man,” Duncan said.

  But even for a man of Duncan’s proportions, the bed was generous. “Where did it come from?”

  Duncan waved a hand. “Some ancestor or other. Why are ye here? Did Miss Wellesley send ye to flay me?”

  Stratford held up the whisky bottle. “I thought you might be thirsty.”

  Duncan sat. “Ye thought right. Where are my manners?” He climbed out of the bed and indicated two chairs near the hearth. The hearth was easily large enough for a child to stand in, perhaps two children.

  “You never had any manners,” Stratford said, taking a seat, then accepting the glass Duncan offered him. He poured them both three fingers, but Duncan stared at the offered glass until Stratford filled it to the top.

  “Now that’s a drink,” Duncan said, taking it. He lifted it in salute to Stratford then drank half it down. Stratford blinked and sipped his own drink. The whisky was strong and burned his throat. He winced, knowing it would burn less the more he drank. And he would feel less as well.

  “Did ye come tae tell me what an idjit I am?” Duncan asked.

  Stratford shook his head. “It would be hypocritical as I’m also an idiot.” He drank again, winced.

  “Ye finally realized ye love Miss Wellesley? Ye mooned over the lass the whole time we were in London.”

  “Yes, well, nothing has changed since we were in London,” Stratford said. It was true. Emmeline had never treated him any differently than the other members of his family. He’d thought that meant she didn’t care for him. But perhaps it was because she had cared for him. And now she loved him. “She loves me,” he said. “And I managed to ruin it.”

  Duncan held out his glass for more whisky. Stratford looked at it with wonder then poured his friend another glass. “So fix it,” Duncan said.

  “If only I could, but that would require traveling back in time and preventing my conception.”

  Duncan furrowed his brow. “One thing I dinnae miss aboot England is how ye English never make any sense. If ye love the lass, then marry her.”

  Stratford waited just a beat for Duncan to hear his own words through the whisky haze and knew the moment he had when he drank again. “You do know what I am about to say?”

  “Nae need tae say it.” Duncan ran a hand through his shaggy hair. “I shouldnae have taken her tae bed. I dinnae ken where my heid was.” He lifted the glass and studied the liquid in the flickering light from the fire. “I kent my mother would never accept her. I kent Draven would kill me. And I couldnae stop myself.” He looked at Stratford. “And I would do it the same way again.”

  “Then do the right thing and marry her.”

  Duncan shook his head, and Stratford lifted a hand. “You will be happy, your mother will be happy once she has grandchildren to spoil, and Draven—well, he will never forgive you.”

  Duncan laughed then looked serious. “My father’s death is my fault.” He pointed at Stratford when he tried to argue. “I dinnae shoot the pistol, but my father wouldnae have been in the line of fire if nae for me. It wasnae easy, but my mother forgave me. My brother forgave me. My sister—I dinnae think she can ever forgive me. And all these years, I have tried to make it up tae my mother, and she has never once asked me for anything. Until now.”

  “That you marry the woman of her choosing.”

  “Aye. How can I refuse that one request?”

  “How can you not? Of all people, your mother knows one or two things about love. She ran away with your father and gave up her entire family and all she had ever known. Could she really condemn you for wanting to marry for love as well?”

  “Nae, but I would condemn myself. I owe her this one thing.”

  Stratford shook his head. “You do not owe her your life and happiness. After all, she lost a husband, but you lost a father. I’d say neither of you owes the other anything.”

  Duncan stared at him then went back to looking into the fire. He sipped the whisky now, contemplative.

  Stratford sipped his own whisky, and when the last fiery drop burned his throat, he said, “I made a mistake.”

  “Which one?” Duncan asked.

  “I misjudged her,” Stratford said. “I thought if she knew who my father was—or wasn’t, actually—it would matter to her.” Or perhaps he wanted to believe it would matter to Emmeline because she was right; he knew her better than that. But, of course, it hadn’t mattered, and he was just using his parentage as an excuse. Because she was right. He was a coward. He was afraid he was not good enough for her. He was afraid she would realize that and tell him. He was afraid if he loved her, she might reject him. And he’d been rejected so much over the years that he couldn’t bear to risk it again.

  But he also couldn’t bear to lose Emmeline. He hadn’t anticipated how much that would hurt. He hadn’t ever felt the stab of pain he’d felt today when she’d walked away from him. And he’d known, known, she would not come back. He’d lost her, and he could not lose her. She was the one person he could not bear to lose. If he lost her, then he might as well have died on the Continent in the war. The only reason he’d ever wanted to survive was to come back and see her again.

  “I thought ye would have asked her tae marry ye by now,” Duncan said.

  “I should have.” Why hadn’t he been willing to take the risk? He’d risked his life daily for years, and now, he was too much a coward to risk his heart.

  “So do it.”

  “I’m not a coward,” Stratford said. “If there was ever anything worth fighting for, it’s her.”

  “So fight.” Duncan held out his glass. “But first pour me another wee dram of that whisky.”

  Stratford obliged, pouring more than a dram. “She won’t have me now. I need...some sort of grand gesture. Something to prove to her that I love her, that I’m willing to risk all for her.”

  Duncan chuckled, and Stratford gave him a sidelong look. “Ye want me tae help ye make a plan?”

  Stratford had never in his life needed anyone’s help making a plan. And Christ knew that he did not want Duncan’s help to do so. Duncan was too wild and unpredictable and...perfect. Stratford sat straight. “I do want your help,” he said. “I want to do something wild, something outlandish, something...lunatic.” He poured more whisky—obviously he needed it—and sipped.

  “Ye need tae abduct her,” Duncan said without hesitating.

  Stratford coughed as the whisky went down the wrong way. “Pardon?” he croaked.

  “Ye
heard me. I ken where ye can take her too.”

  “I cannot abduct her!”

  Duncan raised a brow. “Too ootlandish? Too wild? Too lunatic?”

  Stratford sighed. “I hate this plan, which probably means it’s perfect. Where do I take her and what do I do when I get her there?”

  Duncan raised a brow. “Lad, if ye dinnae ken what tae do when ye get her there, I cannae help ye.”

  “So I’m to debauch her.” Stratford could do that. Yes, he would have no trouble at all thoroughly debauching Emmeline.

  “If that’s what ye English like tae call it.”

  “And where do I take her for this debauching?”

  Duncan lowered his voice and told him, and it was exactly the sort of lunatic idea Stratford expected from Duncan Murray.

  And it might just work.

  Twenty-One

  EMMELINE

  Neither Ines nor Stratford came to breakfast. Duncan Murray, Lady Charlotte, and Emmeline—who never missed breakfast if it could be helped—dined in awkward silence, though the looks Lady Charlotte gave her son spoke volumes. Obviously, Emmeline’s presence was not wanted. She hastily drank her tea and ate her scone then excused herself. Ines was still sleeping—or pretending to sleep—in Emmeline’s room, so Emmeline decided to walk about the courtyard for an hour or so. Perhaps then she could go by the kitchen and ask for something to bring Ines. She opened the door of the house and stepped into the crisp morning. It was sunny, and she had to squint at the unexpected brightness. She took a few more steps then paused as she heard the thundering of hooves. She couldn’t quite see where it was coming from and should have jumped back and out of the way, but she couldn’t seem to move her legs.

  The first thought that crossed her mind was that Colonel Draven had arrived and planned to mow down anyone in his path. Her second thought was, I am in his path. And then, when she could all but feel the hot breath of the horse on her neck, she was grasped roughly about the waist, lifted off her feet, and tossed like a sack of grain over a saddle.