A Dangerous Damsel (The Countess Scandals) (3 page)

“Long enough,” she finally said. It might not be a lie. If she didn’t pay off Tristan’s debt, if they just ran, they might be able to get far enough.

“That’s nae very . . .” He faltered. His eyes crossed, losing focus as he stumbled.

“Oh, bloody hell.” Deidre suddenly found herself propping up seventeen stone of Highlander. She should have known. Teller never fought fair.

“You’ve been poisoned, you big idiot.” She did her best to steer their stumble into the dooryard of the nearby inn.

He tried to take his weight off her, but stumbled again. “Angus . . .”

“Who’s that then?” Good Lord, he was heavy.

“Godf . . . mowing . . . pie.”

This was futile. Deidre sidestepped and let him drop like a sack of rocks in front of the inn. She called “Help!” to the inn in general, and counted her duty as a Samaritan fulfilled. When she tried to step away, though, a big hand around her ankle held her in place.

“For the love of—”

On the ground, his body began to shake. The bastard was laughing.

Deidre jabbed the toe of her boot into his injured shoulder. “Let go.”

“No.” He’d gone extremely pale. If he didn’t get help soon, he was going to be in real trouble.

“Let go, or get up.” Deidre was not about to stand around waiting for him to die and people to come asking questions.

“A woman after my own heart. Where’d ye find her?”

Deidre looked up to find a weathered old Highlander in the doorway. “Are you Angus?”

“I am.” He stepped out and peered down at his friend—relative? It was hard to say. They didn’t share a resemblance, but they had the same unusual height. “What’s the matter with him?”

“He makes unwise decisions.”

“. . . stabbed. Poison.”

Angus nodded. “Ye’d be the one that robbed him then?”

Deidre did a quick check for an exit, but her ankle was still firmly trapped. “What makes you say that?”

“Nae many lasses are bonny enough to turn a smart man this daft.” The older man sighed. “Help me get him up then.”

“Actually, I—”

“Have the look of a rabbit in a bolt. I ken what yer about. Ye’ll stay, least ways until I sort out what’s what.”

With an excess of groaning and cursing from all parties involved, they managed to haul him back to a standing position. She had her arms around his torso, steadying him, while Angus tied a makeshift tourniquet for his shoulder, when his forehead thunked against hers. For a moment, his eyes focused on her face. The corners of his lips turned up.

“Selkie.”

“Idiot.”

They made their way into the inn with the stranger propped between them, grinning dreamily. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, it was clear Angus’s intention was to climb them.

“You can’t be serious.”

His eyebrow rose.

“I’ll drop him,” she explained.

The old Scot considered their situation for a moment. “Ye go first. We’ll drape his arms over yer shoulders, and I’ll make sure the pair of ye dinnae topple back down.”

“Do I look like a pack mule?”

“Nae a bit, but I dinnae trust ye at my back, begging yer pardon, and I cannae haul him and watch ye at the same time.”

Deidre grumbled every curse word she knew as they prepared for the ascent. The stranger was an affliction being visited upon her by a mordant deity. He was an ox poured into human form. He was a pustule on the bottom of a—

“. . . smell good,” he said after taking a deep breath near her ear.

“I loathe you.”

She trudged up the steps. How had she gotten into herself into this mess? She should be back at her flat, packing up the little she and Tris owned, and getting out of town as fast as money and horseflesh could carry her. Two-thirds of the way to the top, she almost gave up. They stopped dead, her legs refusing to go farther.

“What’s the trouble?”

The trouble? The trouble was that she’d met lighter livestock than the man she was being forced to shuck up this flight of stairs. “I can’t do it.”

“It’s just a bit further.”

Deidre turned her head toward her cargo. “I don’t suppose you’ve found your second wind?”

The weight on her shoulders lessened and they made it up the last of the stairs in a burst.

“Thank God,” she gasped.

Angus took the bulk of his weight the rest of the way to their room. They got him inside and on the bed without further incident.

“Any idea what he’s been poisoned with?”

“It might be belladonna.”

The older man raised an eyebrow. “Might be, or is?”

“Unless Teller’s changed his methods, it’s belladonna.” Deidre slumped down in the room’s only chair, rubbing the muscles in her neck.

“The shoulder wound is naught to worry about. He’ll live if we keep an eye on him,” the older man said as he checked the vital signs of his companion. He looked over at her. “Nae one for physical work, are ye?”

She spent a moment considering her chances of successfully strangling him. “Some people are cut out for that sort of life. Some are not.”

“Ye might surprise yerself.”

“You might feed him less.”

Angus laughed. “Ye hear that, Ewan? The lass thinks yer fat.”

So his name was Ewan. Fat wasn’t what came to mind when she thought of him. She couldn’t even look at him without being aware of his form, never mind trying to tote him up a flight of stairs. That wall of densely muscled torso had pressed against every inch of her. Thinking like that would only lead to trouble, though, and the kind of wicked impulses she’d run from back in the alley. What she needed to be thinking about was getting herself and Tris safely out of town. She needed a plan.

Chapter 4

Ewan woke up with a splitting headache. His mouth was dry and there was a devil of a pain in his shoulder. Dark eyes with an exotic tilt glared at him from the chair next to the bed.

“Ye stayed.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Your watchdog trapped me in here.”

Angus, bless his soul. Ewan was tempted to kiss the old codger the next time he saw him. “Havenae been able to give him the slip, eh?”

Her hands flew up as she left the chair and started pacing the room. “What is that? He’s nigh on a hundred years old—”

“Nae quite that many—”

“With the hearing of a damned owl. I swear he heard me opening the window casement from down in the taproom.”

“Aye. I’ve no idea how he does that.” Ewan’s thoughts weren’t really on Angus’s preternatural hearing. It was on the way her fingers slid through her hair, leaving tousled furrows and loose strands. It was very diverting, until she turned around. Her eyes were haunted. The pacing and fidgeting combined with the expression in her eyes; she looked trapped. “It’s all right, lass.”

She rounded on him. “No, it’s not all right! I’ve been stuck in here all day like a goddamn canary in a cage, while Tris—” She cut herself off, pressing a fist against her mouth and blinking rapidly.

“Go on, lass,” he said gently. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he asked anyway. “Who’s Tris?”

“My brother! He could be dead. He could be worse than dead. I don’t know where he is. I haven’t seen or heard from him since last night.” The tears started to fall in earnest, and she threw herself against him on the bed with a sob.

Her brother. Not a husband, or a lover. Ewan shouldn’t be as relieved as he was. He wrapped his uninjured arm around her back. “He’s likely just sowing wild oats. I’m sure he’s fine.”

“No, he’s not! I was looking for him when they st-st-stopped me in the alley. He’s fallen in with bad people. He owes them money.” She burst into a new round of sobbing with even more vigor than the last.

Ewan felt like a villain. He knew there had to be a reason she’d taken to thievery. She was trying to pay her brother’s debt. It was misguided, but Ewan could understand family loyalty. There was nothing Ewan wouldn’t do for Gavan, the cousin he’d grown up with. “Dinnae cry, leannain. We’ll find him. Ye have my word.”

She sniffled against his shoulder. “You couldn’t possibly look for him in your condition.”

“Och, I’m nae so banged up as all that.”

More sobs, even more violent than the first, erupted from her. What the devil was the trouble now?

“I c-c-c-couldn’t bear it if something h-h-h-appened to you,” she managed around deep, staccato breaths. “You’ve been so kind.”

The lass was worried for his safety? Well, that was something. There was naught to worry about, but Ewan wouldn’t mind letting her fuss over him a bit. “Angus can go. He’ll find him in no time.”

“Truly?” Her big eyes were round with hope.

“Of course.”

She smiled, and it lit up the room. “The sooner I find Tristan, the better I’ll feel about everything.”

“Call Angus for me. We’ll have him start looking straightaway.”

In a flurry of bounces, she was off the bed and headed for the door. She stopped, turning back to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Thank you.”

Then she was off again. It didn’t take long for her to return with Angus.

Ewan’s godfather looked none too pleased. “What’s this nonsense about I’m to go and do some fool thing or another?”

“Yer going to find a lad named Tristan.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because I asked ye to.” That answer had never worked for Ewan before, but there was a first time for everything.

Angus snorted. “And why exactly would ye be asking?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Oh, aye? Says who?” Angus gestured to . . . Ewan realized he still didn’t know her name. “Says her? Did ye take a blow to the head as well as the shoulder?”

“I kidnapped her, and now her brother is in danger.”

“She robbed ye!”

“To pay her brother’s debt.”

“Oh, a fine one he sounds like. Well worth putting myself out for.”

Bloody, stubborn old—Ewan started hauling himself out of bed with his good arm. “Never mind. I’ll do it myself.”

“Like hell ye will.” Angus shoved him back down. “Like as nae, it’s a trap she’s set. Yer fresh off being poisoned, and apparently addled as well. I’ll go, if only to see ye survive this wee expedition into idiocy ye seem set on.”

“It’s not a trap,” his mystery woman assured.

“We’ll find out, won’t we? How am I to find this Tristan then?”

She gave Angus a description of her brother and the places he was likely to be found, mostly whorehouses and gaming dens. Ewan had to agree with Angus’s assessment; Tristan didn’t sound all that worthy of saving. Then again, neither would some of Ewan’s own family, but Ewan would still risk all to see them safe.

***

The old Scot stomped off in a steady stream of grumbling, leaving Deidre behind with Ewan. It had been all too easy to bring out the tears and convince him to send his watchdog on an errand. Now all she needed was a passable reason to go downstairs, or for her newly devoted knight in shining armor to fall back to sleep, and she would be free.

Deidre sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her fingers along his forearm. “How do you feel?”

“Well enough. There’s really no reason I couldnae have gone.”

“Nonsense. You’ve already done so much for me.” Deidre softened her touch, watching his eyes start to droop at the soothing sensations. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Och, ye dinnae need to—”

“Please. You must let me. I could get you something to drink. Perhaps some soup. Would you like me to have them draw you a bath?” Anything at all, if it meant heading down into the taproom.

“Yer name.”

“It’s Mary.”

“Odd. Ye dinnae strike me as a Mary.” He lay back again and closed his eyes. “Actually, if ye wouldnae mind . . .”

Finally. “Yes?”

“Could ye mayhaps rub my head a bit? I’ve the devil’s own ache just behind my eyes.”

It was fairly innocent as requests went and it would likely put him to sleep. “All right.”

She scooted into position against the headboard. Reaching her arm behind his shoulders, she placed her fingers against his temples and made gentle circles. He responded with a deep groan of contentment. Rolling her eyes, Deidre set to work running her hands along his scalp and through the thick waves of ruddy copper. After an inordinately long time, his breathing settled into deep, rhythmic inhalations with a slight snore.

As quietly as she could, she extricated herself from the bed. Gingerly, she put her toes on the floorboards.

“Mary?”

Bollocks. “Yes?”

“Are ye going somewhere?”

Not anymore, you great big nuisance.
“I just thought you might be more comfortable with your boots off.”

“Oh, aye, that sounds nice.”

Deidre plastered the smile back on to her face. She was almost in the clear. The waterworks had gone over exactly as she’d expected. No sense in ruining a good damsel in distress gambit by scowling. She pulled off the first boot, then the second.

“Oh, Mary?”

“Yes?”

“Would ye mind terribly”—he stretched, flexing his toes and settling farther into the mattress ticking—“rubbing my feet?”

Rub his feet? More like roast him over hot coals. “I’m not sure that’s entirely—”

“It’s just, they’re quite sore after walking all the way to town. After ye robbed me and took my boots.”

Bloody hell. Fine. “Of course.”

She sat back down at the end of the bed and grabbed one of his feet, reminding herself to be gentle. They didn’t seem sore—not a blister to be found—but he started up with the contented groaning again and Deidre reminded herself she was almost in the clear. Much later, when the sun was sinking on the horizon and he had not resumed snoring, she revised her assessment. She had resigned herself to the knowledge that she was going to die of old age, trapped in this room while her hands cramped up, when an impossibly loud rumble came from his midsection.

Deidre jumped up. “I’ll have the innkeeper send something up.”

“Och no, that’s nae—”

“Nonsense. You’re clearly famished. I’ll see to it.” She hurried out before he could protest. There was no telling when she would get another chance.

Finally free, she took the stairs two at a time. The taproom was filling up for supper and the rising noise would buy Deidre some additional time. Ewan would likely assume the kitchen was having difficulty keeping up. She slipped out behind a group of travelers on their way into the inn, into the cooling night air. She hadn’t made it far, sticking to the shadows to avoid being recognized, when a voice turned her legs to lead.

“They saw her here?” His voice was low—in eight years, she’d never heard him raise it—but there was no mistaking the deceptively smooth timbre for anyone other than Alastair.

Deidre dropped down, hugging the side of the wagon that was blocking her from his view on the other side.

“It was her. A lass like that crosses yer path, ye remember.”

“I see.” Alastair’s impatient sigh sent a shiver of fear through her.

The wagon next to her rocked as someone leaned against it. Deidre whipped around.

“Taking some air?” Ewan asked.

For a moment, Deidre didn’t answer. She was too busy catching her breath and convincing her heart to start beating again.

“If I were a thinking man, I might think ye were—”

She threw her hand over his mouth. He’d spoken quietly. They might not have heard him. He tried to move it, and she shook her head.

“Saw a big ruddy bastard, too, like the one wot roughed up Wick an’ Teller. Said he was hurt pretty bad.”

“Ah yes, the stranger.” Alastair’s tone turned frigid. “Whatever are you up to, my dear?”

“Boss?”

“Never mind. Deidre can have the evening to play her little game. In the morning, haul her back by her hair if you have to.”

“And the man?”

“Kill him.”

***

So they intended to kill him. Ewan had no intention of letting himself be murdered. He was not, however, in proper form to contest the matter immediately. The fight in the alley had taken a bit out of him, and the poison had taken the rest. It would be a few days or more before he would be fit to fight again.

They waited in silence with her palm pressed to his lips. The men on the other side of the wagon discussed small details for a criminal enterprise and a gambling debt that needed collecting before one of them walked away down the street. The remaining man was apparently not the source of his highwaywoman’s fear. She relaxed noticeably and took her hand away from his mouth before quietly pulling him toward the stables.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked, dragging him into an empty stall.

“Following ye.”

“Why?”

Ewan leaned against the boards. “Because yer name’s nae Mary and ye’d sooner boil me alive than be my nursemaid.”

That gave her a moment’s pause. “You knew?”

“Ye truly do think I’m daft.” He shook his head. “Nae all big men are stupid, ye ken.”

She narrowed her eyes. “It’s much easier when they are.”

“About that. What exactly are ye mixed up in?”

A shielded expression flew into place. “It’s nothing—”

“It’s going to see me dead, if yer friends have their way.” Ewan stepped forward, forcing her to look at him. “That man acts as if he owns ye. Does he?”

“No.”

“But ye do things for him. Thieving and the like?”

She hesitated, and then nodded.

“Have ye sent Angus into a trap?”

“No.” She took his hand. “Everything I told you about my brother is true. He’s in trouble with bad people—those people—and I need to find him.”

Ewan believed her. He was probably a thousand kinds of a fool, and he wouldn’t be turning his back on her anytime soon, but he believed she was afraid for her brother. He leaned on the railing again, trying to think. If they came in the morning, Ewan wouldn’t be worth much fighting them off. They would stand a decent chance if Angus was back with the boy by then, but there were no guarantees of that. There was only one intelligent path left to them.

“We’ll have to leave town. Tonight.”

“We?”

“Aye. When Angus comes back with yer brother, we’ll all—”

She kissed him.

Surprise held Ewan in place. Her hands stroked the sides of his face, slid down his neck, then closed on the collar of his shirt. She pulled him in closer. The rounded swells of her hips, which had taunted him since they met, offered themselves up for his hands. He held her to him, enjoying the conquest she made of his lips.

Her hand slipped inside his shirt, touching skin. Ewan inhaled as her palm framed his neck, the pad of her thumb resting at the base of his throat. She wasn’t strong enough to choke him—certainly not with one hand—but it added an awareness that she might try, that she might stop touching him, that he did not want her to stop. The potential danger heightened each sensation. He followed every tiny movement, every small shift. The intensity of it put him at the edge of his control. He wasn’t sure how long he would last if she kept touching him like that.

She scraped his lip between her teeth when she pulled away. “Twenty minutes.”

“Hmm?” Lust fogged Ewan’s brain.

“It’ll take twenty minutes to get my things from my rooms.”

Right. They were talking about luggage. “Let’s go get them, then.”