Captured by the Highlander (13 page)

“You’ve not seen a man naked before?”

She shook her head. “Of course not. That’s not how we live where I come from. Ladies are sheltered from such things.”

“Even after marriage?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

He did not move, but she could
still
feel his warm, humid breath in her ear. A strange pulsing began within. Outside her body, the whole world seemed to go silent and
still
.

Then at last he stepped back, and she exhaled sharply.

“We
’ll
be leaving soon,” he said, but she could not look up from the basket of eggs, nor turn around and meet his eyes.

She was too mortified. She’d watched him bathe; she’d been aroused by the sight of his strong male body, and he knew it.

But at least this time, he was enough of a gentleman not to say anything more. He simply moved past her and walked out.

Richard Bennett stood up from the warm, rose-scented bathwater and wished he could enjoy the sensation of feeling clean, but he could not revel in it—not now, when he felt so damned irritable. He had traveled
all
day and half the night to reach Moncrieffe Castle but felt no further ahead in this frustrating chase. Amelia was
still
the Butcher’s prisoner—if she was even
still
alive—and Richard had no idea where to look for them.

He turned and snapped his fingers three times at Moncrieffe’s personal manservant, who appeared to be lost in a world of daydreams. “Hurry up, man! It’s frigid in here!”

The servant hastened forward with a large linen coverlet stretched taut from hand to hand.

“I thought this place was supposed to be
well
-appointed,”

Richard said. “But I suppose it’s impossible to get the dampness out of the air completely, this far north of the border. Does the sun never shine here?” He wrapped himself in the extravagant linen, but the
chill
of this putrid Highland air would not leave him.

“Indeed it does, sir.”

Richard glanced over his shoulder at the earl’s short, stocky manservant, who was backing away slowly. “You were looking at my scars, weren’t you? And now you’re struck dumb by the sight of them, and how hideous I am.”

The man kept his gaze fixed to the floor. “No, Colonel.”

Richard’s annoyance waned slightly at the man’s submissiveness. “Come now, be honest. You can’t pretend not to have noticed. I
’ll
not have a liar in my midst. Besides, I can take it. I’ve taken much worse. How do you suppose I came by them in the first place?”

Richard stepped out of the tub onto the polished plank floor, dripping water everywhere.

The valet cautiously lifted his eyes. “They look to be very painful, sir.”

“Not at
all
,” Richard replied. “I’ve had them forever. I don’t feel a thing. It only vexes me when someone looks at them and reacts like you just did.”

Richard rubbed the linen towel through his hair, scrubbing at his scalp to get
all
the water out. “So
tell
me, servant …what do you know of this infamous Butcher I have the pleasure of pursuing? Do the people of this country know he abducted an English lady out of her bed? Do they know she was the daughter of a great war hero, who once tried to help Scotland by negotiating for peace? One would think they would take that into consideration. Come now, servants hear things. How does the common crofter feel about the Butcher’s tactics? There must be some who disapprove.”

When the valet did not respond, Richard continued to openly speak his mind. “I know the earl is a civilized man—a gentleman, according to some. But what of the general populace outside the castle
wall
s? Am I surrounded by enlightened people, or is this place crawling with Jacobites like the Butcher, who are hungry for English blood? Should I sleep with one eye open?”

The valet went to fetch Richard’s robe, which was laid out on the four-poster bed. “I promise you
’ll
be safe here, Colonel Bennett—inside the castle
wall
s. And the door can be bolted from the inside.”

Richard strode toward the valet, who was holding out his robe. “The door can be bolted, you say? So I am not so safe after
all
.”

The valet nervously cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, Colonel. I am certain that His Lairdship wants very much to meet with you and discuss what the Butcher has done. He
’ll
want to help in any way he can.”

Richard dropped the linen coverlet on the floor and slipped his arms into the loose sleeves of his robe. “Indeed.

It’s no secret that the earl likes to help the King—at least when it proves to be profitable.”

The valet bent to pick up the embroidered linen and folded it in his arms. “My master would never wish to see an innocent woman harmed. You
’ll
have his
full
attention in the morning.”

«Well
, I should hope so,” Richard said, tying the belt of his robe. “He profited greatly from his negotiations with the Duke of Winslowe in the spring, and it’s that nobleman’s daughter whose life is at stake. I would hope the earl
will
feel somewhat …
beholden
in that regard.”

“Beholden…”
The valet seemed almost panic-stricken.

“Aye, Colonel Bennett. The earl understands debts and obligations. And he desires peace.”

“Of course he does.”

Exhausted and in need of a good night’s sleep, Richard climbed onto the soft feather bed and laid his head on the
pillow
. “In the meantime,” he said, “bring me some of that famous Moncrieffe whisky. I hear it’s the best.”

“Aye, Colonel. I
’ll
have a bottle sent up right away.”

“See that you do.”

* * *

“How do you plan to confront Richard once we reach the castle?” Amelia asked. She and Duncan were traveling through a shady forest, alive with the chirping of finches, buntings, and warblers,
all
fluttering their tiny wings in the treetops. A soft breeze whispered and sighed through the leafy sycamores, like a gentle caress, and Amelia knew she was enjoying the peacefulness of this place far more than she should. This was not a quiet haven for the soul. It was the path that was taking them to Duncan’s personal war, which was going to be
hell
ish and bloody.

“It’s no secret that the Earl of Moncrieffe does not support the Jacobite rebel ion,” she added, “and that he has pledged an
all
egiance to the King. Surely he has an army to fight against the threat you pose.”

“Aye,” Duncan replied, “but did you not hear what Beth’s father said back at the cottage? That the earl’s father would
roll
over in his grave if he knew what his son had become?

That proud Scottish laird was an unwavering Jacobite, and he fought hard at Sherrifmuir and died there, along with many other loyal Scots who served under him. For that reason, Moncrieffe Castle is divided, and
all
we have to do is ride through the gate with our axes and claymores and we
’ll
have two hundred men from the earl’s army within minutes. Don’t fool yourself. Your betrothed
will
have no protection there.

The place is crawling with Jacobites who
will
be more than happy to feed him to us on a silver platter. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was already dead when we arrived, which would be unfortunate, to say the least.”

“Because you want to
kill
him yourself.”

“Aye.”

Amelia cringed inwardly.
«Well
,
all
of that is disappointing to hear, because when my father spent time at Moncrieffe Castle in the spring he believed the earl and the members of his clan were a civilized lot, and that they desired peace.”

“Indeed they do, but how they go about achieving it is where the differences lie. Some fight for it. Others just wag their tongues and profit from their signatures. But I am weary of this talk. Let us speak of something else.”

Taking exception to his officious tone, she nevertheless strove to speak dispassionately. “What would you like to talk about? And let it not have anything to do with what happened back at the cottage.”

“Why? Were you that excited by the overwhelming sight of my magnificent naked form, lass?”

Her veneer of dispassion became impossible to maintain—probably because she had been hard-pressed to think of anything
other
than his naked form since they had mounted the horse. The image of him in the tub had been striking erotic memory chords in her mind
all
morning, and no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, she could not suppress the stubborn, heated excitement it aroused in her.

“I told you that was the one thing I did not want to discuss.

It’s not suitable conversation for a lady.”

“Then why’d you bring it up?” He paused. “I find it odd, how you English lassies always behave according to what’s suitable. Don’t you ever just want to live honestly, and not hide or bury your desires?”

“Are you suggesting I desire you, Duncan?”

He rubbed his nose lightly against the back of her hair, which caused an unwelcome torrent of gooseflesh to tingle between her shoulder blades.

“That’s not the point,” he replied, “and you know it, although I
do
think you find me fetching. How could you not?”

He was truly an unbelievable man.

“But if this fiancé of yours,” he continued, “was always behaving so properly in your presence, minding his manners, how can you be sure you ever knew his true, honest self?”

She thought about that for a moment. “I have already admitted that it is quite possible I did not.”

“There, you see? If a man doesn’t say or act on what he truly feels…”

“But that is
my
point, Duncan. In England, we exercise self-control, which is why I feel more safe there, among people who behave properly according to a strict set of social rules, than with people like you, who act on their basic impulses.”

“You prefer men who
follow
rules,” he clarified, “like those soldiers at the loch?”

Amelia shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. He was
challenging
her basic beliefs again, which troubled her, because she was lost and alone here in this wild, foreign land. Her father was dead. If she did not have a civilized home to return to, how could she ever survive this ordeal?

“Must we come back to that?”

“Aye, if you
’ll
admit that being English and having good table manners does not make a man decent or give him honor.”

Wondering if it was even possible to win an argument with this man, she pursed her lips. “Al right, I
will
concede that point. How could I not? You are right. Those men were savages. How many times must I admit that to you?”

“The officer, too. He was the worst. Say it, lass.”

“I already did,” she replied irritably, “but I
’ll
say it again, if it
will
make you drop the subject. They were savages. The officer especial y.”

Duncan leaned back.
«Well
done, lassie. You’re making progress. Remember what I said to you that first day, when we stopped in the glade?”

Of course she remembered:
Before I’m done with you, I’ll
make you see that your English officers in their fancy red
coats can be just as savage as any Scot …

After a moment, he added, “But you should know that we have rules in Scotland, too. The clans are not without them.

We
follow
the word of the chief.”

“And
you
should know that not
all
Englishmen are like those soldiers.”

As they rode on, she reflected upon the lesson Duncan was trying to teach her and knew he was right in many respects. One had to look deeper, beneath the layers of clothing and appearances—even beyond behavior
sometimes—to truly understand a man’s heart. She had always been aware of the principle
intellectually
, of course, but she had never been so
challenge
d by the actual feat of understanding a man who was not from her world.

She pondered also what she had been through over the past few days—how she had been stripped bare in front of this Highland warrior, bound and gagged, abducted by force.

She’d slept in a cave and eaten freshly
killed
rabbit. To top it
all
off, she’d almost bludgeoned him to death with a rock the night before. She had not known she was capable of any of that.

How then could she believe that she knew any man’s heart when she did not even truly understand her own?

She thought of Beth and her children and their warm, comfortable home. It was a simple, peaceful life they led, yet Beth’s elderly father had fought in many battles and lost loved ones in a brutal massacre initiated by her own countrymen.

Then final y, there was the image of Duncan—her fierce and violent captor—rising up out of a bath, dripping with glistening droplets of water. He was strong and rough and virile. A savage? Perhaps. But an impossibly handsome one, and heroic, in his own way. Intel igent, as
well
.

She thought again of
all
the evidence of his warrior life.…

“Are those scars painful?” she asked.

He paused. Turner tossed his head and shook his long black mane. “Aye. Sometimes one in particular
will
ache for no reason, and it
will
bring me back to the moment I was cut.

I know every wound by heart—where I was when I received it, what army I was fighting for, and against. I can even
recall
the eyes of the man who slashed me, and whether or not I
killed
him in defense of my own life.”

“What about the one that’s shaped like a crescent moon?”

she asked. “It looks like it must have been very deep. Where did that come from?”

He paused. “I
fell
down the side of a mountain when I was a lad. Tumbled and bounced like a stone.”

She turned quickly in the saddle. “My word. How terrible.”

“Aye, straight down the rocky side of a gorge. I broke my wrist, too, and had to set the bone in place myself.”

She winced painful y, just listening to the story. “How old were you?”

“Ten.”

“Good heavens. But why were you alone on a mountain?

Was there no adult nearby to watch over you, or help nurse you?”

“Nay, I was on my own.”

“But why? Did you not have a family?”

“I did, but my father believed in harsh discipline. ‘From cradle to combat,’ he always said. He’s the one who took me to the mountains and left me there to find my way home.”

Amelia did not understand this. Not at
all
. “Why would a father do such a thing? You could have died.”

“He meant to toughen me up, and it worked.”

“Obviously.” She faced front again and tried to imagine the Butcher as a ten-year-old boy, fending for himself in the mountains with a broken arm. “How long were you alone like that?”

“Three weeks. That’s why I climbed the mountain. I was trying to figure out where I was. But I got distracted when I heard a wolf howling at me.”

“You must have been terrified.”

“Aye, but a Scot knows how to deal with fear. We slay it, then take pride in the
kill
.”

“My father once said that courage is not the absence of fear,” she said. “It is how you behave when you are
most
afraid.”

“Aye, your father was a wise man, lassie, and brave as
well
. You sure he wasn’t a Scot?”

She chuckled. “I am absolutely sure.”

“Pity for him.”

Amelia slapped at a pesky midge on her neck. “What else happened to you during those three weeks when you were alone?”

“Mostly a lot of nothing. I wandered around, scrounged for food, tracked
small
animals, sometimes just for the mere pleasure of their company. I remember a squirrel who made things bearable for a few days.
all
I had was my knife, but I soon figured out how to make a spear and
kill
a fish, and then how to make a bow and arrow. I knew I was north of my home. That’s the one thing my father told me before he
galloped
off and left me. So I simply
followed
the sun.”

She looked up at the sky though the canopy of leaves overhead. “I wouldn’t know which way to go in such a situation.”

“Aye, you would, lass.
all
you need to know is that the sun rises in the east. You figure it out from there.” His body curled into hers. “But you needn’t worry about cluttering up your mind, trying to navigate by the sun,” he said. “You have me to rely on, and I know exactly where we are.”

“We are traveling to Moncrieffe,” she said, waiting curiously for his reply.

“Aye.”

She paused.
«Will
you release me into the earl’s protection when we arrive? Is that your plan? To confront Richard, and then let me go?”

Please, God, let him say yes.

He nuzzled her ear again. “Nay, lass, I cannot promise you that, or anything else.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know if your beloved
will
be there when we turn up at the gate. If not, I
’ll
be keeping you
till
we find him. Or he finds us.”

“I see.” She strove to keep her emotions in check.
«Well
, perhaps he
will
be enjoying the Moncrieffe whisky so much, he
’ll
decide to linger awhile.”

“You should pray for it, lass.”

Suddenly Duncan’s body stiffened and Amelia’s heart flew into a panic as a spear shot past their heads and penetrated the bark of a tree.

“What’s going—?” But she didn’t have a chance to finish the thought before the horse reared up and they both toppled backwards to the ground. She landed on top of Duncan with a heavy thud that knocked the wind from her lungs. He
rolled
her to the side, and before she could even look up he was on his feet, standing over her with his legs braced apart, axe already in hand, as his claymore came scraping out of its scabbard with a piercing and terrifying
swish.