Captured by the Highlander (15 page)

* * *

Late in the afternoon, when the air was humid and warm, they stopped at a
shallow
section of the river to cool themselves. Duncan was perspiring. His loose linen shirt was sticking to his back. He crouched down, dipped his hands into the water, rubbed them together vigorously, then splashed some cool droplets on his face.

A short distance away, Amelia removed her shoes. She picked her way barefoot over the pebbles, gathered her skirts up in a tangled bunch, and waded into the river, stopping when it reached her knees.

Duncan sat back. He stretched his legs out and leaned on both elbows, watching her bend forward and splash handfuls of water on her face and neck, as he had done. When she straightened, she closed her eyes and tipped her face toward the sky. Her copper-colored tresses reached
all
the way down to her sweet, tempting bottom.

She brushed her damp fingertips lightly down the length of her throat and across the tops of her breasts, seeming to delight in the featherlike sensation. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat, her skin dewy with perspiration. She parted her lips and wet them with the tip of her tongue. It was a slow, sensual, erotic gesture, and Duncan began to lose himself in an idle daydream.

In the quiet recesses of his mind, Amelia was standing nude in the river, while he was on his knees before her, half-submerged in the water,
rolling
his tongue around her pink nipples and probing her sweet navel. He relished the saltiness of her skin and the sweet perfume of her body, which
filled
his head with pulsating yearnings. Running his hands down the curve of her waist, he laid open-mouthed kisses across her
belly
and hip. His cock shifted and grew, and he closed his eyes on the pebbled riverbank, tipped his head back toward the sun, and inhaled deeply. The heat warmed his face and legs.

Abruptly he opened his eyes and shook himself.

“
Fook,
” he whispered, and stood up. She was the Duke of Winslowe’s daughter. He shouldn’t be thinking such things, nor should he be wasting time here in the middle of nowhere when Richard Bennett was
still
wreaking havoc in the Highlands.

“Get out of the river!” Duncan shouted. “It’s time to go!”

Startled, Amelia turned to face him. “So soon? But the water feels so good.”

“Put on your shoes,” he said irritably. “We’re leaving.”

He did not look at her again until after she had mounted the horse. Then Duncan led Turner by the reins for at least half a mile before he final y swung up into the saddle to ride behind her.

* * *

At dusk, they set up camp near a single standing stone, high on a
hill
top under the stars. It was a rare clear night without a single breath of wind. The moon was
full
—almost too
brilliant
to behold—and the mountains were sharp, pointed silhouettes against the deep twilight beyond.

Duncan started a fire and cooked the smoked pork Beth had packed for them, which they enjoyed with a hearty rye bread and a bag of juicy whortleberries he had picked in the forest.

When they finished eating, he reclined back against the
tall
stone and withdrew a pewter flask from his sporran.

“This, lassie, is Moncrieffe whisky, the very best in Scotland.” He looked at it for a moment. “And Lord knows I need a good, deep swig of it tonight.” He raised it in an informal toast, tipped it back and drank, then pointed the spout at her. “Maybe you should take a swig yourself, feel its arousing vigor, and then you
’ll
understand why we’re so proud to be Scotsmen.”

She raised an eyebrow. “A
well
-made spirit is going to show me that?”

“Aye, lassie, and a whole lot more.”

She looked at him with
challenge
. “I see what you are trying to do. You are trying to frighten me, and make me nervous about being here alone with you.”

“You should most definitely be frightened,” he said. “I’m a strapping hot-blooded Highlander with an axe, and I have needs.” He paused and narrowed his enticing blue eyes at her.

She shivered at the suggestiveness of his tone but raised her chin defiantly, for she was determined not to show him any fear. At the same time, she sensed he was only trying to warn her to be cautious. He seemed determined to keep her at a safe distance.

He stretched out his legs and reclined back against the standing stone, then drank from the flask again. “
Ah
,” he groaned. “This is the best Scotland has to offer. How the earl does it I long to know.”

“I find it difficult to imagine you longing for anything,” she said. “Don’t you usual y just take what you want?”

He lifted his head. “Nay, lass. Otherwise, you’d be deflowered by now, and feeling very grateful for it.”

She exploded in a dramatic show of affronted laughter. “It is absurd how confident you are.”

“When it comes to my
skills
as a lover, there’s nothing absurd about it. I’m very good at pleasing women.”

“The famous Butcher,” she pondered. “Good at lovemaking and chopping people in half. What an attractive set of
skills
you possess.”

Amelia stared at the flask. She was thirsty, and there was nothing else to drink. And certainly the notion of sleeping like a baby had its appeal.

“I should prepare myself to be dazzled, should I?” She accepted the flask. “What if I swoon?”

“No worries, lass. You
’ll
just tumble over sideways, and the grass is soft.”

“You don’t say.”

Looking down at the flask, she swirled the contents around, then tipped it back and drank.

Well !
She might as
well
have been
swall
owing liquid fire.

As soon as the whisky shot down her gul
l
et, a blazing inferno erupted in her stomach and she began to wheeze. “You
call
this fine?” She spoke like a raspy old man.

“Aye, lassie, it’s stronger than the
ball
s on a
bull
.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “And you enjoy this?”

Continuing to hold on to the flask, for she was determined not to be bested by this celebrated Scottish drink, she took a moment to recover. In a moment or two, she would try again.

Tipping her head back, she looked up at the stars, and soon her thoughts drifted back to the events of the day. She thought of
Elliott
and how he had survived alone in the woods for two days.

“The drover we met said
Elliott
didn’t have a mother,”

Amelia mentioned. “I am without both my parents now, but at least when I was a girl I had a mother I could
call
in the night when I had a bad dream and she would come and hold me.

I
’ll
never forget how it felt to be held in her arms.” She tilted her head to the side. “I don’t suppose you ever had that, or ever had to
call
out for someone in the night.”

He seemed relaxed while he lounged back against the stone, yet his eyes were as intense as ever. “I
called
out plenty of times, and my mother always came.”

“You had nightmares? And a mother?”

“Despite what you might think of me, lass, I’m not the spawn of the devil.”

A touch embarrassed by her comment, she took another drink. Again the whisky burned her throat, but it went down easier than the first time.

“It might surprise you to know,” he continued, “that my mother was an educated woman of French descent. She taught me to read and write, and sent me away to be educated.”

Amelia drew back slightly. “Indeed, I am surp
rised. You were educated formall
y? Where?”

“That’s not a question I
’ll
be answering.”

Nevertheless, she tucked it away for later, because she wanted to know.

“How did your mother feel about your father’s harsh discipline?” Amelia asked. “I can’t imagine a scholarly woman would enjoy seeing her child treated with such brutality.”

“Nay, she didn’t like it, but she wouldn’t dare speak against him.”

“What about
you
?” she asked. “Did
you
ever try to defy him?”

“Aye, more than once, because I didn’t always like what he did to me, or others. But he was my father and I respected him, and I’m the man I am because of him.”

She took another drink and began to appreciate the subtle, aromatic flavors beneath the spirit’s sheer muscular brawn.

“But what about right and wrong?” she asked. “Did he teach you anything about that? Or just how to fight and survive in the Highlands?”

He considered that for a moment. “That’s quite a question, lassie. I cannot say for sure whether or not my father always did what was right, or tried to convey an adequate set of morals. In fact, I know sometimes he didn’t. But maybe I know that because of what my mother taught me. She was a thinker and taught me to be one, too. My father, on the other hand…” He stopped. “He was just a warrior. Mostly muscle.

Not much in the way of a conscience.”

Just a warrior.… Not much in the way of a conscience
.

Amelia was shocked to hear Duncan say these things. “At least you had two different perspectives to influence your life.

They both played a part in making you into the person you are today.”

Indeed, she had seen two different sides of him over the past few days. She had seen a kind and helpful man who tousled a young boy’s hair, while previous to that she had witnessed the Butcher’s fury. She’d watched him toss an English officer into a lake, then pursue in order to
kill
.

A wolf howled in the distance,
followed
by a scuffling sound nearby. Duncan alerted to the sound. He picked up his pistol, which he had placed in the grass beside him. He cocked it and rose to his feet. Amelia stayed low, looking up at him.

Slowly he
pulled
the dagger from his boot and handed it to her.

She looked up at him curiously, and their eyes locked with a dark fervor as she wrapped her hand around the grip. He was giving her this weapon to protect herself should anything happen to him—or to help him fight, if need be. He was trusting her with it.

He pointed down at her, then at the
tall
standing stone, suggesting she move behind it. Silently he strode forward through the grass, away from the snapping fire. He stood with his back to her for a long moment, listening careful y to the sounds of the night.

There was another wolfish howl, but it seemed very far away, a mere echo, probably from the opposite mountain range. For a moment Amelia believed there was nothing to fear, until she heard the sound of movement swishing through the grass.

Her
belly
fired with panic. Was there never a moment’s peace in the Highlands?

Duncan crouched low and
pulled
his axe from his belt.

Amelia crawled behind the standing stone.

What if it was a wild boar? Or an enemy soldier?

Perhaps she should be praying to see a man in a red coat, marching toward them with his musket loaded or his bayonet fixed and ready for battle, but after what had happened back at the beach, she was not sure of anything anymore.
all
she knew was that Duncan was standing between her and this uninvited guest and, whatever the root of his motivations, he was ready to lay down his life to protect her.

The moonlight was bright overhead—so bright, it was easy to see the edge of the
hill
side. Peering out from behind the stone, Amelia watched with keen, focused eyes.

At long last, the intruder reached the crest of the
hill
and took a seat not ten feet away from Duncan, facing him squarely, and without the slightest sign of fear or aggression.

“Don’t move,” Duncan said. He had not yet lowered his weapon.

Amelia was crouched behind the stone, her heart crashing like thunder in her chest, while she watched the extraordinary exchange.

“What does she want?” she asked in a whisper.

“She’s curious.”

It was the white wolf, sitting calmly.

None of them moved. Duncan was down on one knee, his pistol aimed squarely at the sharp-toothed beast while he held his axe low in the other hand. Amelia suspected he was ready to fling it through the air if the wolf suddenly charged, but for the longest time nothing happened—until Duncan slowly, careful y, sat back on his heels and lowered his weapon.

The wolf panted heavily in the cool night air, then closed her mouth and turned her head toward a sound, listening keenly. Satisfied that it was nothing, she let her mouth
fall
open again and resumed panting. After a while, she licked her chops and laid her chin down on her front paws, and watched Duncan with wide, blinking eyes.

Amelia came out from behind the standing stone. Duncan said nothing as she approached and knelt beside him. The wolf lifted her head and sniffed the air, then sat up again.

Then, without warning, she turned and trotted away, down the
hill
.

Amelia exhaled with relief. “Did that real y just happen?”

“Aye.”

They sat for a few minutes, watching the spot where the wolf had disappeared from sight. Not a single blade of grass moved.

“But why didn’t she hurt us? If she was afraid of you, or wanted to eat us for dinner, she would have growled or
challenge
d us, wouldn’t she?”

“I’d wager she had a
full
belly.
”

“I see.” Amelia sat quietly for a moment. “So if she returns in the morning, there’s
still
a chance we might become a meal?”

He slipped his axe into his belt and stood. “It’s possible.”

He held out his hand. Amelia took hold and let him
pull
her to her feet while she discreetly hid the dagger in the folds of her skirt.

“It didn’t occur to you to shoot her, Duncan?
Elliott
probably would have wanted you to.”

“I think the lad might have had trouble doing it, too, if he’d been here in my place.”

Amelia stared after the wolf. “She was beautiful, wasn’t she?”

“Aye.”

Feeling the heat of Duncan’s gaze upon her face, Amelia looked into the lustrous blue of his eyes and felt a little inebriated. A soft breeze—the first of the night—gusted past them and fluttered her skirts. She pushed a lock of hair away from her face.

“Come back to the fire,” he said. Together they pushed through the grass to their little camp, and Duncan spread the fur out on the ground. “You
’ll
lie with me tonight,” he said, “in case she comes back.”

Were it not for the wolf, Amelia would have fought him on that issue, but she did not think she would be able to sleep otherwise. And perhaps also she was feeling more relaxed because of the whisky, not to mention the knife she held in her hand.

She picked her way around the dying campfire to join him.

Before they lay down, however, he eyed her shrewdly.

“I
’ll
have the dirk now, lass.”

She sighed. “You’re not going to trust me with it?”

“Nay.”

She paused a moment, then decided it was pointless to argue. Besides, after what had happened the night before, she didn’t want to find herself in the position of having to choose between her freedom and Duncan’s life. He had protected her from those soldiers and the wolf. She simply could not
kill
him. Not now. Not ever, she supposed.

She held out the weapon. He slipped it into his boot, then dropped lightly to his knees. “Let’s get some rest.”

They lay down together as they did in the cave that first morning. Amelia faced the fire, and he curled up behind her, tucking his knees into the backs of hers. He covered them both with his tartan.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked.

“Yes.” Indeed, she was snug and warm, although she was a far cry from relaxed.

For a long time they lay there without talking, and just when she began to think she might be able to
fall
asleep, he spoke.

“Can I ask you a question, lass?”

“I suppose I can’t stop you.”

He hesitated. “Why did you say yes to Richard Bennett?

You seem
intelligent
enough, and I don’t think you’re blind.

You said you admired him because he was a gentleman, but there are scores of gentleman prancing about a London
ballroom
. Why him? Is it because he saved your father’s life?”

She thought hard about
all
the possible answers to that question. She remembered the times Richard had
called
upon her and how dashing he had been in his clean scarlet uniform. She had been infatuated at the outset—quite inescapably. She was a young, inexperienced girl with romantic dreams, eager to be wooed by a brave and noble hero.

And her father had confirmed those first impressions and approved of the match. He was, after
all
, alive because of this handsome young officer, who had
galloped
across a raging battlefield, straight into the line of fire, to save his life.

“It’s complicated,” she said, “but I see now that I did not know him as
well
as I thought I did.
all
our encounters were polite and proper, and I had romantic ideas. My life before this was sheltered, and after my father’s death I believe I was in a hurry to wed. I felt very alone and almost in a panic, so perhaps I
was
blind. I saw only what I wanted to see.”

“You were looking for a replacement for your father,”

Duncan suggested. “You wanted the protection of a husband.

You wanted security.”

“Yes,” she admitted, though it was a difficult thing to say.

“Since I
all
owed you to ask me a question,” she said, “and I answered it truthful y, may I ask you one, too?”

“You already asked me a number of them tonight.”

“Just one more…”

He did not say yes, but he did not refuse, either.

Wetting her lips, she stared at the glowing embers in the fire. Her breathing was irregular, her body restless.

“Why have you not taken me, Duncan? If it’s vengeance you want against Richard…”

He was quiet for a long moment; then he nuzzled her ear and spoke in a heavy, seductive voice that stroked her mind like velvet. “Maybe I
still will
.”

She lay motionless, intensely aware of the ragged beat of her heart. She had not expected him to say that, but she was not horrified. Quite to the contrary, her body was melting irresistibly into the curve of his legs and torso and she was aching with a strange, unexplored desire.

“You shouldn’t have brought it up, lass,” he said. “Now my thoughts are wandering, and my hands want to wander, too.”

Another breeze swept across the
hill
top, hissing through the
tall
Highland grasses. A strange anticipation rippled through her bel
l
y; then he
rolled
on top of her, so smoothly and natural y, it seemed almost destined to occur. She felt the weight of his hips pressing into hers.

He braced himself high above her on both arms and looked down at her in the moonlight.

She could not move. She was immobilized by a host of emotions she could not begin to comprehend.

He began to swivel his hips in
small
circles, rubbing up against her. “I told you this morning that you were in more danger than ever.”

“Please, Duncan…”

“Please what? Stop?”

She knew she should say yes or simply nod her head, but she was incapable of doing either of those things. The only thing she could make sense of was the fire coursing through her veins. She stared up at him with wide eyes until he slowly eased his upper body down and touched his lips to hers.

His open mouth and probing tongue melted every last fighting scrap of her resistance. She knew she shouldn’t want this, not with this man, but neither could she refuse the need to quench her desires.

He nudged her legs open with a knee while he continued to make love to her mouth with his lips and tongue. She moaned, feeling as if she were overcome by some kind of fever, then found herself gripping the fabric of his kilt in her fists.

“Tel me to stop,” he said forceful y as he kissed the side of her neck, his movements growing more urgent.

Of course, she would do exactly that—she would
tell
him to stop—but something
compelled
her to let it go on for just a few seconds more. Her hips thrust upward on their own, and she kissed him in return, fiercely, angrily. Then at last she uttered a few words, in a desperate sigh of passion.

“Oh, Duncan, please stop.”

“Say it like you mean it, lass, or I
’ll
soon be inside you.” He drew up her skirts, then slid his axe-roughened palm across the top of her thigh. She squirmed with pleasure.

His hand feathered over her knee, then to her hip and across her stomach. His voice was gruff and sexual. “I want to slide into you. I want to kiss your breasts and your thighs and your soft, naked bel
l
y. If you
tell
me you want that, too, lass, I
’ll
undress you.”

“No,” she murmured, “I don’t want it.”

But she did. She couldn’t understand it, but she did.

“Then
tell
me to stop, and do it quick.”

She parted her lips to say it, but no words came out.

His hand moved slowly up the length of her sleeve and over her shoulder; then he brushed her hair away from her neck and kissed the tender flesh at the front of her throat.

She sucked in a quick breath,
still
fighting against the desire that washed over her like ocean waves.

“What if I were a gentleman?” he asked, looking into her eyes with
challenge
. “Like your Richard? What if I wore a velvet jacket and lace cuffs and shiny buckled shoes? What if I was the son of a wealthy duke or earl? Would it be
all
right then?”

“But you are not any of those things,” she replied. “And he is not
my
Richard. Please stop, Duncan. Stop now.”

He lay very
still
, looking down at her, saying nothing.

She squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself for the possibility that he might decide he did not wish to stop. Why should he? He was ten times stronger than she. He could simply take her by force if he wanted to. He could tear at her skirts and impose himself upon her, and there would be nothing she could do about it.

He
rolled
off her then, onto his back.

Knowing she had narrowly escaped ruination just now—and escaped her own unfathomable desires as
well
—she let out a breath and fought to recover her composure. It frightened her to think how close she had come to ravishment, and how desperately she had wanted him, and how amorous she
still
felt.

She lay
still
for a long time, staring up at the sky, afraid to speak or move. She turned her head and watched his profile and reflected very careful y and profoundly upon the fact that he had stopped when she’d asked him to.

“I
’ll
trust you,” he said, “not to bash me in the head tonight, or slip the dagger out of my boot and stab me with it.” There was a hint of anger in his voice, and she wasn’t sure if it was directed at her or himself.

“I won’t,” she replied. “And again, I am truly sorry for what I did to you last night.”

“I’m only sorry that you are pledged to my enemy. If you were not, I wouldn’t have to use you this way.”

“Use me … As bait, you mean.”

“Aye. That’s what you are to me, lass. Nothing more. So do not think otherwise, just because I touched you and held you in my arms tonight. It was just lust—basic animal lust—and do not think that it
’ll
make me forget what I mean to do.”

Had
he forgotten it? Was that why he was angry? Or did he think she was trying to distract him from that objective?

“You are referring to your desire to
kill
Richard.”