Captured by the Highlander (3 page)

“Or
any
air.” Angus stepped out of the way as the horse reared up skittishly.

“We should separate,” the Butcher said, his voice a heavy blade that cut through the tension. “Keep your wits about you, lads, and I
’ll
see you at the camp.” He urged the horse into a gal op, and they darted forward, leaving the others behind.

They
galloped
for a short time across the sodden field, then trotted toward the shadowy fringes of the forest. The rain had softened, and the sky gave off an eerie pink glow.

Soaked to the bone, Amelia shivered. Without speaking, the Butcher wrapped his tartan around the both of them. She breathed in his rough, manly scent on the wool and felt the heat from the wide expanse of his chest at her back. She was thankful for that at least, despite the fact that this whole situation had her reeling with fear.

“What is it about you Highlanders?” she asked bitterly, her teeth chattering. “Al you want to do is chop off heads and put them in boxes. Is it some kind of Scottish tradition?”

“It’s none of your concern,” her captor replied, “and I
’ll
thank you not to ask that question again.”

She was quiet for a few minutes while the warmth from the tartan slowly began to ease the
chill
in her bones.

“He
called
you Duncan,” she said. “I heard him. Aren’t you worried I
’ll
tell
someone your name and the true identity of the Highland Butcher
will
be discovered?”

“There are hundreds of Duncans in the Highlands, lass—so no, I
’ll
not lose any sleep over it. And since you’re asking more questions, are you not worried I
’ll
change my mind and slit your throat after
all
?” He paused. “Since you know my name.”

She
swall
owed uneasily. “Perhaps a little.”

“Then you should stop asking questions you don’t want to hear the answers to.”

She gathered the tartan about her and tried to ignore the chafing burn of the binds at her wrists.

“I assume that was your famous band of rebels,” she said, because she wanted to keep him talking. She wanted to know why this was happening and learn where they meant to take her. “I’d imagined there were more of you,” she continued. “Because from the stories I’ve heard, you and your friends slaughter entire English armies in three minutes flat.”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

She turned her cheek to speak to him over her shoulder.

“So it takes you longer than three minutes to slaughter entire armies?”

He paused. “Nay. Three minutes is accurate.”

She shook her head at the mere idea of it.

“But we don’t attack armies,” he said, correcting her.

“We’re not daft.”

“No. That is most definitely
not
the word I would use to describe you.”

They crossed a
shallow
burn, where the horse’s hooves splashed through the cool trickling water. Amelia hugged the tartan to her chest.

“What word would you use?” the Butcher asked, touching his lips to the back of her ear as he spoke and sending a torrent of gooseflesh across her neck and shoulders. He had an annoying habit of doing that, and she wished he would stop.

“I can think of a number of very vivid expressions,” she said, “but I
will
not speak them aloud, because you
still
might change your mind and decide to slit my throat.” She turned her cheek to the side again, and her nose almost touched his. “You see,
I’m
not daft, either.”

She’d mocked him with her last words and was surprised to hear him chuckle softly in her ear.

“You seem too bright to be sharing Bennett’s bed,” he said.

“I told you before, we are engaged to be married, and the fact that I was in his bed…” She paused, not sure how to phrase it exactly. “It’s not what you think. I was escorted to the fort by my uncle, the Duke of Winslowe, who is my father’s heir and now my guardian. Richard was
called
away from the fort last night, and only wanted to ensure that I would be safe and comfortable.”

«Well
, at least you were comfortable.”

She clenched her jaw against a sudden pulse of anger.

“Until
you
broke into my room and interrupted my happy dreams of wedded bliss.”

“There was no breakin’ in, lass,” he said. “I had a key.”

“Ah, yes, the one you stole from the soldier in the corridor—the one you murdered in cold blood.”

“That wasn’t murder,” he said, after a quiet pause. “This is war. The lad signed up for it, and it was a fair fight.”

“No one signs up to die.”

“Highlanders do, if the need arises.”

She shifted in the saddle. “How delightful y courageous of you
all
. It’s too bad you are committing treason when you perform these impressive acts of bravery.”

He shifted, too. “You have quite a mouth on you, Lady Amelia. I can’t deny I’m aroused by it.”

Aroused.
No man had ever said anything so bold in her presence, or taken such liberties with her before, and the shock of it made her cheeks turn scarlet. “Then I
will
close my lips,” she said, “and keep them shut, Mr. Butcher. Because the last thing I want to do is arouse your passions.”

“Are you sure?” She could feel the heat of his lips as he whispered in her ear, and the gooseflesh returned. It tingled across her skin, and she cursed her body’s frustrating response.

“You seem like a passionate woman, Lady Amelia,” he continued. “You might enjoy the lusty style of a Highlander’s lovemaking. We’re not like your polite English gentlemen.

We’re not afraid to grunt and thrust and use our mouths to pleasure our women.”

A surge of heat shot through her veins. She felt a renewed urge to leap off the horse again and run
all
the way back to London, but she’d already learned her lesson in that regard.

If she did that, he’d have her on her back in the grass again, and she didn’t think she could survive another incident like that without losing control of her senses.

“I am not saying another word to you.” She sat up straighter in the saddle, so that her back was no longer touching the solid
wall
of his chest, but it did nothing to cool the fires of anxiety that were coursing through her blood.

He leaned forward and whispered a warning in her ear.

“You’re wise to keep your mouth shut, lass, because I can only resist so much. Your lively little tongue might push me over the edge.
Ah,
look. Here we are—at my luxurious abode.”

He reined in his horse.

Feeling shaken, Amelia fought hard to focus on their surroundings. His “luxurious abode” was nothing more than a cave—a cold, dark cavern cut into a steep-sided mountain, surrounded by moss and lichen-covered granite.

They truly
were
barbarians, living like animals in caves. A smoky mist curled ominously around the horse’s legs.

“It’s the Butcher’s lair,” her captor said,
pulling
his tartan away so that the cold morning air once again assaulted her damp skin. Tossing the plaid over his shoulder, he swung himself to the ground.

While she continued to stare at the pitch-black entrance to the cave, he
pulled
the axe from the scabbard, slipped it into his belt, and held his arms out to her. “Come, lass, I
’ll
make a fire for us, and you can curl up in a warm bed of fur, and then I
’ll
make a necklace for you out of
all
the pretty bones from the soldiers I murdered tonight.”

She looked down at him in horror, not entirely sure he was jesting.

Just then, the golden-haired lion of a Scot who wanted to slit her throat came
galloping
toward them from the other direction.

The Butcher watched him approach with narrowed eyes, then spoke to Amelia with a firm tone of command. “Get off the horse, lass. My friend wants to
kill
you, so it’d be best if you waited in the cave while he and I talk it over.”

The necessity of escape burned in her mind as she slid off the horse and hurried to the cave entrance. She stood for a moment just inside, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the reduced light, while the other Highlander arrived behind her and dismounted. She looked around for anything she might use as a weapon and began to tug
frantically
at her bonds.

Angus MacDonald swung out of the saddle and landed with a heavy thud on the ground. His golden mane of hair,
disheveled
and wet,
fell
forward over his brow, and his horse trotted away toward
taller
grasses.

“Damn you, Duncan,” Angus said. “What was going through your bluidy brain? We’ve been tracking Bennett for the better part of a year. I thought we were of the same mind.”

“We are.” Duncan led his horse to a bucket of water outside the cave entrance.

He was not in the mood for this. He’d just
killed
five men and his clothes reeked of blood and filth and death. He wanted to go to the river and wash his hands and weapons, and clean the sweat and grime from his body. Above
all
, he wanted to lie down somewhere and sleep. For many, many hours.

“I didn’t abandon the plan,” he explained to Angus, his closest friend, the fearless warrior who had saved his life in battle more times than he could count. “But Bennett wasn’t where he was supposed to be. That’s the only reason he
still
lives.” Duncan turned and faced Angus. “But if you cross me one more time in front of the others, I swear to God and
all
that is holy, I
’ll
thrash you to within an inch of your life.”

Angus stared at him for a long, hard moment before he turned toward the rock face of the
hill
and laid a scarred hand on the granite. He spoke quietly, his voice heavy with frustration. “I wanted his head tonight.”

“And you think I didn’t?” Duncan replied. “How do you think I felt when I raised my axe and found myself looking down at an innocent woman?”

Angus pushed away from the stone. “She’s not so innocent, if she’s engaged to that swine.”

“Perhaps.”

Duncan suddenly felt a pointed stab of irritation at the mere mention of her engagement, which disturbed his equilibrium. The woman had stirred something in him from the first moment. He’d been struck dumb by her penetrating green eyes and her bold and foolish bravery. He’d spent far too much time studying the lush curve of her breasts and her fiery red hair. She had thrown him off balance, and that sort of weakness was not an option. Not now, when they had come so far. He simply could not afford to become distracted.

“Perhaps? She’s
English,
Duncan. She looked down at me like I was pond scum and she was the fookin’ Queen of England.”

“She’s a proud one,” Duncan replied. He lifted the heavy saddle off his horse and set it on the ground, then removed the bridle. “That’s because she’s the daughter of a great man. You’d know him as the Duke of Winslowe.” He glanced knowingly at Angus. “Surely you remember him. He led a battalion at Sherrifmuir.”

Angus’s eyes widened. “The duke? The one my father almost
killed
on the battlefield?”

“The same.” Duncan rubbed the flats of his hands over the sinewed flanks of his horse, wiping away the cool, moist lather while trying not to think about the famous colonel’s daughter, who was waiting for him inside the cave.

Angus whistled. “Now I see why you let her live—at least for the time being.” He frowned in confusion. “But she plans to marry Bennett?”

“Aye. That’s why she was at Fort
William
—evidently dreaming of her future nuptials when I nearly lobbed off her head.”

Angus paced back and forth in front of the cave entrance.

“Is it a love match between them? Surely not.”

“She claims it is.”

“Has she fookin’ met him?”

Duncan breathed deeply with frustration. He had no answer to that question, because any woman’s betrothal to that animal Richard Bennett made no sense to him.

Angus faced Duncan squarely. “Do you think she knows what her fiancé did to our Muira? You don’t think she might have put him up to it, do you? Because of what my father tried to do to hers on the battlefield?”

It was a troubling thought—surely not possible—but Duncan nevertheless gave it fair consideration before he shook his head. “Nay, I don’t think so. She doesn’t strike me as the ruthless type.”

“What’s the attraction, then?” Angus asked. “Why is she with Bennett?”

It was at least easy to imagine what had caught Bennett’s eye. Not only was Lady Amelia the daughter of a duke, providing the highest social connections, but she also was beautiful beyond imagining.

Duncan found himself conjuring up images of what had happened between them in the field, when he had her on her back, squirming and rubbing up against him. She’d ignited his aggressions to such a shocking degree, it had taken every ounce of self-control he possessed to keep from taking her right then and there. It was difficult to say what might have occurred if Fergus and Gawyn hadn’t arrived when they had, for he was
still
hungry for her.

Focusing his attention on the task of grooming Turner’s coat, he reminded himself that he shouldn’t be thinking about his prisoner that way and that he should avoid such thoughts in the future. She was an object to him. She was his enemy and his bait, nothing more. He could not forget that.

“I don’t know,” he said, “but I intend to find out.”

Angus strode to the cave and looked in. “Then what? An eye for an eye?”

Duncan’s gut churned. This was a dirty business, and he loathed it.

“I haven’t decided yet.” He left his horse to graze. “Go wait for the others on the ridge. I
’ll
need some time alone with her.”

“How much time?”

“A few hours at least.”

He felt Angus’s gaze on his back as he entered the dark
chill
of the cave.

“To do what, Duncan?”

“I told you, I don’t know yet. But I’m tired and irritable, so just leave me in peace until I figure it out.”