Her Highness and the Highlander: A Princess Brides Romance (11 page)

She turned and rushed for the door, wondering as she did how it was possible that
she was being forced to flee for the second time in as many days.

Flinging open the door, she ran down the hallway to the stairs. At the foot of the
stairs, she rounded the corner and ran
full-out, not bothering to look where she was going. Suddenly she barreled headlong
into something solid yet undeniably muscular. Looking up, she gazed into a pair of
wonderfully familiar green eyes.

“Major MacKinnon,”
she said on a breath.

Her arms went around him and she pressed her face to his chest.

“Shh, lass,” Daniel said soothingly, his arms moving automatically to encircle her.
“What is it? What has happened?”

“I think he’s dead,” she whispered.

“Who’s dead?”

“S-Sir Lionel. I—I think I killed him.”

His brows shot high. But even as he opened his mouth to ask who Sir Lionel might be,
he already knew the answer—the silver-haired man with whom she had been traveling.

“This Sir Lionel,” he said grimly, his hands tightening behind her back. “What exactly
did he do?”

“He…” She paused and swallowed. Abruptly, she pushed away from him, as if only just
realizing that she was standing inside his embrace.

“What are you doing here anyway?” she asked. “I thought you were going home.”

“I was. Now I am no’,” he said, shrugging.

She scowled, clearly dissatisfied with his response.

“So, shall we go see about Sir Lionel?” he asked.

“See?”

“Aye. As in
see
if he really is dead.”

The rich chocolate brown of her eyes darkened until they shone nearly black.

“If you’d rather, you can stay here,” he said gently. “It shouldn’t take me long to
check.”

She drew in a deep breath and shook her head. “No, I shall come with you.”

Moving past her, he started toward the stairs, then stopped when he realized that
she’d made no move to follow. Returning to her side, he silently took her hand.

Her gaze shot to him, her palm flexing softly inside his. “I have not given you leave
to touch me whenever you like, Major.”

He stared, marveling at her sudden prim rejoinder, particularly given the way she
had thrown herself into his arms only minutes before. His lips twitched with wry amusement.
“Nae,
Your Highness,
you have no’ done so.”

Maintaining his grip on her hand, he tugged her gently toward the stairs.

When they arrived at the private parlor, the door stood open.

Mercedes hesitated on the threshold. “You go ahead,” she said. “He’s just over there.”
She pointed toward the far side of the room.

As Daniel entered the room he noticed the uncleared table and supper remains congealing
on the plates. Nearby, a man lay sprawled on his back.

Just as described, he was silver-haired, his face lined with the wrinkles that demonstrated
his age. His cheeks were ashen, his eyes closed, lips parted. Red spread wetly across
his chest, a splash of crimson that stained his once white shirt and buff waistcoat.

Daniel squatted down to get a closer look. “Did you stab him?”

“No. I hit him. With that.” She walked slowly inside and gestured toward a heavy bottle
that had rolled several feet away from the body.

“Ah.” He nearly smiled. “Red wine, I presume.”

She nodded.

Studying the man again, he noticed a blue bruise that crept just underneath the hair
along his temple.

“Well?” she said in a strained tone. “Is he…dead?”

Reaching out, he laid a pair of fingers against Sir Lionel’s throat, noticing as he
did that the man’s skin was warm—rather too warm for a corpse. He’d been around enough
death during his years of soldiering to know the most obvious signs. Still, it was
always best to confirm one way or the other.

Sliding his fingers an inch to the right, he found what he sought, the telltale fluttering
of a pulse. And to add further confirmation of life, Sir Lionel chose that moment
to roll his head and let out a pained groan.

Daniel eased away, then straightened to his full height. “That would be no, so you
can stop worrying that you are a murderess. Remind me, though, not to get on your
bad side. You haven’t told me what he did to provoke you.”

A wash of pink spread across her cheeks. “He grabbed me and tried to make me sit on
his lap,” she said with disgust. “He wanted to kiss me! He wanted to…” She broke off,
unable to say more.

Yes, that was precisely what Sir Lionel had wanted, although he wasn’t sure she understood
the full extent of the man’s lustful intentions. He was just relieved that she’d been
able to defend herself.

If not for the fact that Sir Lionel was currently lying insensible on the floor, he
would have hit him again, only he would have used his fists rather than a bottle.

Daniel returned to Mercedes’s side. “I should no’ have left you this morning. You’re
a pure magnet for trouble. I’ve decided to delay my homecoming and take you to London
instead. Lord knows you’ll ne’er make it there in one piece if you’re left to your
own devices.”

“I was managing before you arrived,” she defended.

“By coshing a man in the head and imagining you might have killed him?”

“Well, except for that, yes.”

He shook his head at her stubbornness, suppressing a smile.

“So, do I presume you now wish to accept the position as my bodyguard?” she asked.

“I think I have to or my conscience will ne’er let me rest.”

Her brows drew close, as if she wished she could refuse him. Then she reached up and
began working open the clasp on her necklace.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Providing you with payment. As you know, this is the only thing of value that I possess.”

He touched her arm to indicate that she should stop. “Nae, lass, you keep it. I don’t
expect to be paid until the job is finished. Besides, I know where you’ll be keeping
the necklace, so I’ve no cause to fret,” he said as his gaze slid lightly over her
bodice.

Her lips tightened and her eyes flashed fire.

After the day she’d had—or rather the past two days—he supposed he was a brute to
tease her, but she looked so adorably angry that he just couldn’t help himself. To
be honest, she looked adorable, period.

“Come along, lass,” he said, turning toward the door. “The hour is growing late and
I presume ye’ve no wish to stay at this inn tonight, not after everything that’s happened.
I know of another not too far distant where we can pass the night.”

With one last glance at Sir Lionel, she said, “Yes. Please take me away from here.”

“Your wish is my command.”

M
ercedes tried to stay angry with Daniel MacKinnon as they rode to the inn. But it
wasn’t as easy as she might have imagined—particularly not when she was perched sideways
in front of him on his horse with his arms looped securely around her.

The rhythmic motion of the animal and the quiet warmth of the night both worked to
lull her into a state of relaxation. Suddenly weary to the bone, she felt her eyes
begin to droop and she wished she could lean over and curl herself against the reassuring
strength of his wide shoulder.

But she could not. She might have agreed to let him serve as her bodyguard, but that
did not mean they were friends again. Besides, she had her pride to maintain—even
if it was rather frayed and ragged around the edges by now.

So instead of relaxing in his hold, she forced herself to sit stiffly erect, making
sure their bodies didn’t so much as brush. But rather than enjoying a sense of righteous
satisfaction, her efforts only made her back ache. He, of course, remained perfectly
comfortable, as easy in the saddle as if he’d been born part centaur.

In spite of all the undeniably convincing reasons she had
for remaining angry with the major, her ire melted beneath the reassuring comfort
of his presence. She knew it made no sense to trust a man she had known a mere twenty-four
hours, especially considering how badly she had misjudged Sir Lionel’s character,
but there was just something trustworthy about Daniel MacKinnon. For the first time
that day, she felt safe.

“Why don’t you lean against me before you fall off the horse?” Daniel said. “Your
back’s so stiff it’s a wonder you haven’t toppled off already.”

“I am perfectly comfortable. I always strive to maintain a good posture.”

He huffed out a laugh. “You’re also a dreadful liar. Now quit your nonsense and come
here.”

Without asking permission, he tugged her to him, fitting her close so that she had
no choice but to rest her head on his shoulder.

“There, now,” he said, “that’s better.”

“Is it?” she questioned tartly, unwilling to admit that he was right.

It was better.

He chuckled again. “The inn shouldn’t be too much farther now. Close your eyes and
sleep, lass. You’ve had a rough day.”

“I’ve told you before, do not call me lass,” she mumbled as sleep began to steal over
her like a warm fog. “My name is Mercedes. Princess Mercedes of Alden.”

“So you’ve said, lass. Aye, so you’ve said.”

And then, before she could argue further, sleep drew her all the way under.

Mercedes came abruptly awake, her heart hammering up into her throat as she stared
into the nearly impenetrable darkness.

For a long moment she didn’t know where she was—nothing seemed familiar, nothing made
sense. Balling up her fists, she pressed them against her temples and tried to remember.
But her mind was too full of the nightmares, their memory plaguing her even now.

“Come out, come out, little princess,”
taunted a voice that turned her veins to ice, her limbs to gelatin.
“You can run, but you won’t get away. We’re going to find you.”

Find you.

Find you.

Trembling beneath the sheets, she blinked against the wetness in her eyes, then forced
herself to concentrate on her surroundings.

The inn,
she thought, relieved to finally remember.
I’m at the inn with Daniel.

A hazy recollection came to her of him helping her dismount from his horse, then leading
her inside the inn. She’d waited weary and owl-eyed in a nearby chair while he’d dealt
with the proprietor. Soon they’d walked up the stairs with her yawning all the way—one
palm covering her lips to conceal her open mouth.

“I’ll be right next door if you have need of me,” he’d said as he turned to leave.
“Lock up once I’m gone.”

She’d nodded and done as he’d said.

Too tired to wait for the maid, she’d stripped off the hateful linsey-woolsey gown
and struggled out of her stays. Dressed in nothing but a plain cotton shift and stockings,
she had crawled into bed and fallen instantly to sleep.

But now she was awake, the darkness pressing upon her like a smothering hand.

“If you have need of me for any reason…”
he’d said.

Well, if being frightened counted, then yes, she had need of him!

She debated for half a minute more, then tossed aside the covers and hurried to the
door.

The corridor was as dark and silent as her room. Her heart pounded harder in her chest,
her mouth going dry at the thought of encountering someone in the hall.

“Come out, come out, little princess,”
whispered the phantom from her nightmare again.

She shivered and ran faster, sliding to a stop on stocking feet outside the major’s
door. Knowing she would likely crawl out of her skin if she had to wait for him to
answer her knock, she tried the doorknob. A low sob of relief sprang from her lips
when it turned. Silently, she let herself inside, closing the door behind her.

His bedchamber wasn’t quite as dark as hers had been, a pale sliver of moonlight shining
in through the draperies that he had left open. A glance toward the bed revealed his
sleeping form bathed in shadows. She moved quickly forward, then stopped only inches
from the bed, wondering how best to wake him.

Before she had a chance to decide, his hand shot out and caught hold of her arm, dragging
her forward so that she toppled across him onto the bed. She opened her mouth to cry
out, but he covered her lips with his palm, cutting off the sound. She lay trembling
against him, his body warm and hard beneath the thin sheet that covered him.

Silence fell, only the sound of her ragged breathing audible in the room.

“Lass? Is that you?” he demand, his words rough with sleep.

She nodded, her heart thudding in frantic beats between her ears, her nerves tingling
with shock. Whatever she’d been expecting when she’d come into his room, it hadn’t
been this.

At length, he lifted his palm from her mouth, and eased the press of his fingers against
her arm, but he did not release her.

“I wasna expectin’ ye,” he said in a hard voice, his brogue thicker than usual. “Doona
ever sneak up on me while I’m sleeping. I could have hurt ye. The war may be over,
but my instincts doona always remember that.”

She nodded again, suddenly realizing just how much coiled strength and lethal power
was contained in his long, lean muscles. But in spite of his warning and the fact
that he was undoubtedly capable of inflicting great pain and damage to an enemy, she
didn’t believe that he would have harmed her,
not even accidentally. He’d grabbed her, yes, and petrified her even more than she’d
already been when she’d come to find him, but he had not hurt her.

“Your door was open,” she told him in quiet explanation, “and I didn’t want to wait
in the hall, knocking and calling for you.”

What she hadn’t wanted, of course, was to be alone—vulnerable and unprotected.

“If you do not wish to be disturbed, you know, maybe you ought to use the lock in
future.”

The last of coiled tension eased from his muscles and the edges of his mouth turned
up. “Aye, maybe I should. But as ye can see, I’m not easily taken unawares. Thieves
and murderers enter at their own peril.”