Her Highness and the Highlander: A Princess Brides Romance (12 page)

Yes, she was sure they did. When she’d asked him to be her bodyguard, she’d definitely
chosen well.

“As for your waking me,” he continued, “I ne’er said I minded, only that ye need to
be careful when I’m no’ expecting it. So, what’s amiss, lass? Did you hear something
outside again like last night?”

She shook her head. “No, nothing like that. I was just…having nightmares again. About
them
.”

“Them? The men you say chased you?”

“They
did
chase me,” she defended. “I know you don’t believe me, but I was hunted through the
woods by a band of brigands, who sought my capture or worse. And no, I do not know
why.”

Tears stung her eyes. Ruthlessly, she blinked them away, then pressed her palms flat
against him to push herself up and off the bed. “Forget I came here. It was an idiotic
idea.”

A weak, needy idea, and so astonishingly improper it would have made her old nursemaid
faint dead away had she known. Afraid or not, night terrors or not, she would find
some way to manage on her own.

But even as she started to leave, Daniel stopped her, his hands clamping around her
upper arms to tug her back across his chest. She fought him briefly before giving
up; he was too
strong and she soon realized that any effort she expended would only serve to exhaust
her and do nothing to set her free.

“Are ye finished?” he asked, waiting until the last of the fight had drained from
her.

Grudgingly, she nodded.

“It wasn’t idiotic for ye to come to me. I’m here to see ye safely home, and once
I make a pledge, I stick to it.”

“Even if you think your charge is…how did you put it this morning…
confused
?”

“Aye,” he said, a husky smile in his voice, “even then. I’ll admit I have doubts about
some of the more elaborate aspects of your story, but of one thing I am absolutely
certain.”

“Oh?” she asked loftily. “And what, pray tell, might that be?”

His green eyes met hers through the darkness. “The fact that ye’re frightened, clear
through to the marrow. And that you canna sleep for the nightmares that plague yer
rest.”

Her anger faded abruptly, her throat tightening with unsuppressed emotion. She shivered
and wondered how she was going to find the strength to return to her room. But she
must, mustn’t she? In spite of her decision to come here seeking his company and comfort,
she ought to leave.

“I should go,” she murmured, glancing away into the darkness.

“Go?” he said with a scornful edge. “Doona be daft. You’ll only leave so ye can run
straight back here in ten minutes’ time.”

She glanced up again, hesitating. “I suppose I could stay and you could sleep on the
floor again.”

“That I willna do,” he refused. “And I’ll thank ye no’ to make that particular suggestion
again, Your Highness. No’ only is the floor bluidy uncomfortable, but if last night’s
any example, my gallantry will be a wasted effort. If you don’t want another nightmare
tonight, we might as well share the bed.”

Heat stole into her cheeks; suddenly she was glad he hadn’t bothered to light a candle.
“But I—”

“Look, lass,” he stated. “If I managed no’ to touch ye last
night when ye curled up against me like a kitten, then I daresay I can restrain myself
again tonight.”

He released her and scooted over to give her room. “Enough talk. I’m tired. Get under
the covers and let’s go back to sleep. We need to be up and on our way early. We’ve
a long journey ahead. It’s nearly a fortnight’s travel to London and there’s no point
dallying aboot.”

Two weeks alone with him.

An odd, shivery tremor tingled over her skin, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its
wake. But it was a sensation she knew had nothing to do with fear; rather it was all
about the man in whose arms she lay. Until now, she’d never thought about their situation
in quite that way.

For the next two weeks, they would be together, day and night. Alone and without chaperone
or appropriate relation. In so many ways, he was a stranger, new and unknown. He most
certainly was
not
a proper escort.

But as she’d told herself more than once, she was good and ruined as far as social
convention was considered, so why not sleep in his bed? She’d never get any rest otherwise,
and she knew she would sleep soundly with him at her side.

Anyway, if he wanted to take advantage of her as the despicable Sir Lionel had wished,
he could have done so a hundred times or more by now. She either trusted him or she
did not.

Reaching over, she tugged the sheet out from under her hip, then slid beneath the
covers. MacKinnon lay large and warm beside her, his broad shoulder less than an inch
from her own.

“Good night, Major,” she said softly.

Trying to relax, she waited for his answer. Instead, what she heard was a snore.

He was asleep? Already? She nearly laughed.

So much for her worries that he felt even the slightest attraction for her. Clearly,
they might as well be siblings for all his loverlike interest. But that would make
matters easy, would it not? It would be for the best.

A strange rush of disappointment flowed through her, together with a sense of loss
she could not understand. Major MacKinnon was merely an escort. She didn’t desire
him, not in any romantic sort of way.

Still, she sighed wistfully as she closed her eyes.

But sleep did not come immediately. Secure in the knowledge that he was asleep, she
rolled onto her side and curved her hand around his arm, her face very close to his
on the pillows.

A moment later, she sank into the peace of dreamless oblivion.

Daniel lay rigid with desire, his flesh aching in ways he had no business feeling,
not with this young woman who hadn’t the least notion what a temptation she presented.
He’d only pretended to go to sleep, snoring for her benefit so she would relax and
drift off easily. But now
he
couldn’t sleep, especially not since she’d rolled over and snuggled up next to him.

This was no more than he deserved, he supposed, for not insisting she return to her
room. But how could he have turned her out when her voice quivered with the ragged
depth of her fear and she literally beseeched him for his comfort and protection?

Curious how he seemed incapable of saying no when it came to Mercedes. He’d never
had much difficulty with such things in the past. He’d been envied by many of his
fellow officers for his cool pragmatism, both on and off the battlefield. Some, in
fact, had said he must have ice in his veins rather than a beating heart and warm
human blood. But with Mercedes none of his usual cool logic seemed to apply.

From the very start, something about her had called to him, reawakening a host of
emotions and impulses he’d thought long dead. In the virtual blink of an eye, this
one young woman had caused him to change not only his mind but all his carefully laid
plans in order to see to her needs, her safety.

Now here he lay, his shaft stiff and aching, each throbbing
pulse a visceral reminder of just how long he’d gone without a woman.

And there she lay—asleep.

Trusting.

Innocent.

He clamped his jaw tight to stifle a moan.

What he wouldn’t give for the freedom to roll over and wake her up, slide off the
thin barrier of her shift, and use his hands to explore all the sweet curves he knew
lay beneath.

He imagined her breasts, round and quivering as he stroked them with his fingertips
and weighed them inside his appreciative palms. Her hips would be gently rounded,
her thighs a pure slice of heaven. As for her mouth, he knew her lips would be sweet,
their shape and shade putting him in mind of ripe juicy berries and sultry summer
nights. What he wouldn’t give to taste those lips now, to claim them, caress them.

Instead, he held still and drew in a long, slow breath, catching the honey and wildflower
fragrance of her hair, and the lush, silky cream of her skin. Closing his eyes, he
gave himself over to the unsatisfied need for a moment, the fingers of one hand curling
into a fist at his hip.

Then she sighed and murmured his name.

He froze, waiting to see if she had awakened. But she just snuggled closer and fell
silent again, one small palm moving so that it rested not far from his heart.

His pulse beat in hard, thick strokes and this time he did groan, long and low.

Cursing himself, he placed his hand over hers, then closed his eyes again and willed
himself to sleep.

M
ercedes covered a yawn with one hand as she stepped into the inn yard the following
morning. Dawn had barely broken; nascent striations that ranged from palest pink to
warm misty peach were just beginning to shimmer on the horizon.

“Why must we depart so early?” she asked again in a sleepy voice, dearly wishing she
was still in bed.

The major sent her a sideways glance. “Because I’ve plotted our course and if we’re
to have any chance of reaching the next major crossroads by nightfall, we need to
be on our way. Ah, here comes the curricle now.”

As she watched, a hostler drew the carriage to a halt, set the brake, then sprang
lithely to the ground. “Here ye go, sir. Ma’am,” he said, tipping his hat. “On yer
way afore breakfast. The roads’ll be clear, that’s fer certain.”

“Are there times of day when they are crowded?” Daniel inquired.

The hostler scratched his curly head as he considered. “Nae,” he laughed. “Canna think
they are, now that ye mention it.”

MacKinnon passed him a coin, then turned to assist Mercedes
into the vehicle while the servant went to stow Daniel’s valise and her newly acquired
leather satchel inside the narrow rear boot.

Once again, her mode of transportation was a far cry from the coaches in which she
was accustomed to traveling. The curricle’s brown leather seats were faded and cracked
with age, the floorboards warped in places so that tiny patches of light showed in
through the spots where the wooden staves no longer met. The carriage creaked like
a rheumatic old woman as she took a seat, then creaked even louder when Daniel settled
beside her moments later.

Built for speed and lightweight use, the curricle was only large enough to hold the
two of them. Despite Daniel’s rangy physique, his long body and broad shoulders seemed
to fill the interior so that she was intensely aware of him wedged beside her. Then
again, she was always aware of him—powerfully so—especially after waking up in his
bed for the second morning in a row.

Her cheeks grew warm as she considered that fact and the night terrors that had sent
her fleeing into his room—and his arms. She ought to have been ashamed by her utter
lack of dignity, especially considering that he didn’t even have the grace to pretend
he believed her story.

Truthfully, his reaction was galling. Why should she, a blue-blooded princess, be
put to the necessity of proving her own identity? It was absurd. Then again, this
entire situation was absurd. Outlandish. Unthinkable.

Yet in the dark none of that seemed to matter, her senses betraying her with every
frantic beat of her heart. When the dreams shook her awake and left her trembling
and nearly paralyzed with fear, she wanted nothing more than to crawl into the major’s
bed and wrap herself around him until the world felt right again.

As odd as it might seem, she always did feel better when she was with him. Some would
say she ought to be ashamed by that as well. Others would whisper it was wicked of
her to enjoy the clean, faintly spicy scent of his skin and the resilient strength
of his shoulder. Shameful as it might be to admit, he was the most comfortable pillow
she’d ever had.

She wasn’t sure, but she had a vague recollection of him holding her hand as they
slept, and later of him brushing his mouth along her cheek and forehead with the lightest
of touches.

But she must be mistaken; it had to have been just another dream.

To her relief, he’d said nothing this morning when he’d shaken her awake, the room
still bathed in predawn darkness. Too sleepy to complain, she’d allowed him to escort
her along the corridor to her room.

“I’ll send the maid up with hot water and something to eat,” he’d told her brusquely
before closing the door behind him.

She’d hurried through a quick pitcher bath and an even quicker breakfast that consisted
of strong black tea and a pair of toasted, day-old oatcakes. Yet whatever the cuisine
lacked in flavor, it more than made up for in substance, filling the empty spaces
in her stomach.

A short while later, the major knocked on her door. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

He’d crossed to pick up her satchel, then without another word preceded her into the
hallway. Still too weary to bother making conversation, she’d trailed silently after
him.

Now here they sat hip-to-hip in the narrow curricle seat, the hours of travel stretching
endlessly ahead. With a quiet whistle and a precise flick of the reins, MacKinnon
set their horse into motion.

Considering the miserable day she’d spent yesterday, she knew she had no right to
complain. The hired curricle might sway and creak, but at least the seat seemed to
have enough padding that she wouldn’t be left further bruised come nightfall. And
in spite of the major’s inexplicably taciturn mood this morning, she knew there would
be no vile elbow poking or wrestling octopus arms come time for their after-dinner
libations.

The memory naturally put her in mind of Sir Lionel again, and her thoughts turned
bloodthirsty.

Repugnant old roué.
She hoped his head ached so badly this morning that he wondered if there was a cleaver
buried in it. She prayed that being struck by a wine bottle taught him a valuable
lesson, so much so that he never again tried to take advantage of a defenseless young
woman.

Although, given what had transpired, she couldn’t say she was entirely defenseless;
she had looked after herself surprisingly well, all things considered. Just wait until
Ariadne heard what she’d done, she thought with an inward smile. Even her friend would
be impressed.