Her Highness and the Highlander: A Princess Brides Romance (13 page)

Then again, who knows what might have happened afterward if not for the major’s timely
return, and his decision to act as her bodyguard? Why had he changed his mind? Was
it merely the promised reward or something else?

She glanced over as he flicked the reins again, his gaze fixed squarely on the road
ahead. She waited, hoping he might break the silence between them, but he remained
resolutely mute.

What is the matter with him?
she wondered.
Is he always so irritable in the morning?

Maybe it was what came of being Scottish. It was a well-known fact that Highlanders
in particular were a dour and taciturn lot, full of black humors and unpredictable
moods. Apparently the stories about them must be true. She certainly couldn’t imagine
what she might have done to inspire such a cool reaction. Unless he was upset that
she’d interrupted his sleep last night…

Well,
he’s the one who insisted I stay in his room last night. If he’s tired and grouchy
now, it’s no more than he deserves for insisting we rise betimes this morning.

Still, she couldn’t keep from shooting one more sideways glance at him from underneath
her lashes. If he wished to converse,
he
could initiate the conversation, she decided. Meanwhile, she would be more than content
to sit and admire
the passing scenery and enjoy the invigorating sounds of nature.

As if in affirmation, a small band of songbirds trilled from their perches in the
leafy canopy of a few nearby trees. One of the birds swooped low in a grand show—a
streak of yellow and black across the gradually lightening sky. Tiny rodents foraged
for their breakfast in the surrounding fields while cottony dots that she surmised
to be sheep grazed on a hillside in the far distance.

Daniel shifted in the seat, drawing her attention as one brawny kilt-covered thigh
lolled dangerously close to her own. As she watched, a flash of bare, hair-roughened
calf showed just above his light brown kilt hose.

Her pulse picked up speed and her mouth grew dry.

He shifted again seconds later, withdrawing his leg as far as their limited seating
arrangement allowed.

She fixed her gaze forward, all but blind to the fields that had captured her attention
only moments before.

Surely he didn’t see me looking at his leg?

She told herself not to glance up at him.

Just keep admiring the scenery.

But the more she tried to resist the urge to look, the harder it became, as if she
were being compelled by some irresistible force.

She glanced up.

To her relief, she saw that he was still staring straight ahead. But his close-shaven
jaw had firmed into a tight line and his throat was taut beneath his thin white jabot.
A light breeze rose, and ever so faintly she caught the rich warm scent of him—man,
leather, and the clean spice of the shaving soap that lingered on his skin.

Umm…delicious.

She resisted the impulse to lean closer in hopes of catching another whiff.

Abruptly, he turned his head and met her gaze.

Like a fawn cornered by a large, powerful mountain cat,
she froze, unable to look away. Her heart hammered in quick, deep strokes as she stared
into his intense green eyes. They were sharp as glass and cuttingly keen, their glittering
depths filled with an expression that was as compelling as it was dangerous.

A shiver rippled over her skin, but not from fear.

Quite the opposite, she thought with bemused realization.

He stared for a few more seconds, then returned to studying the path ahead.

With an inaudible sigh, she turned away to do the same.

Och, an’ she’s driving me daft!
Daniel cursed silently.

He knew he was being rude, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Not when she was
seated so close, the wildflower scent of her hair and skin teasing his senses and
firing his blood.

He’d awakened this morning with that same intoxicating fragrance clouding his brain,
the soft warmth of her limbs twined around his own. Instinctively he’d turned toward
her, his hand sliding over her hip as if it had a mind of its own.

She’d sighed, a breathy little hitch that had shot straight to his groin. He’d eased
closer and begun sliding his hand upward along her body, his thoughts muzzy with sleep
and desire.

Mercedes.
Her name whispered as if carried on the wind.
Mercedes.

Here in his bed.

Here in his arms.

Here because she’d asked for his protection.

His eyes had flashed wide and he’d stared into the darkness.

Bluidy hell, man. What do you think ye’re aboot?

Then, as though she’d suddenly turned venomous, he’d rolled quickly away and flung
back the covers. She didn’t wake
as he’d stomped across the room in search of his clothes, not even when he’d banged
his shin on the corner of a low wooden chest and let loose a screed of hushed, hissing
curses.

His eyes had watered and he’d gripped the edge of a nearby table until the pain eased.
His arousal had eased as well—at least enough that he knew he would be able to appear
in public without giving offense.

Careful to pay attention to his surroundings this time, he’d dressed, then crossed
to shake her awake. He knew it was early, before sunrise, but he didn’t care. The
sooner they were up and on their way, the more miles they could cover, and the quicker
he would be rid of her.

But apparently he hadn’t given enough thought to their traveling arrangements or to
the necessity of sitting a hand span away from her hour after hour inside a narrow
curricle. He wished he’d been able to hire a post chaise with a coachman and an outrider
so he could have ridden alongside on a horse. But in a town as small as the one in
which they’d passed the night, this curricle had been the only vehicle available.

Once they reached Edinburgh, he promised himself he would acquire a larger coach that
would put a prudent amount of space between them for the rest of the journey to London.
Until then he would have to rely on the strength of his willpower.

He studied her out of the corner of his eye, careful not to turn his head so she would
know he was looking.

Intriguing?

Yes.

Beautiful?

Unquestionably.

Irresistible.

Absolutely not.

She was just a woman, and a young, naive one at that.

He was a man of experience and battle-hardened determination. He
would complete this journey, see his promise through to the end, and satisfy his curiosity
about her and her story.

The horse plodded on, the curricle creaking around each curve and winding dip of the
road that led through the mountainous Highland terrain. The sun rose higher overhead
as full morning set in around them, warming the air. A gentle chorus of insects added
their own brand of music to the symphony of birdsong already under way.

And then another variety of song began—a honeyed cascade of notes so sweet and lilting
it seemed to put even nature to shame.

Good Christ above,
he cursed silently.
She’s humming!

And so beautifully, it was as if an angel had flown to earth and landed at his side.
Either that or a siren sent to tempt him beyond reason.

Och, an’ it’s gonna be a bluidy long two weeks.

He listened, the sound of her voice seeping into his blood and muscles, perhaps even
into his very bones. He could have listened to her all day. He wondered, in fact,
how she would sound if she set words to the melody. But her voice was doing something
unsettling in the region of his stomach, and he needed it to stop.

“What is that ye’re doing?” he demanded harshly.

The humming ceased.

He relaxed, waiting for her to respond. Instead, she made no effort to acknowledge
him, but continued studying the landscape.

Then she resumed her humming.

“Ye’re disturbing the horse, ye know,” he grumbled.

Ye’re disturbing me.

As he watched, she gazed toward the animal. But even though the horse’s ears flicked
this way and that, his gait didn’t change, not in the slightest.

Worthless nag,
Daniel thought, shooting an accusatory glare at the back of the horse’s head.

Mercedes continued her humming.

He didn’t recognize the tune, but it was lovely.

Haunting.

Steeling his emotions, he strove to resist the lure of the melody. He supposed he
was acting like a churl, but frankly, after the night he’d had—and the morning too—he
felt justified in his bad mood.

Then again, he supposed it wasn’t her fault she was attractive with the voice of an
angel, anymore than it was his fault that he was idiotic enough to notice.

With a stubborn streak he would never have guessed she possessed, Mercedes continued
her song. It was only when she reached the last stanza of the melody that she finally
fell quiet.

“Hmmph. Silence at last.” In spite of his disdainful remark, part of him wished she
would begin another tune. “So, what do you call it,” he asked after a moment, “that
song of yours?”

Slowly, she turned her head and gave him an imperious stare. “I beg your pardon, but
are you addressing me?”

“Of course I’m addressing you. I have been for the past five minutes, if you’d cared
to listen.”

“Hmm,” she mused in a bored tone. “I do recall hearing something, I’ll admit, but
I thought it must be a pest buzzing near my ear. Only fancy it was you.”

He had to bite the inside of his cheek to hold back a smile. Obviously, now that she
wasn’t afraid, her sense of humor was emerging—and a measure of caustic wit as well.

“Ye’ve not answered my question. What tune were ye humming?”

“One that clearly did
not
upset the horse.”

This time he couldn’t help but smile. “So ye were listening after all.”

She raised a sable eyebrow and regarded him briefly before returning to her study
of the passing scenery. “It was Beethoven. One of his sonatas. Are you familiar with
Herr Beethoven’s work?”

“Aye, I believe I’ve heard the name a time or two,” he said dryly.
“Although I admit, the tune you were singing is unfamiliar.”

She sent him a sideways glance. “Well, it is one of his newest compositions, so I
am sure that is why you have not heard it. I am a great lover of music, you see, and
my brother has Herr Beethoven send me copies of his compositions. Once the maestro
is ready to share them, of course.”

“Oh, of course.” Daniel said nothing as they continued down the lane. “So you’re tellin’
me that Ludwig van Beethoven himself sends you copies of his musical scores?”

“Well, I believe his wife actually puts them in the post, but yes, he does. My brother,
Stefan, is a great admirer and patron of the arts and supports a number of artists
and musicians, Herr Beethoven among them.”

A tiny smile curved her pink lips. “Stefan knows how I adore playing, the pianoforte
in particular. He is a most kind and indulgent brother and has been in the habit of
sending me small treats while I have been from home. He spoils me far too much for
my own good.”

“So, where is this brother of yours? Is he in London with your friends?”

Daniel waited, interested to see how she would answer and exactly how far she would
take this new tale of hers. He didn’t doubt she had a brother; he just doubted the
man was a prince.

A tiny frown creased her forehead. “No, he is in Austria at present. After the Congress
of Vienna concluded last year, he decided to stay on in the city for a time. My parents,
I know, wish he would cease his more decadent pursuits and return home.”

“To Aldan?”

“
Alden
, yes.” She paused. “You still do not believe me, do you?”

“Weel,” he said slowly, “ye must admit it’s a bit on the far-fetched side. Music from
Beethoven himself. A brother who lives in Vienna, and a prince no less, I presume.
I suppose
Mozart and Haydn send you handwritten compositions as well?”

Her lips thinned. “That would be rather difficult, Major, seeing that both of them
are deceased.”

He paused briefly, then smiled. “I suppose even royal patronage can’t reach beyond
the grave. My apologies, Your Highness. I stand corrected.”

“You
will
stand corrected once we reach London. And I promise I shall play for you and prove
that I am telling the truth about Herr Beethoven’s latest sonata.”

“I shall look forward to that day and to the concert.”

“But…” she prompted after a moment.

“But that still will not prove you are a princess. Many young women can play the piano.”

“Yes, but other young women cannot produce letters signed by the composer himself,
now, can they?”

“Nae, on that score, ye’ve got me bested. I shall look forward to seeing those letters.”

“I shall enjoy showing them to you and watching you eat your words.”

He chuckled, realizing as he did that his earlier bad mood seemed to have evaporated.
Not only was she a siren, he mused, but she was obviously a witch as well, casting
her spell over him without his conscious awareness.

He tried to tug the edges of his black humor around himself again, but they refused
to budge. It was as though she and the cloudless blue sky above were inextricably
linked, the warm sunshine that radiated from them both impossible to resist.

And she was filled with an irrepressible kind of warmth and light. Even if she might
be a tad peeved at him at the moment. Even in spite of the fear he knew lurked just
beneath the surface, waiting for some small fright to make it burst forth again.

Whatever it was about this slip of a girl, she drew him in ways he did not understand,
evoking one contradictory emotion
after the other. One minute he wanted to protect her, the next provoke her, and the
third kiss her until neither of them could think properly anymore.