Her Highness and the Highlander: A Princess Brides Romance (32 page)

He had been so brave this afternoon, keeping her from harm.

So had Daniel.

He had felled three dangerous men in her defense, then held her tightly in his arms
afterward, comforting her while she’d striven to recover from the fright.

So, why afterward had he turned so taciturn? So remote? Had she angered him somehow?
It made no sense.

He had been like that ever since they had arrived at the inn. Outwardly, he was responsive
and agreeable, speaking when she spoke to him and doing everything and more to see
to her comfort and requirements.

But he was silent. Too silent.

She’d seen this in him before and knew he was brooding. The only thing she did not
understand was why.

At first, she’d put his quietness down to weary irritation over all the questions
and explanations the two of them had been compelled to provide in the aftermath of
the attack.

Shortly after the fracas, a coach full of travelers had happened upon the scene and
stopped to find out what had occurred. Apprised of events, the coachman and some of
the travelers had helped Daniel secure the two wounded brigands inside the disabled
coach—which they had discovered wasn’t really mud mired after all—then moved the body
of the dead gunman off the road.

By the time all that had happened, the local constable arrived, demanding that she
and Daniel give a full accounting of themselves and everything that had occurred.
Only when he was satisfied had he agreed to let them go on their way.

Night had been falling by the time they reached the inn, both of them more than ready
for a refreshing bath and a hot meal.

It was only after she’d washed and changed into a fresh gown with the help of a cheery,
round-faced chambermaid and joined Daniel for dinner that she’d noticed his withdrawal.

She’d tried more than once to make conversation over the meal, but he had barely responded.
Clearly his thoughts were elsewhere. After a while, she had given up any attempts
at all.

In silence, she waited while he ate the last of his dinner, grateful for the interruption
of the serving maid who came to clear the plates and bring dessert.

Mercedes refused the cheese and sweet, settling for a cup
of tea instead. Daniel had whiskey—a large one—but didn’t eat more than a mouthful
of the steamed pudding before pushing it aside.

“Not to your liking?” she inquired a little sharply.

“What?” His gaze lifted distractedly from his glass.

“The pudding? Is it poorly made? You are not eating it.”

“Nae, it’s quite good. I have just had enough.”

He lapsed into silence again, staring at the fire while he sipped his liquor.

“Perhaps I should retire to bed,” she said after a few minutes more.

He didn’t bother to glance up. “Aye, I’m sure you’re tired.”

Not as tired as she was vexed—and worried. What was the matter with him?

“Will you be joining me soon?”

His brows drew close. “I’ll sit with my whiskey for a while.” Setting down his glass,
he made to stand. “I’ll walk you to the room.”

“There’s no need. I am sure Robbie will provide adequate protection.”

At his name, the dog’s head came up.

This time Daniel met her gaze. “I said I would walk you to the bedchamber and I shall.”

Something in his tone made her flinch, the strain and terror of the day rising inside
her, scalding and bitter as acid. Inwardly, she crumbled. “What have I done, Daniel?
Why are you angry with me?”

He looked surprised. “I’m not angry with you. Why would I be?” He fell silent for
another minute, his voice low when he spoke again. “If I’m angry with anyone, ’tis
with myself.”

“Yourself? But why? I do not understand.”

“Because I should have listened. Because you told me who you were from the first,
but I refused to hear.” He looked into her eyes, his own strangely haunted. “Tell
me again who you are,” he whispered, “Princess Mercedes of Alden.”

“Then you believe me?” Breath caught in her chest, relief
mingling with a curious sense of elation. “You no longer think I am confused?”

He let out a derisive huff. “The only one who’s confused is me. Those men who tried
to kidnap you today—as if that was no’ enough to make me question, there’s this as
well.”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled something out and laid it onto the table.

She stared briefly, then leaned over to pick it up.

Set inside a small oval frame, which was no bigger than an egg, was a miniature of
herself. It was one of a group of paintings that her parents had commissioned only
a few months earlier. Leaning closer, she studied the rendering of herself dressed
in a fashionable gown of pale pink silk—spring peony, she believed the shade had been
called—her familiar ruby and gold cross hung around her neck, a diamond tiara secured
in her dark, upswept hair. She looked regal, wealthy, and every inch what she was—a
princess.

“How did you come by this?”

“It was on the dead man, the one I was forced to kill,” he explained. “When the other
two refused to talk, the constable and I thought we might be able to find some answers
if we searched his pockets. We found that.”

She stared again at the miniature. As she did a startling, deeply troubling thought
occurred. “But how in the world would a man like him come to have a miniature of me
in his possession?”

Daniel’s brow drew into a dark scowl. “I’ve been asking myself that same question
ever since we found it. So you have no idea?”

“Absolutely none.”

“And you’d never seen any of the brigands before?”

She shook her head and set the miniature back on the table. “No. As I said earlier,
they were all strangers. Or at least—”

“At least what?” he repeated, clearly taking note of her hesitation.

“The smaller man—the one Robbie bit—I heard him say
something to the constable and I—” She broke off, trying to suppress a shudder. “I
cannot be certain, but he may have been one of the men who pursued me through the
woods after the first attack.”

His scowl deepened even more, his face drawn into severe lines. “They like to ambush
coaches, do they not? Only they did no’ get as lucky this time. They weren’t expecting
us to fight.”

“There were fewer of them this time. But no, they weren’t expecting any resistance,
not from you…or from Robbie.”

Daniel smiled, the first he’d given in hours. But then it faded again as quickly as
it had come. “He’s a good dog.”

“Yes, he is.”

“And you still have no idea why they were trying to kidnap you?”

“I thought they wanted to kill me. I never imagined they were actually trying to abduct
me.” She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering at the idea.

“Well, we need to get you to London as quickly as possible. They’ve tried for you
twice now. They might try again.”

“But surely since those men are in custody, I should be safe.”

“You said yourself there were more of them the first time, and clearly they are determined.
They tracked you once and even though the chances are no’ good that they’ll locate
you again, I willna feel right until you’re safe and secure inside a house that can
provide protection. I presume your friends’ home is secure?”

“I presume it is. The archduke takes his wife Princess Emmaline’s safety very seriously.”

He grew suddenly still, then reached for his whiskey, tossing it back in a single
swallow. “That’s right. Your friends are royal as well, are they no’?”

“Yes, Emma and Ariadne and I are all of royal lineage. We were friends together in
school. As for Emma’s husband, Dominic, he was actually a—”

“You can tell me about him later,” he interrupted, cutting her
off midsentence. “We need tae be on the road early. You should get some sleep.”

Reaching out, he scooped the miniature off the table and put it back into his pocket,
then stood. Crossing to the door, he opened it, waiting for her to join him.

Robbie got to his feet and gave a little shake, then padded over to wait too.

She frowned, aware that Daniel’s earlier reserve had returned. Was he just worried
about today’s events, concerned for her safety and the need to reach London without
further incident? Or was it something more? Something he was not telling her?

She went to him and slipped her hand into his. “You need sleep as well. Let’s go to
bed.”

A familiar spark of heat flashed in his eyes, and then just as quickly it was gone.
Still, he didn’t let go of her hand as they left the room and made their way down
the corridor to their bedchamber.

It was only after they were inside the room that he released her and stepped back.
“I’ll send the maid in so you can change.”

Her pulse gave a flustered, anxious little beat, and suddenly she was afraid to let
him leave. Not because she was scared to be alone—although she supposed she had every
right to be after today—but because she was afraid if he went, he might not come back.

The feeling was foolish and irrational, since she knew he would never leave her unprotected.
Yet somehow she sensed his withdrawal from her, a distancing that had nothing to do
with his worry for her safety.

She scoured her mind, trying to think what could have changed between now and last
night. The only thing she could think of was the fact that he believed her now, that
he knew she had been telling him the truth about her identity all along.

But why would that disturb him? Surely he couldn’t be upset to realize she was neither
a liar nor “confused” as he had so politely phrased his suspicion that she was just
the slightest bit mad.
She would think he would be relieved to know his wife was sane and obviously truthful,
and that there was nothing of an unsettled nature lying between them anymore.

He’d seemed a bit stunned to realize she was actually a princess, as she’d been telling
him for so long. But he would get used to the idea in time and learn to accept the
things she could bring to their marriage, such as her dowry.

Papa might fuss and bluster about providing the money, which she was sure would be
substantial, but he would grant it in the end. As for Daniel, he had a man’s pride—more
than most, she supposed—but men married wealthy brides all the time; it was nothing
out of the common way. And surely he would want the funds so their children could
be well taken care of. He would want her to be cared for as well.

When she had selected him to be her bodyguard, she had known he would protect her,
as today had so eloquently proven. When she had chosen him for her husband, she had
known in her heart that he was the right man for her. Certainly there would be a bump
or two ahead of them, but nothing they could not overcome. So whatever this mood of
his might be, he would simply have to shake it off, and she would help. She knew just
the way to begin.

“I do not want the maid,” she said, moving closer. “I would much rather you assist
me with my clothes tonight.”

His gaze darkened, but otherwise he did not respond to her invitation. “There are
a last few arrangements to which I must yet see. It would be better if I send the
lass in to tend to you tonight.”

“But surely there is nothing so important it cannot wait until the morning.” She laid
her hands on his chest and played her fingers over the cotton material of his shirt.

He drew in a deep breath. “Perhaps not, but we’re leaving early and we may be delayed
if I doona attend to matters now.”

She could feel the tension in him, the rigidity of his muscles. It made no sense,
but he seemed to be holding himself in check, as if he were trying to resist her.

Well, she had no intention of being resisted, not tonight.

“Please,” she urged, not above using whatever tactics might work to her advantage.
“Today was quite upsetting and I do not want to be alone, not even for a little while.”

She slid her hands lower, tracing the edge of his belt.

“You willna be,” he said thickly. “I’ll make sure the maid is along right away and
in the meantime you’ve the dog to keep you safe.”

“But you’re the one I want to keep me safe.” Angling up on her toes, she brushed her
lips over his jaw, then down his throat to the top edge of his neckcloth, where she
drew gently against his skin.

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath the material. “As you said, the
day has been long and exhausting. You need your rest tonight.”

“And I shall rest, but only if you’re holding me.”

She slid her fingers sideways over the wool of his kilt, marveling at her own daring.
She’d never initiated their lovemaking before, but tonight she felt bold, even empowered,
hungry for the pleasure she knew he could bring her. The pleasure she vowed to bring
him as well.

Reaching beneath his sporran, she found evidence of his straining arousal.

He caught her wrist in his hand. “Not tonight.”

“Why not?” She pressed her lips to his cheek again, then licked the spot, his skin
tasting of salt and man. “You can’t claim you do not want me.”

“Aye, I want you,” he groaned, as if the words were being wrenched from him. “Too
much. And that is exactly the trouble.”

Then he was kissing her, taking her mouth in long, demanding drafts so that she felt
as if she’d suddenly been submerged into a pool of liquid fire. Her skin sizzled,
her blood and bones threatening to melt beneath the exquisite force of his passion.

“Doona ever say ye did not ask for this,” he growled as he lifted her off her feet.
“Or for me.”

She expected him to carry her to the bed. Instead, he swung her around and pressed
her back against the wall. He crushed her lips, kissing her with a kind of wild frenzy
that was near insanity. He yanked at her bodice, popping off the buttons and tearing
open the laces of her stays so that she spilled out into his hands. Lifting her higher,
he closed his lips around one breast and drew hard on her, suckling her taut peak
with greedy, relentless pulls.