Her Highness and the Highlander: A Princess Brides Romance (9 page)

Her breath grew shallow as the echo of his cries, of all their cries, repeated now
in her memory.

But it did her no good to dwell on such things at present,

How proud Ariadne would be of her newfound practicality and disregard for societal
rules. Ariadne was a rebel at heart who loved flouting social convention—or at least
she loved the idea of flouting it. To her knowledge, Ariadne had never done anything
more extreme than reading a few forbidden books and taking an occasional stolen sip
of brandy.

Well, there was no doubt who the scandalous one was now!

How unfortunate that of the three of them—Ariadne, Emma, and herself—she was the least
inclined toward adventure. What she wouldn’t give to turn back time and return to
the safe, sheltered confines of her world. She might occasionally
chafe against the restrictions required by royal protocol, but she had never longed
to be anyone other than herself.

Now look at her, standing in a shabby inn in a backwater Scottish village, wearing
an ugly, itchy gown that must surely be the work of the devil. She was tired, poor,
hungry, and scared as she prepared to board a stagecoach full of strangers and travel
hundreds of miles on her own. Oh, and she was likely being pursued at this very moment
by a band of ruthless assassins.

She drew a deep breath and inwardly prepared herself for whatever might lay ahead,
her mind racing over the possibilities. “Stewart,” she said, “how would you like to
take a trip? A young man such as yourself must long for a bit of adventure. Why do
you not accompany me on my journey to London? I shall gladly pay your way there and
the return fare as well. Once we reach London, I promise you will receive a hefty
bonus. Twice your usual salary perhaps? Or no, three times. That way you shall suffer
no financial loss during your absence. What do you say? Shall I buy you a seat on
the coach too?”

She smiled broadly, unsure if she had enough money for the two of them to make the
trip. She had the coach fare, but food and lodging might be problematic. But she would
deal with those pesky details later. This boy might not be as strong or commanding
as Major MacKinnon, but he was male and would lend her some small measure of security—even
if it was little more than emotional support.

The stable boy frowned and locked his thin arms across his equally thin chest. “Weel,
I doona know. Mr. McTavish would be mad as a hornet if I dinna come back to tend the
horses.”

“But I said I would pay your way and reward you for your trouble.”

“Aye, but there’s me mither to consider as well. I’m the oldest of seven and she needs
me to help out with the bairns. She wouldn’t be able tae do without me, not if I were
tae go
off on some long trip. Besides, London’s full o’ Sassenachs and I doona think I’d
be able to abide ’em—no disrespect meant, miss.”

Why do they all assume I am English?
she mused with faint exasperation. Although, to be fair, she had been taught to speak
English by an Englishwoman and had lost the last traces of her native accent long
ago. It was what came of living abroad for so many years, she supposed.

She studied the boy again and remembered his refusal. His mother might need him, but
as far as Mercedes was concerned, her need was greater at present.

“So you will not accompany me?”

What was the matter with these Scotsmen? Clearly the tales of their chivalrous daring
was greatly exaggerated.

She shot the stable boy a frown of regal displeasure.

A slight flush crept up his fair cheeks. “N–nae, miss. I canna go. Me mither—”

“Yes, I know, she needs you.”

“Aye, that she does.”

“Your pardon,” interrupted a voice, “but mayhap I might be of assistance?”

Mercedes and the stable boy glanced around at the same instant to see who had spoken.

Seated on a nearby chair was a distinguished-looking elderly man with a head of thick
silvery hair and a pair of clear blue eyes. From the excellent cut and quality of
his garments, he appeared to be a gentleman. The ebony and silver walking stick with
its gem-encrusted falcon’s head that he held in his gloved hands only added to the
impression.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he continued. “Sir Lionel Onley at your service.”
Rising to his feet with a smoothness that belied his age, he swept the fine black
hat from his head and made Mercedes a short, yet unmistakably elegant bow.

She met his gaze but did not return either his greeting or his smile.

“Forgive me,” Onley said as if he hadn’t noticed her reserve. “Ordinarily I wouldn’t
dream of intruding on other people’s
privacy, but given the close proximity of our surroundings, I could not help overhearing
your conversation. This young man, it would seem”—he nodded at Stewart—“is unable
to accompany you on your journey south. That being the case, you find yourself put
in the most unfortunate position of having to travel alone. Is that correct, Miss—?”

He paused, waiting for her to supply her name.

She did not give it, but could see no point in denying what he already knew. “Yes,
that is correct.”

Onley smiled warmly. “Well, it just so happens that I have secured passage on the
same coach as yourself. We are to be fellow travelers as it were. I hope you will
not think it too forward, but I should like to offer you my companionship and protection
on the journey.

“As you can readily see, I am an old man and good for little more than a spate of
conversation. I can lend you the security of my presence, however, against rogues
whose intentions might be less than honorable toward a lovely lady such as yourself.
We shall tell anyone who asks that you are my granddaughter. That ought to keep the
blackguards away.”

He smiled again and this time she warmed toward him.

In truth, he did remind her ever so slightly of her own grandfather. Not in looks,
but in the benevolent twinkle in his eyes and the warmth of his face.

“Well, what say you, miss?” he asked, leaning slightly forward on his cane.

She considered him and his offer for a long minute. Was she being foolish to turn
down his kind gesture?

“I am Prin…” She paused, catching herself before she gave her real name. Given the
reaction she’d received the previous day, perhaps it would be wiser not to admit her
true identity.

She squared her shoulders. “My name is Wyndom.” Surely it would be safe to use her
family name? “Miss Mercedes Wyndom.”

“Well, Miss Wyndom, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“And you, Sir Lionel,” she replied, politely inclining her head.

“Forgive yet another impertinence, but did I hear correctly that you are making the
long journey to London?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, providence must be shining upon us, then, since I too am on my way to that
same great city. I daresay we shall get to know each other quite well during the next
fortnight.”

He was right; it would take that long to reach the city. She’d never minded the trip
in the past, but then, she had always ridden in complete comfort inside a luxurious,
well-sprung coach, her every need seen to, each of her wishes anticipated and carried
out. But not this time. This trip would be unlike any she had ever experienced.

She met Sir Lionel’s expectant gaze, sending him a smile. “My thanks, sir, for your
kind regard. It is my pleasure to accept your offer and I look forward to furthering
our acquaintance.”

Grinning, Sir Lionel offered his arm and led her toward a pair of empty seats.

Confident that she had found a reliable champion, she exchanged cheerful good-byes
with Stewart, then settled in to wait for the coach.

“O
ch, aye, she were ’ere. A bonnie lass with big brown eyes and dark hair. ’Ard to forget,
that one,” the proprietor of the coaching inn told Daniel just before noon that day.
“Wrote her name down on the passenger list meself. Wyndom, it were, as I recollect.”

Daniel nodded. “Aye, that would be her.”

So Mercedes had decided to use her real name instead of her “royal title,” had she?
Apparently she’d had the sense to realize that she would manage far more easily if
she didn’t go around trying to pass herself off as a princess.

“Is she still here, by chance?”

“Nae, lad. Left on tha coach this hour past.”

Daniel exhaled in frustration, although he wasn’t really surprised that her coach
had departed. If only he hadn’t taken the time to stop and ask after her at the inn
where he and Mercedes had spent the night, he might have caught up with her by now.
But just as he’d advised, she had used the money he’d given her to buy a seat on the
southbound stagecoach. He was the one who had veered away from the original plan by
changing his mind and coming back.

He tapped his fingers on the wooden countertop that stood between him and the innkeeper.

“What is the coaching route for the first day? In which towns will it make stops?”
he asked.

“Weel, I know the first three o’ four, but after that I’ll ’ave tae get oot the map
tae make sure.”

“Yes, do that.” Daniel slid a pair of coins across the counter that made the innkeeper’s
eyes gleam with appreciation. “Have a fresh horse saddled for me as well and a meal
made ready that I can eat quickly and then be on my way.”

“Goin’ after ’er, are ye?”

“Aye,” Daniel said with certainty. “That I am.”

Mercedes didn’t know which was worst—the hot, scratchy dress that continued to abrade
her skin or the constant jolting and swaying of the public coach as it sped along
the turnpike.

If one could call this a turnpike. More a road from perdition,
Mercedes thought.

Seconds later her opinion was confirmed when the coach hit a particularly large rut.
All of the passengers bounced up and down against the hard, thinly upholstered seats.
She shifted her weight with a silent groan, searching for a comfortable spot.

There wasn’t one.

Truly she could not fathom how she had ever made this journey before. Then again,
the coaches in which she was used to riding actually had springs! And they had thickly
stuffed, luxuriously upholstered damask silk seats with a small, padded footrest that
could be brought out should she wish to prop up her feet and sleep during the trip.
Until this moment, she had never fully appreciated all the little things that made
her life so pleasant and easy. Seeing the world from the perspective of those less
fortunate made her realize how truly lucky she had always been and what an extraordinary
life she lived.

For now, she must do as others were accustomed to doing.
Clearly, there would be no sleeping on this journey, not even if she’d felt safe enough
to close her eyes and make the attempt.

Her fellow passengers seemed no worse for the experience—including Sir Lionel, who
was seated across from her, apparently content to read the book he held in his lap.
Beside him sat a burly man she’d decided must be a farmer or laborer of some sort.
He wore faded brown workingman’s clothes, a battered straw hat, and a pair of boots
that were crusted with dried mud and bits of hay. He leaned back in a low slouch with
his meaty palms clasped over his rounded stomach. Every so often she would find him
staring at her, his eyes too dark and much too direct for her liking.

She did her best not to glance in his direction. Truthfully, she was relieved that
Sir Lionel had offered his protection and that she was no longer traveling alone.

The last passenger riding inside the coach was a thin, sour-faced woman, who hadn’t
spoken a single word since she’d climbed aboard and squeezed into the narrow space
next to her. Despite their both being slender, the woman’s bony elbow jabbed into
her side every few minutes, no matter how she tried to shift away.

At first she had assumed the pokes were accidental, caused by the bumps and jostling
of the rough road. But after nearly an hour of such abuse, Mercedes had begun to wonder
if the woman was doing it deliberately in order to gain more room for herself. With
that in mind, she had sent her several cool, pointed looks, and said a few meaningful
your pardon
s and
excuse me
s, but the woman had simply ignored her and continued on with her jabbing.

She’d considered confronting her, but clearly the other woman had no manners and Mercedes
refused to engage in base behavior no matter the provocation. So she pressed herself
into the corner of the coach as fully as she could and did her best to ignore the
woman in turn.

Being royal, she had always been assured a certain amount of personal space wherever
she went. No one except close
family members and dear friends ever dared to actually touch her without asking her
permission. This coach ride had changed all that, forcing her to realize just how
many things she had taken for granted.

A wave of sadness swept over her, not for the creature comforts she was having to
do without, but rather for the people she was missing. Her family and friends, and
her dear maid, who had been a constant in her life since she had accompanied her from
Alden so many years ago. She couldn’t bear to think of her and her cousin gone along
with all the rest.

How could it be only yesterday that so much tragedy had occurred? That a few minutes
of a single day could shatter her life so completely? Suddenly she had gone from being
Princess Mercedes, cosseted daughter of the Aldenian royal family, to a young woman
forced to travel alone, who didn’t dare admit what had happened to her or who she
truly was for fear that she would not be believed. How ironic that she had been sent
abroad to school in order to protect her from the dangers of the war raging on the
Continent, yet now that the war was over she was in the worst danger of her life.

It was so dreadful as to be almost funny. But not funny enough to make her laugh.
She did not think she’d be able to laugh again for a very long time.