Captured by the Highlander (25 page)

* * *

A few days later, Amelia and Josephine took the coach to the
village
to deliver a cherry pie to Mrs. Logan, the mil er’s wife, who possessed a rare talent for the arrangement of flowers and had offered to decorate the chapel for the earl’s upcoming nuptials.

But while the woman spoke of colorful blossoms and crystal vases, Amelia could barely concentrate on the conversation, for she was distracted by thoughts of Duncan and what had transpired in bed the other night, when he had revealed his concern that Richard would come to the castle to win her back. Duncan was worried that he would not be able to resist
killing
Richard.

She did not want Duncan to suffer with such self-doubt.

She wanted to help him see that he was a good man and could put his past behind him. He was not like his father. She knew Duncan was not.

A knock sounded at the front door and interrupted her thoughts, as
well
as Mrs. Logan’s presentation of the flowers.

Briefly flustered by the intrusion, Mrs. Logan rose from her chair to answer it.

A
tall
, broad-shouldered castle guard stepped inside. He wore the MacLean tartan, and his hand was squeezing impatiently around the hilt of his sword.

“I have orders,” he said, “to escort Lady Amelia back to the castle at once.”

“Has something happened?” she asked, feeling a rush of panic as she stood. Josephine stood up as
well
.

“Aye, milady. The Moncrieffe militia has returned with the redcoats.”

She took in a quick, sharp breath. “Do you mean to say that Colonel Bennett is here?”

“Aye. I’m to ride inside your coach with you, and I’m not to let you out of my sight until I deliver you safely to the
gallery
in the keep.”

She strode to the door and saw more than twenty mounted clansmen waiting outside—al carrying shields, swords, and muskets. It seemed she had her own personal army of protectors.

She backed up into the mil
l
er’s cottage. “Surely this is unnecessary. The lieutenant-colonel is my former fiancé, and we are not at war with his regiment, are we? Surely he just wishes to speak with Lord Moncrieffe and ensure that
all
is
well
.”

At least she hoped that was the case, and she hoped Duncan would assure Richard as such. Then Richard could be on his way. Disappointed by her rejection, perhaps, but alive.

The
tall
Highlander shrugged. “It’s not for me to say, milady. I’m just
following
orders. I’m to see you safely back to the castle.”

She squared her shoulders. “Of course.” She turned to the mil
l
er’s wife. “I do apologize, Mrs. Logan. Perhaps we can continue this another day?”

“My door is always open to you, milady.” The woman did her best to appear calm, but her cheeks were flushed with color.

A short time later, Amelia and Josephine were seated inside the coach, with the
tall
Highlander situated across from them. He kept his eyes fixed on the door at
all
times.

While the heavy vehicle rumbled along the road, no one said much of anything. The tension inside the coach was palpable. Outside, they were surrounded by a fierce contingent of Highland warriors on horseback, and it seemed as if they were driving straight into the very heart of a
full
-blown battle, already in progress.

Amelia hoped this was just a precaution and wondered what Duncan imagined would occur when she arrived. It was highly probable that Richard would wish to speak to her privately and ascertain that this union was of her choosing.

Perhaps he was angry, or believed that Duncan had forced her hand. In that case, she would do her best to explain her change of heart and somehow make Richard understand that she was happy—otherwise he might feel
compelled
to fight for her, and that could lead to an awkward set of circumstances. She must do
all
she could to prevent him from saying or doing anything that might provoke Duncan.

She would do her best to explain her feelings and convince Richard to leave.

As for the other issues regarding Duncan’s official inquiry into Richard’s
all
eged crimes as a soldier, which would be a
full
affront to his honor as an officer and a gentleman …
well
, she hoped the charges would be laid at Fort
William
, not Moncrieffe, so that Duncan could be distanced from it.

The coach hit a bump and she bounced on the seat and wondered anxiously where her uncle stood in
all
of this. He had not mentioned Richard since he arrived, and he had been absent a great deal of the time. He had not asked Amelia how she felt about ending her engagement, nor had Duncan spoken of her uncle’s opinions on the matter since that first night. They had both been curiously silent about Richard, which caused her some uneasiness now, as the coach rattled over the stone bridge and through the gate tower.

They emerged out of the archway into the bright, sunny bailey. She and Josephine sat forward and peered out the windows.

There was noise and confusion in the yard—kilted Highlanders shouting to one another, the clang of metal against metal as they practiced their maneuvers. Horses—restless and spooked by the sounds of battle—whinnied and reared up. In the east corner Amelia saw a splash of red as the coach rumbled by. It was a cluster of English soldiers, sitting together in the grass.

The coach
pulled
up in front of the castle door. The Highlander who had been assigned to deliver her to the keep hopped out first, then took her firmly by the arm. He seemed determined to reach the
gallery
without stopping, and she had to pick up her skirts and scurry to keep up with him.

He led her through the front entrance
hall
and across the bridge corridor to the keep at the rear. They crossed the long banqueting
hall
and at last reached the gal
l
ery. The Highlander opened the arched door and pushed her through it. She stumbled inside; then the door swung shut behind her, and a key turned in the lock. The Highlander’s footsteps disappeared down the length of the banqueting
hall
.

Suddenly she was alone.
all
was quiet.

Amelia stood for a moment and stared at the keyhole, then abruptly turned away and walked to the window. She looked out at the calm lake and studied the reflection of the trees upon the water.

It was odd to imagine Richard being here at this moment.

It was like a sharp, pungent taste of reality, the emergence of her old life, which had
all
but vanished over the past few weeks, as if it had never existed.

Only it was not the same life at
all
. The man she had once hoped to marry was accused of unspeakable crimes, and she would soon have to face him and try to see the truth for herself, when she had not been able to see it before.

What if she
still
could not?

And what was happening in the castle now? Was Richard speaking to Duncan? Was he angry? What would Duncan do?

Do you not worry about the violence in my nature?

Lord help her, she was certainly beginning to worry about it now, after being dragged out of the
village
by an army of Highlanders with muskets and spears. The whole situation seemed positively medieval, and her heart was racing with dread. What if something terrible was happening? Her hands began to shake as her mind swarmed with grisly images of Duncan in his kilt, splattered with blood, swinging his battle-axe through the air. She shut her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples to block it
all
out.

Footsteps approached outside the door. A key slipped into the lock. The door opened, and Iain strode in.

She crossed to meet him. “Oh, Iain, thank heavens.

Please
tell
me what’s happening. Is Josephine
all
right?

Where is Duncan? Has he spoken to Richard yet?”

“Not yet,” Iain answered in a voice that seemed almost too casual under the circumstances. “Colonel Bennett is waiting in the library, and Duncan
will
be here soon. He wants you at his side when Bennett contests your engagement, which he
full
y intends to do.”

“How do you know this?”

“Bennett announced it to the guard when he rode through the gate.”

She laid a hand on her stomach. Lord help them
all
. But at least there was one promising factor in
all
this: Duncan would not wish to have her standing at his side if he intended to don his Butcher garb and slice off Richard’s head. He knew how she felt about that, and he had given her his word.

“Did you speak to Richard already?” she asked. “Are you sure he wishes to confront Duncan? I’m surprised he did not ask to speak to me first.”

“He did. It was the first thing he requested. Strode in here, bold as brass, and demanded a private appointment with you.”

“And you said no?”

“Not exactly. I told him to wait in the library, that you were on your way back from the vil
l
age, and he would see you then. I arranged for a
small
supper to be sent up.”

“Thank you, Iain. But I believe
all
of this is quite unnecessary. If I could just speak to him, I would assure him that I am
well
, and that I genuinely wish to marry Duncan. If he heard those words from my own lips, I believe he would accept my decision and leave peaceful y.” She paused when Iain frowned at her. “Please, Iain, do not misunderstand. I do not wish to protect him. I only wish to do what I can to prevent an altercation. I am certain that he came here because he needs to confirm that I am safe. Do not forget, I was his intended bride and while under his protection I was abducted by the Butcher. You cannot fault him for coming here. You would do the same thing, I am sure.”

“I do not fault anyone, lass. But Duncan
will
not let you be alone with Bennett. It is the unshakable truth. Do not even bother to ask.”

She watched Iain for a moment to measure the strength of his resolve, then resigned herself to the fact that it could not be breached. She turned away and sat down on the long bench at the table.

She had no choice, then, but to abide by her future husband’s wishes. He had his reasons to employ such excessive measures, she supposed.

Duncan walked through the door just then. She rose quickly to her feet. Their eyes met and locked.

“You heard Bennett is here?” Duncan asked. He was dressed in an extravagant
full
-skirted coat of gold, with heavy button ornamentation and a matching embroidered waistcoat, cut low in front to reveal the white, ruffled neckwear. On his head he wore a jet-black,
full
-bottomed French wig with a mass of curls that reached
well
below his shoulders.

The wig unnerved her. It was an accessory she had not seen him wear before. Had he worn it with her father?

She made careful note also of the dress saber, sheathed and belted at his waist.

“Yes, I heard,” she replied. “I was dragged out of the mil
l
er’s cottage, where I was looking at flowers for our wedding day.”

She imagined that he might come forward, take her into his arms, and assure her that everything was going to be
all
right, that they simply had to get through this day and
all
would be
well
. But he remained just inside the door, his expression dark and menacing.

“You can return there tomorrow,” he said flatly.

“Thank you. I
will
.”

A heavy silence descended upon the room. Iain cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably.

* * *

Duncan stood at the door, his eyes fixed on his future bride, while he fought to suppress the seething rage that was rising up inside him. Richard Bennett was here in his house. He’d just eaten his food and enjoyed wine from his private cel
l
ar. And he wanted to speak privately to Amelia.

Duncan took a few deep breaths and squeezed the hilt of his sword.

“We
’ll
meet him in the banqueting
hall
,” he said, remembering his promise to her and wishing—God, how he wished—that he had never made it. If he hadn’t, Colonel Bennett would already be dead and there would be no need for talk.

Amelia nodded and stepped forward. She paused in front of Duncan and looked into his eyes. “Thank you,” she said.

Thank you for what
? he wondered wretchedly.
For inviting
a rapist and murderer into my home, and agreeing to treat
him with civility?

Duncan held the door open for her, and she passed through it into the banqueting
hall
, which ran a length of seventy-five feet along the western side of the keep. The stone
wall
s were hung with gilt-framed portraits; the floor was ebony oak, the furniture sparse. There was only one long narrow table in front of the hearth and a dais at the far end, with a single heavy chair in front of a rich, crimson tapestry.

His father had sat in that chair many times to hear clan grievances. He had always ruled with authority from that chair, and more than a few men had died by his sword in this room.

The duke was standing at the window, and Amelia stopped when she saw him. “Uncle, you are here as
well
?”

“Yes, my dear. Lord Moncrieffe requested it.”

She looked up at Duncan and gave him a
small
smile, though he could see there was uncertainty in it.

He did not return her smile. How could he, when he was thrashing through everything that was bleak and vicious inside him? He was about to politely receive the disgusting piece of scum he had been hunting for the better part of a year. The scum who had raped an innocent woman—the woman he once loved—and mutilated her body. The scum who burned peaceful crofts and shot women and children for their mere knowledge of the rebel ion.

That same man was about to walk into this
hall
and question Duncan’s right to claim Amelia as his wife.

He took a seat in the chair. He lounged back in it, spread his legs wide while he gripped the armrests with both hands, for he needed to squeeze something.

“Get behind me, lass,” he said, tossing his head, his mind smoldering with aggression, which he did not even bother to hide from her.

It was impossible now to act civil, to play the part of a charming, amiable gentleman, when his gut was churning with deadly hatred. At this moment, despite the fancy clothes and ridiculous wig he felt
compelled
to wear, he was a Scottish Highlander, a warrior, and a savage. He was chief of this clan, and he had been trained from birth to fight and
kill
in order to protect those in his care. It was taking every ounce of
will
he possessed to restrain the beast lurking inside him, lying in wait for his mortal enemy.

Amelia said nothing as she lifted her skirts and stepped up onto the dais. She stood just behind his left shoulder.

Duncan sensed her apprehension, but that was not his primary concern. What consumed him most was his own self-control.

The duke remained by the window while Iain stood in the opposite corner. Duncan sat very
still
, staring straight ahead at the door at the far end of the
hall
, his battle-roughened hands opening and closing around the armrests, his warrior senses attuned to every sight and sound.

At last the door opened, and in walked Richard Bennett, Amelia’s former betrothed. Heroic English officer. Rapist and murderer.