Claiming the Courtesan (18 page)

One thing was sure—he’d pursue her on horseback. She’d briefly considered taking a pony, but horses still scared her silly, not to mention she risked waking the giants who slept above the stables.

If luck was with her, Kylemore would concentrate his
search on the road over the mountains. But then, luck had been notably absent from her life lately, and her lover was clever enough to guess she’d make for the coast, a coast she now realized lay on the other side of this monolith.

Her heart sank with defeat. The rocks before her were unscalable. She’d already tried and failed to find a way up several times. Swimming across the loch was too risky, given the speed and depth of the current through the defile. And what would be the use? A second steep cliff loomed on the other side.

Now her only hope was to follow the base of the ridge south until she found somewhere to climb up. The scheme was uncertain but the best she could devise.

She took a mouthful of water from her flask, told herself to be brave—an admonition losing its power through sheer repetition—and trudged on.

When Verity heard the horses approach, it was past midday and she still hadn’t found a way out of the valley.

Immediately, she crouched low. Sheer exhaustion had dulled her constant dread. Now it welled up sharp as ever, making her head spin. Awkwardly, she edged into the thick undergrowth and fought to control her ragged breathing.

Kylemore and Hamish Macleish rode into view. The duke wore his rough country clothes. She had a sudden sharp recollection of his perfectly turned out London self. His immaculate tailoring had been famous, yet here he seemed content to dress not much better than his henchmen. Although nobody would mistake the tall, handsome man with the commanding bearing for anything other than the aristocrat he was.

He turned his head to speak to Hamish. Hungrily, she stared at the clear profile, with its high forehead, long haughty nose and strong jaw. The older man bowed briefly and rode back the way they had come.

The duke wheeled his great gray horse in the direction she’d intended to go. Before he cantered away, she had a brief glimpse of flashing eyes and a mouth set in a determined line. He looked resolute and angry.

Her stomach clenched with renewed terror, filling her mouth with a bitter taste. But beneath the terror lurked other emotions, emotions a woman such as she could never acknowledge.

This was probably—
hopefully
—the last time she’d see the Duke of Kylemore. While escaping him had never been so necessary, the thought made her want to keen in sorrow.

She was going mad. She had to be. During the year Kylemore had been her lover, they had enjoyed untold sexual adventures. And her deeper self had remained completely untouched. When he’d stolen her away from her home a matter of days ago, she’d hated and feared him.

So when had that lean face with its controlled, passionate mouth become so precious?

He’d snatched her from her home. Forced himself on her. Ignored everything she wanted. Wrung a response from her she’d been determined not to give.

She had cause to loathe him—as she’d unequivocally loathed him on the journey from Whitby. He was a selfish brute who deserved to hang for his crimes.

He was a lonely man tormented by harrowing memories she couldn’t begin to imagine.

And last night, he’d listened to her sordid history and told her she was magnificent.

“I will not countenance this,” she whispered aloud as she crawled stealthily from her hiding place. “I will not.”

Muscles held tense too long protested as she stood upright. She placed a trembling hand on her lower back as she stretched. All the while, her eyes strained after the direction the duke had taken.

Dear Lord, how could she feel this way? And about that ruthless devil Kylemore, of all men.

Pray heaven all this uncomfortable soul-searching ended when she was free. She’d resume the life she’d planned, and this fraught interlude would fade into just an unpleasant memory.

Revealing her past had been a huge mistake. She and Kylemore now shared an emotional link that might prove hard to break although in time, she would break it.

She must break it.

She collected her bundle of food from behind the bushes. Her empty stomach growled, but she ignored it, determined to conserve her meager rations.

For a long while, she stared blankly at the cliff, trying to reawaken her enthusiasm for a life devoted to good works and independence. But her mind filled instead with images of the duke’s courageous battle against his demons and how that courage melted into sweet need when he rested in her arms.

For God’s sake, leave me in peace, Kylemore.

She inhaled deeply to banish her lover’s persistent ghost, and her eyes sharpened on the mountainside. If she took her chances scrambling over some steep rocks, she might find a way up. The cliff offered nothing so friendly as a path, but perhaps she could use the jagged ledges.

She had to try. With the duke ahead and Hamish behind, this was her only chance to leave this cursed valley and with it, her agonizing confusion.

She began to climb, using her hands on the rough stones.

Midafternoon, the rain set in, as Kylemore had known it would. Cold, miserable Scottish rain that seeped into his bones. Chilly, soaking rain that suited his all-encompassing despair.

Somehow she’d escaped him. His damned complacency might have signed her death warrant.

No, he had to keep believing she was alive.
He willed her to stay alive.

“She hasnae turned back tae the house,” Hamish said, riding up. He passed Kylemore a thick coat and a hat similar to the ones he now wore. “I circled through the forest on the way here. There’s nae sign of her. The lassie couldnae grow wings and fly away, could she?”

Kylemore tugged on the welcome dry clothing. “I’d not put anything past her.”

He looked around in helpless rage. Didn’t the girl realize the danger? The temperature was dropping. If she was still out after dark, who knew what state she’d be in by morning?

“Where the hell can she be?” he growled. “She can’t have got this far on foot.”

Hamish’s voice remained calm, as it had throughout the day’s frantic searching. “Angus and Andy are at Kilorton Pass. If the lassie takes tae the hill road, they’ll catch her.”

“We’ve missed something,” Kylemore said grimly. Tannasg shifted restlessly as his master’s hands clenched hard on the reins. “She’s no soft city puss. She grew up on a farm. Perhaps she’s managed to climb out of the glen. I’ve been caught out underestimating her before.”

Hamish frowned. “These ranges are a maze for anyone who doesnae ken them. She could fall off a cliff and we wouldnae find her before next summer.”

The horrifying possibility of Verity tumbling to a lonely death had haunted Kylemore’s thoughts since he’d discovered her gone. “I can ride up onto the ridge if I continue another mile. You go through the woods again.”

Hamish nodded. “Aye. Be careful up there, laddie. It’s treacherous gaeing. I dinna want tae be out looking for ye as weel.” He wheeled his horse around and rode away.

Gasping for breath, Verity heaved herself over the ledge and collapsed facedown. For a long moment, she lay on the ground, panting. Cold rain drizzled upon her, but she didn’t have the breath to get up.

The ascent had taken hours. Her hands were scraped and dirty. But thank God, she’d reached the top. She’d lost her footing twice and slithered to the bottom, and once, the rocks themselves had disintegrated beneath her. For one sickening moment before she’d landed hard on a ledge, she’d thought her luck—and her life—had ended. But while she might be alive now, she was bruised and shaken, and she’d lost her provisions.

The rain had started by then, and her ascent had turned into slippery misery. Only the memory of how her heart had leaped at the sight of Kylemore kept her going. If she returned to him, he’d destroy her more thoroughly than mere inhospitable crags could.

He’d destroy her, then walk away without a word.

Stiffly, painfully, she lifted herself to her knees. Her shredded palms were stinging, and every muscle ached. Still, she’d done it. At last freedom beckoned.

She lifted her head, hoping she’d reached the coast.

But there were only more mountains. Lines and lines of them as far as she could see.

With a groan, she slumped back, ignoring the rain. She could be lost in this wilderness forever. It was worse than the desolate track she’d followed into the valley. She had no food, no map and no clothes, apart from what she wore.

“Oh, God,” she whimpered. “Oh, God, help me.”

For a long while, she lay unmoving while weak, defeated tears trickled down her dirty face and mingled with the raindrops. Behind her, the duke waited to ensnare her with his
tortured soul and sensual magic. Ahead lay an unforgiving wilderness where she could perish without trace.

But eventually, she struggled to her feet. She couldn’t stay on this open ridge until winter froze her into an ice statue. There must be a way through the mountains. After she found it, she’d have everything she wanted. An independent life. A future for Ben and Maria. Hope. Purpose. Liberty.

She ripped a strip off her petticoat, sobbing softly at the pain, and bound her torn and bloody hands. If she needed to climb on hands and knees again, she’d be in trouble. The wind had sharpened and she shivered, clutching her coarse coat more tightly about her. It was summer still, but in this cruel and terrible place, that word had no power.

Had she made a dreadful mistake by running away? Both the duke and Hamish had warned her that people died in these ranges. Only now, when it was too late, did she believe them.

With a shaking hand, she wiped the moisture from her face. She had to remember what rewards awaited her. She had to remember that the man she’d abandoned promised her nothing but humiliation and degradation.

Summoning what little courage she retained, she took a deep breath. She couldn’t go back, and this open hillside offered no shelter. So she must go forward and pray she found some path out of this desolation. She put her head down and trudged through the thickening rain.

Hamish rode up at sunset. Kylemore immediately noticed the filthy bundle tied to the Highlander’s saddle.

“What’s that?” He failed to keep the dull hopelessness from his voice. All day, they’d searched without finding any trace of Verity. The image of her sliding helplessly into the loch had become more vivid with every weary mile he’d traveled.

Hamish passed the bundle across to Kylemore. “I think the lassie dropped it as she climbed up the hillside.”

This was the first genuine indication Verity was alive. Kylemore bent his head and tore at the bundle, but the humble contents told him nothing except that she’d now lost what few provisions she’d carried.

Hamish was still speaking. “She must have had a difficult time of it. There were fresh rockfalls at the base. I’d no have thought a female could do it—it’s a climb most men would baulk at.”

“Oh, I’ve never doubted her nerve,” Kylemore said on a surge of hope.

She was brave, clever and determined. Perhaps she’d survive this unforgiving landscape until he found her.

Hamish studied him. “She must be gey eager tae get away from ye, laddie.” The steady blue eyes sharpened on the duke’s face. “What in God’s name did ye do tae her?”

Unseeingly, Kylemore gazed ahead, knowing he deserved every ounce of his companion’s condemnation. “I tried to break her,” he said grimly.

Only now did he acknowledge he’d failed. As he’d deserved to fail. He shook himself out of his abstraction. Self-pity was an indulgence he couldn’t afford. With desperate eyes, he surveyed the rain-swept landscape. He’d get her back. Then he’d worry about the amends he needed to make. The amends he was capable of making.

Hamish reached out to touch his arm. It was an act of terrible presumption that offered a brief reassurance which, in his distress, the duke noticed and appreciated.

“Dinna fash yourself, laddie. We’ll find her.” He looked around. “But not tonight.”

Kylemore became aware that the day waned. “Go back to the house and bring Angus and Andy here at first light. She obviously came this way.”

“And what about ye? In the dark, you’ll tumble off a cliff yourself.”

“I’ll be safe enough.” Verity faced the elements. It was only right he shared her discomfort and peril.

The morning brought no letup in the cold drizzle.

Kylemore jerked out of a restless doze. He straightened against the damp rock that had kept him from the worst of the rain, aware he deserved every stiff muscle.

Where had Verity slept? Had she slept? He prayed she’d found shelter somewhere.

Oh, dear God, let her be alive.

The words beat an ominous tattoo in his heart as he rose. In the predawn half light, he saddled Tannasg, who hadn’t fared much better than his master. The horse had a longer line of aristocratic antecedents than he did and wasn’t used to roughing it through a wet Highland night.

Scotland could be a damned awful place, he thought, stretching to ease his aching body. He must be getting soft. He’d often spent a night in the open when he’d been a boy. Once, when he hadn’t managed to reach his usual hiding places, he’d run off into midwinter snow to escape his father’s uncontrollable rage. On that occasion, he’d been gone three days before Hamish had found him, starving and blue with cold.

Not that he’d emerged unscathed from that particular escapade. His raging fever had come near to killing him.

Kate had nursed him back to health, he remembered. The Macleishes spoke of what they owed him. He wondered if they realized what he owed them in return.

The rain eased as the morning progressed. With every hour, Kylemore’s hopes waned of finding Verity unhurt. Even if alive, she must be cold, tired, hungry, confused.

Why the hell hadn’t she listened to him and stayed safe in the glen?

He knew why. She was afraid he meant to force her into his bed again. They both knew he couldn’t keep his hands off her, damn it all to hell.