Heather and Velvet (32 page)

Prudence’s flight through the camp had gathered them quite an audience. At Big Gus’s bold announcement, men who had been gaping quickly bent to unfold their blankets or spear a chunk of dried venison over the fire. But they could not stop their furtive glances toward the cavern.

Prudence did not care to meet the man within. Any man these savages considered more threatening than Big Gus must be Lucifer himself.

She took a deep breath. “Excuse me, sir.” She tugged at Big Gus’s fingers. “Sir, I must request a word with you.”

He rumpled her hair, tossing a wink over his shoulder at the man behind him. “Ain’t she sweet? I love an eager lassie.”

She ducked from beneath his hand and drew herself up to her full height. “I am
not
an eager lassie. I am Prudence Walker, the Duchess of Winton, and the betrothed of Laird Killian MacKay of Strathnaver. If you will send a missive to him, I am certain he would be willing to post a substantial ransom for the safe return of myself and my party.”

“Gus, I’m warnin’ ye. He’ll have yer throat for it,” Jordy said.

Big Gus only grinned.

Prudence shook a finger under his bulbous nose. “I must warn you also, Mr. Big Gus. There will be severe repercussions should harm come to any of us.”

“The lass is warnin’ me. I think I’m in love.” He chucked her under the chin. “Don’t fret, me wee Prudie. The rest of yer party is bein’ taken care of. Just like Big Gus’s goin’ to take care of ye. I won’t even leave any bruises for yer fancy laird to find on his weddin’ night.”

The besotted bandit threw open his burly arms, enveloping Prudence in a greasy bear hug.

His jaw went slack. His arms dropped. But it wasn’t until he inched backward that the other men could see why.

The barrel of his own pistol was rammed into the plump cushion of his belly.

Prudence’s voice was as firm and unflinching as her grip on the pistol. “It would be very disagreeable for me to have to shoot you. I’d rather you tell me where I might find the rest of my party.”

Big Gus tried to clear his throat and failed. “I was only funnin’, little lassie. Big Gus wouldn’t hurt ye.”

She cocked the pistol. The click reverberated through the silent camp. “This is a new redingote. I should hate to get it all bloody.”

Big Gus raised his hands in surrender and took a step away. Prudence caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye and swung the pistol in a wide arc. “I wouldn’t try it if I were you,” she warned.

The men moved back as if hinged together, and ex
changed uneasy glances. Prudence’s grace in handling the weapon did not go unnoted. It rested in her net-gloved hand as comfortably as a satin reticule.

“That’s right,” she said. “I was born handling a pistol. My father was a—”

“Munitions expert?”

The soft voice sent a jolt of shock down her spine. She jerked her head toward the cavern as a man emerged, pushing aside the fur curtain with lazy grace. Her heart lurched into a wild beat. His worn silk mask did nothing to hide the faintly amused quirk of his well-shaped lips. Long, thick lashes veiled his sparkling eyes.

Prudence’s shoulders slumped in relief. Her arm dropped and the gun wavered. Then a shadow moved behind Sebastian. A sinuous arm twined around his waist, and a tousled blond head peered around his shoulder with feline curiosity. Prudence caught a glimpse of a small, fine-boned hand clutching a whisky bottle, blue eyes half closed in sensual languor, pink lips moist and swollen. She had found the first member of her poor, unfortunate party—Devony.

Her gaze shifted back to Sebastian. The glow of the firelight threw his figure into aching relief. His sandy hair was tousled. His shirt hung open. The first two buttons of his breeches were undone as if in invitation to the line of golden hair that spilled down the muscular plane of his abdomen.

He crossed his arms over his chest, rocked back on his heels, and gave Prudence his sweetest smile.

Her arm steadied and swung around with a life of its own, pointing the pistol straight at Sebastian’s heart.

S
ebastian had faced death down the barrel of a pistol more than once in his life, but he’d never felt its breath blow quite so cold. Prudence wanted to shoot him. He could see it in her eyes, her stance, the heaving of her bosom beneath the torn redingote. She wanted to kill him.

She had never looked more beautiful.

He had finally succeeded in fanning the flames beneath her cool exterior to a roar. A lock of hair fell over her eyes. She tossed her head back, spilling the tangled mass around her shoulders in a rich cascade. The men stared at her with slackened jaws and glazed eyes as if God had dropped an angel in their midst—an avenging angel.

Without taking his eyes off Prudence, Sebastian caught Devony’s elbow and jerked her forward. “You told me you and your father were alone.”

Devony took a swig from the whisky bottle, then burped delicately. “We
were
alone. Prudence jumped out and ran away, leaving us at the mercy of those savages. Then the countess was carried off by that nice Viking gentleman.”

Sebastian smoothed his mask as if he could somehow meld it to the bones of his face. “The countess?”

“Her
aunt.” Devony tucked a pensive finger between rosebud lips, weaving slightly. “Did I forget to mention the countess?”

“I doubt he gave you the chance,” Prudence said icily.

Sebastian hated to admit it, but Prudence was right. He had struggled out of his whisky-soaked haze with barely enough time to jerk on his old mask before Devony had fallen on him, babbling about being ravished. He had not guessed it was himself she was intent on ravishing. But her arms had been warm and her mouth hot and wet. Before he could protest, she’d been fumbling with the buttons of his breeches and whispering the most interesting things in his ear—things she would like to do to him, things she would like him to do to her.

He had to be dreaming, he’d told himself. What would Devony Blake be doing in a cave in the Highlands? And wasn’t it nicer than those dreams where he endlessly reached for Prudence just as she crumbled to ash in his hands?

But here was Prudence standing before him, not ash but seething flesh and blood, legs braced apart and the wood-grained butt of a pistol gripped in a hand itching to pull the trigger.

He thrust Devony aside and sauntered down the hill toward her. One of the men mumbled an oath under his breath. Big Gus mopped greasy beads of sweat from his brow.

As Sebastian drew nearer, the pistol began to waver. Prudence slammed the heel of her other palm against her wrist to steady it. He advanced until the cold muzzle of the gun touched the warm skin of his chest.

His lips curved in a mocking smile. He extended a genteel hand, ignoring the fact that both of her hands were occupied with the pistol. “Allow me to introduce myself, miss. You may call me Kirkpatrick.”

Her delicate nostrils flared, warning him there were things she’d rather call him.

“Perhaps no one has explained our laws to you,” he
went on. “
We
are the bandits.
We
carry the weapons.” He turned his hand palm-up. “The pistol, love.”

At his casual endearment, a shudder swept through her. Sebastian hoped he hadn’t miscalculated. If he had, he was a dead man.

“You heard my request,
Mr
. Kirkpatrick,” she said. “I want to know the whereabouts of the rest of my party. My aunt. The coachman and outriders. Squire Blake.” Her voice wavered. “And my cat.”

Sebastian could see she was near to cracking, and braced himself against the tears welling in her eyes. “Very well. I shall see to their safety myself.” He added softly, “You have my word on it.”

She gave a less than genteel snort.

Jordy stepped forward. “Kirkpatrick, there’s somethin’ ye ought to know. The lass claims to belong to—”

Prudence swung the gun on him. Standing almost nose to nose with six feet of smirking male had dampened her eagerness to discover Sebastian’s reaction to her engagement. Her dream of rational discourse with Sebastian now seemed not only highly unlikely, but dangerously naive.

Jordy backed into the crowd, trodding on the toes of the man behind him. “Never mind. It weren’t important.”

Sebastian reached around and gently plucked the gun from her hand. She glared at his chest.

Now that the danger was over, Big Gus roused himself. “Wait one bloody minute, Kirkpatrick. I finded her. I wants to keep her.”

“She’s not a puppy, Angus.” Sebastian tossed the primed weapon at him.

Big Gus ducked. The man behind him caught the weapon between two fingers.

“I know she ain’t no puppy. She’s a lass. And a right comely one at that.”

Sebastian peered into Prudence’s face as if seeing her for the first time. His nose crinkled. “A bit plain for your tastes, isn’t she?”

Prudence shot him a dark look.

Big Gus scratched his head. “I ain’t noticed it.”

She squirmed as Sebastian caught a handful of her hair
and deftly knotted it on top of her head. He grasped her cheeks in his other hand and squeezed. “See what I mean. Plain as a sparrow.”

Big Gus frowned as his temptress puckered into a herring. “The light weren’t so good when I caught her.”

With an impotent huff, Prudence jerked away and started down the slope. Sebastian caught her easily, spinning her into his arms. Her back slammed into his chest, as his hard forearm snaked around her waist.

She drove her heel into his shin. “Damn you, Sebas—”

He clapped a hand over her mouth. His furious whisper warmed her ear. “Don’t call me that. These men are not ardent Bach admirers.” His grip tightened. “I can’t hold off Big Gus much longer. Perhaps it’s time you decided if you’d rather share his bedroll or mine.”

Her struggles subsided. As her delicious body went pliant in his arms, Sebastian’s embrace changed subtly. He softened his grip until only the pads of his fingertips touched her lips.

She drew in a shaky breath and spoke against his fingers. “What’s the cost of your protection? I’m well aware you do nothing without a price.”

The arm around her waist relaxed. He pressed his palm against the curve of her abdomen and bent slightly so his hips burrowed into the elegant curve of her rump. “What are you willing to pay?”

“Bastard,” she murmured, closing her eyes in defeat.

“That I am. Among other things.” He tucked her hand under his elbow and backed toward the cavern. “I thought you were a man who fancied buxom blondes,” he called to Big Gus.

“I like blondes,” Big Gus said hopefully.

Sebastian laid a brotherly hand on Devony’s shoulder and gave her a gentle shove down the hill.

“But, Kirk,” she whined, “you promised we were going to—”

“You’ll like Big Gus, Miss Blake. He came by his name honestly.” Leaving them both sputtering, Sebastian flipped aside the fur and pulled Prudence into the cavern.

Before she could get her bearings, he shoved her down on a stool and squatted in front of her.

His fingers dug into her shoulders. “I’m going to check on the others. Unless you’d care to get better acquainted with Big Gus and his cronies, I’d suggest you stay put until I get back. Do you understand?”

Her new spectacles made her eyes look huge. She nodded mutely, and he freed her with reluctance.

As he turned away, her slender shoulders slumped. “I could have shot you, you know.”

He brushed a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. “I know. For a moment there, I thought you were almost human.”

Without another word, he ducked out of the cavern, leaving her alone.

Prudence shifted on the hard stool, still sore from the harrowing coach ride. Her bracing anger had fled as quickly as it had come, leaving only the sour weight of fear. Her weary thoughts ran in circles. Was Tricia safe? Had Sebastian-cat been trampled? What would she do if Sebastian found Squire Blake and the coachman dead?

Her gaze strayed of its own volition to the rumpled blankets spread beside the sputtering lantern. Had Sebastian touched Devony the way he had touched her? Had his beautiful mouth roamed Devony’s body the way it had roamed hers? A sharp pain stabbed beneath her ribs at the vision of Devony’s long limbs entwined with his. It wouldn’t be the first time, would it? She stared at the ceiling of the cavern to keep from crying.

The cavern was little more than an animal’s den gouged out of the cliff side and sheltered by a stone overhang, A bottle of whisky sat next to a glowing bed of coals.

She unfastened the pearl buttons of her shoulder cape and eased out of her redingote. Travel had rumpled the dove gray satin of her gown. A long tear in her skirt revealed a peek at her silk stockings and one lacy garter.

“Good God, it is ye!”

She screamed as a figure swathed in rags crawled under the curtain.

He bounded across the cave and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Stop the bellerin’, lass. They’ll hear ye all the way to Glasgow.” He unwound his scarf.

“Jamie!” she cried at the sight of his familiar, homely face and red hair. Not even a month’s worth of dirt could dim the radiance of his tangled mop.