Her Highness and the Highlander: A Princess Brides Romance (10 page)

“How are you faring, my fine young miss?” Sir Lionel asked, intruding on her thoughts.

She looked across at the baronet, ignoring the watchful gazes of their fellow travelers.
“Well enough.”

“For my part,” Sir Lionel remarked, “I shall be relieved by the opportunity to stretch
my legs. The next stop shouldn’t be too much farther. These roads are hard on old
bones.”

“A break will come as a relief to us all, I am sure.”

The farmer grunted at her statement and even the sour-faced old woman seemed to agree.
The next stop could not come soon enough.

Five hours later, Mercedes climbed gratefully out of the coach. This was the third
stop they had made that day and she
was thirsty, hungry, and more tired than she could ever recall being.

Having been too anxious to eat breakfast that morning, she’d waited barely an hour
into the journey to eat the bread and cheese she’d bought at the first coaching inn.
As the day progressed, though, she realized that she ought to have timed her meal
a bit better.

At the first stop, the passengers had been given only twenty minutes to eat, drink,
and take care of any personal needs they might have. By the time she returned from
the ladies’ facilities, which had not been at all up to her usual standard, there
hadn’t been time to do anything more than order a cup of tea before the horn sounded.
After managing a single, hasty sip, she’d had no choice but to reboard the coach or
be left behind.

Matters at the second coaching inn had proven no better, and after watching one of
the serving maids drop a meat pie on the dirty floor before serving it to a thoroughly
unsuspecting customer, Mercedes had decided to forgo dining there.

Now here she was at yet another inn, the yard noisy and crowded with travelers, as
the afternoon sun shone down from a cloudless blue sky. Her skin felt sticky with
a light film of perspiration and travel dust and she wanted nothing so much as a long,
cool drink followed by an even longer, cooler bath. But that was impossible; she would
simply have to abide the discomfort until the coach reached the inn that would be
that day’s final stop.

She supposed she would be lucky if there was enough time to drink a cup of tea and
eat a slice of bread and jam before they had to be on their way once more. Trailing
Sir Lionel through the cluster of patrons gathered inside the common room, she let
him find them a table. Wearily, she sank into a seat opposite him.

Sir Lionel gave her a long, considering look, then smiled consolingly. “Forgive the
observation, my dear, but you seem a bit done in. I must agree that this pace of travel
is grueling for even the heartiest of souls.”

“You seem to be bearing up well,” she replied, unable to keep the hint of self-derision
out of her voice.

“To the contrary. I only appear at my ease, when in actuality I am a mass of aching
joints and stiff limbs.”

She regarded him. “Then if you will forgive a question? Why are you traveling on a
public conveyance rather than in the comfort of your own coach? I should think a man
of your years and stature might appreciate some privacy.”

“Thought of that, did you?” he said, a twinkle in his gaze. “Well, it is not from
a lack of funds—”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Of course you did not,” he assured with all seriousness. “No, you see, my barouche
met with a rather unfortunate accident. Reckless driver, don’t you know. The roads
are far too full of them these days. To my great dismay, I was informed that the repairs
would take more than a week to complete. Rather than delaying my return to England,
I left my man to take care of the matter. I could have hired a post chaise, but the
only one to be had was a shabby affair that looked as likely to break down as my own
had just done. So the stagecoach it was.”

Bracing one hand on top of his cane, he used the other to massage his leg. “I believe
I may have erred in regard to the issue of comfort. Our present conveyance leaves
much to be desired.”

“On that point, I can only agree,” she said with a rueful smile.

Just then, a harried-looking serving maid rushed past, her tray filled with tankards
of ale for one table while a group of men at another table bellowed for her attention.
“Keep yer breeches on,” she told them as she set down the ales and disappeared behind
the bar.

Mercedes watched the exchange with wistful resignation, knowing there would be no
possibility that she and Sir Lionel would be served in the small amount of time remaining
before the coach departed again.

She met his gaze and read the understanding in his eyes.

“What would you say to an early dinner?” he asked. “There must be a private parlor
where we can enjoy a fine meal and some much-deserved comfort and quiet.”

Her brows arched high. “But what about the coach? It’s leaving in only a few more
minutes.”

“There will be another along soon. We shall take that one.”

“But will we not lose our fare?”

“Oh no, not so long as we continue on the same route. People get on and off the coaches
all the time, to eat and rest. No one shall remark on our absence. Unless you cannot
face the idea of being separated from our two inestimable traveling companions, that
is. I know how much you have enjoyed getting to know them both.”

She struggled not to laugh. “Indeed, the loss will be great, but somehow I believe
I shall manage.”

Sir Lionel grinned, then stood and extended his arm. “With your permission?”

Suddenly happier than she had been all day, she rose to her feet and accepted his
offer.

T
he last golden rays of sunlight were shining in the sky as Daniel rode into the inn
yard that evening. According to the coaching route he had been given, this was the
final stop for the day.

After hours of hard riding, he had caught up at last. Now it would be a simple matter
of locating Mercedes inside the inn and satisfying his conscience that she had come
to no harm during her day’s excursion.

“Weel ye be stayin’ the night, then?” asked the hostler who hurried to take the reins
of his horse.

“Aye,” Daniel said. After handing a coin to the boy with instructions to take good
care of his tired mount, he strode inside the inn.

Half an hour later, he strode out again, lines of deep worry creasing his forehead.
Mercedes was not at the inn and although she had been seen on the coach, no one, including
the driver, had a clear recollection of exactly where she had disembarked.

When confronted, the coachman had shrugged. “Aye, I remember ’er, but it’s not up
tae me to nursemaid the passengers.
Folks come and go as they like an’ I doona trouble ’em so long as they’ve paid their
fare.”

The other passengers who had been on the coach with Mercedes weren’t a great deal
of help either. One claimed she had left the coach two stops back, while another said
it was only one. The single point on which they both agreed was the fact that she
had been accompanied by a man, a silver-haired gentleman who they’d assumed was a
relation.

Daniel scowled, unsettled by the information.

A silver-haired relative who had shown up at just the right moment? He didn’t believe
it for an instant.

“Saddle me a fresh horse,” he called to one of the hostlers. “And be quick about it.”

Swinging up onto the mount that arrived less than five minutes later, he wheeled around
and set off back down the road.

“It must be growing rather late,” Mercedes said as she laid her knife and fork across
her dinner plate. “Perhaps we ought to go below and check again on the departure time
for the next coach.”

Sir Lionel waved a negligent hand. “I’m sure we still have plenty of time. The servant
will be along again soon. We’ll ask her. In the meantime, why don’t you try some of
this Scots crowdie? It’s quite an excellent cheese, in spite of the oatmeal they insist
on rolling all over the outside of it.”

“Thank you, but no.”

She was more than well satisfied—the chicken stew, buttered bread, and fresh berry
tart she’d eaten having turned out to be surprisingly good. Although she had been
so hungry she suspected nearly anything would have tasted good.

“Another glass of wine, then, my dear?”

Mercedes shook her head. “Again, no.”

She gazed out the parlor window at the waning rays of sunshine, knowing that twilight
would soon be upon them.

A frown creased her brow.
Just how late do the coaches travel?

She’d wished more than once already that there was a clock in the room. Despite the
lack, she knew they needed to end their meal and be on their way.

“I must thank you again for the lovely dinner,” she said with ingrained politeness.
“It was most delicious.”

Sir Lionel smiled. “I am so pleased you enjoyed it. I could not have asked for finer
company.”

She inclined her head. “I too enjoyed our conversation. But now I really do think
we ought to be on our way. The coach will be arriving anytime now, surely.”

“Oh, these public conveyances are often delayed. I doubt we have cause for concern.”

Her frown deepened. She hadn’t noticed any marked delays while they had been traveling
earlier. Then again, unexpected accidents and setbacks were bound to happen. Perhaps
that was what he meant.

He leaned back in his chair, clearly at his leisure, then raised his glass to take
a long swallow of wine.

Sir Lionel liked to drink; she had discovered that fact over the past couple of hours.
He was two-thirds of the way through his second bottle and although he showed no overt
signs of intoxication, she was beginning to wonder if the spirits might be influencing
his behavior. Otherwise, he would surely be as anxious to depart as she.

If they missed the last coach, who knew how many hours it would be before the next
one arrived? Clearly it would require an overnight stay and perhaps most of the following
day.

She got to her feet. “I think I shall go downstairs and ask after the coach.”

With an agility and speed that was almost shocking, Sir Lionel reached across the
table and caught hold of her wrist. “Stay where you are. The maidservant will be back
shortly.”

“But—”

This time, when he smiled, an odd shiver ran along her spine. “Sit,” he commanded
in a velvety tone that was hard for all its pleasantness. “We’re not finished with
our dinner yet.”

“Sir Lionel, I believe you may have had a bit too much wine and are not thinking clearly.
I would ask that you let me go.” She twisted against his hold to free her wrist.

He didn’t release her.

“Release me, sir,” she commanded. “
Now!
”

Instead, he laughed, his eyes glittering with a fierce light that was extremely unsettling.

In the next moment he pulled her around the table toward him. For an old man, he was
amazingly strong. Perhaps he wasn’t quite as old as he looked and his silver hair
only disguised the truth.

“S-Sir Lionel. What are you doing?”

“Just getting ready to enjoy my dessert. I’ve been waiting patiently for it all day
long.”

“
Wh-what?
”

“Come here, my sweet.”

To her horror, he patted one thigh with his free hand as he shoved his chair farther
back from the table. “I told the maid not to bother us again tonight.”

“But what about the coach?” she said lamely.

“There is no coach, at least not tonight,” he said. “The one we were on has likely
stopped for the evening a few inns ahead. But not to worry, another coach will be
by sometime tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow!” she said on a quick inhalation. “You lied to me.”

Lord, how could I have been so stupid? How could I have trusted him?

He shrugged. “A little white lie between friends never hurts. Just adds to the spice.”

Spice?
What on earth was he talking about? Her suspicions made her cringe.

“But you said I was to consider myself your granddaughter,” she said incredulously,
ignoring the pain as she twisted her wrist more forcefully against his hold. Was he
really as depraved as he sounded?

“And so you can.” He maintained his hold. “I’ve only got grandsons, but you’d make
an awfully pretty addition to the family.”
He laughed at his own unpleasant joke. “Now, enough talk. Let’s have a bit of play.”

“How dare you! Take your hands off me this instant.”

But he simply laughed once more and tried again to pull her toward him. She fought,
slapping at his face around the reaching grasp of his arms. But he was like some many
tentacled sea creature and no matter how she struggled, she couldn’t get away.

“If you’re a good girl,” he crooned as he wrestled her closer, “I may make you my
mistress. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I’ll set you up in a fine house in London
and give you all the jewels and gowns you want.”

“I don’t want anything from you except for you to
let
me
go!
”

“Oh, you do like to protest, don’t you? But enough of your playacting. Come here and
give me a kiss.”

“I would rather die.”

Reaching out blindly, she felt on the table for anything she might be able to use
to deter him. She flailed for a moment; then her knuckles tapped against something
solid.

The wine bottle.

Without another coherent thought, she wrapped her fingers around the neck of the bottle
and lifted it upward, not caring when a flow of red wine poured from the spout onto
the floor. With a wide swing, she struck, the thick green glass connecting forcefully
with his skull.

The crack echoed sickeningly through the room.

For a long moment, he stared at her, his expression astonished. Then he blinked and
the fingers around her wrist went slack as he collapsed onto the floor.

She stared, her breath ragged.

Oh God, what have I done? Is he dead?