If You Dare (13 page)

“We've established that your behavior is off.”

“No—”

“What we need to know is why,” Niall interrupted.

“I'll be damned before I let you study me. It's my business.”

“I'm your cousin. MacCarrick is my clan, too. What you do does concern me.”

“How could this—”

“The curse.”

“Bloody hell, doona start on that.” They closed in on the lodge, the lodge where they would drop this conversation. From their vantage, he could already see it down the mountain. His brows drew together. Why the hell was the place bright with light this late?

“You canna ignore it any longer.” Lowering his voice, Niall said, “You reacted as you never have before.” His horse, sensing a barn and rest, tried for a trot, but Niall reined him in. “I'd thought that part of you was simply dead, and was glad of it, but it's no'.”

Court hiked his shoulders. “This will be done soon. I'll get her to safety, and then it's finished.” They'd planned to free
her and her brother and get them to the lodge, but if Llorente was dead, Court had promised Niall he'd see the girl to a safe house near Toulouse.

“You will leave her behind in France?” he asked as they rode into the rickety stable.

“Yes,” Court said firmly, but damn it all, he'd hesitated a slight second and Niall knew it. Something
was
off with him, his reaction to her unique. He was as confounded about it as Niall was.

“Damn it, Court, if you hurt her, you'll never be right. Look at Ethan—that's as wrong as a man can get.”

Court's eldest brother, Ethan, was a fearsome man in both looks and deed, and his fiancée's mysterious death had only fueled the rumors surrounding—

Shrieks interrupted his thoughts. From inside sounded Annalía's screams, punctuated by loud crashes and all the men cheering.

They heard it just as they were dismounting. He and Niall shared a look, then ran into the house. They found Liam standing outside a room, egged on by thirty raucous Highlanders, as he raised his arms over his head and advanced under a barrage of vases, candleholders, shoes, and boxes. An outraged screech sounded with each hurled object.

Court elbowed through the men, who now cheered him and slapped his back to see him alive, until he reached Liam. Court tapped him on the shoulder and cocked his eyebrows, and Liam happily backed away. The men grew quiet.

Court almost felt sorry for her as he assumed his most threatening expression and readied to enter. He put himself in the line of fire, barely dodging a crystal vase filled with packing straw, but he never slowed his ominous stride toward her.

He caught her eyes, saw her in a clinging fire-red dress, with her hair curling and free and her breasts nearly spilling
out, and his jaw dropped. In a thunderstruck tone, he said, “Anna?” just as she brained him with a candleholder.

•  •  •

Aleix woke late in the night to the sound of many footsteps descending the stairs. He rubbed his eyes, frowning into the darkness.

The guards never came this late. Comprehension stabbed at him, and he knew why they would this night.

He was about to be executed.

“Papa.” Olivia's voice? She sounded as though she were on the stairs as well. “Perhaps you shouldn't act hastily with Llorente.”

“What do you mean?” Pascal asked.

“I believe this is a very delicate time. The prisoner is beloved by these people.” Her voice was laced with disgust. “His execution could be the catalyst they need to rebel again.”

Aleix shook himself. She was right. It would enrage them.

“And this could be the last straw for Spain.” The footsteps halted outside his room. “You know they are on the verge of retrieving their deserters. If they decide to become involved . . .”

Damn it,
Aleix thought,
that's what I've wanted for months.

“What do you suggest?”

“We must not act rashly. I know it was infuriating that she was taken, but instead of killing her, I suggest you retrieve her and carry out your plan to marry, solidifying your claim. Afterward you can dispose of Llorente, supplanting him in the people's affections.”

Retrieve? Taken?
Perhaps they had some ally who'd prevented the nuptials. His heart leapt at the thought. The first hope he'd felt in days.

“But she's tainted,” Pascal said.
Tainted?

Olivia asked, “Do you think the Highlanders will use her?”
Those animals took Annalía?

“It doesn't matter if they do or don't—she'll be ruined in everyone's eyes. Our guests will see to that.”

Aleix struggled not to yell, struggled not to ram his head against the walls in rage. Why would the Highlanders do that when they worked for Pascal? When they'd defeated Aleix and his men not two weeks ago for the bastard.

“The benefits of marrying her will still outweigh the detriments. Think of Spain, Papa. And if she does carry a child, she can have an . . . accident and you can marry again.”

A pause. Alex could picture the general's thoughtful expression. Finally, he said, “I suspect it's too late, but I will try.”

“I think that's a wise decision.” “You always were my most cunning child, Olivia. Cold, just like me.”

“Yes, Papa. Just like you.”

That bitch.

•  •  •

Annalía could see MacCarrick's expression turn menacing, his body tensing as he rubbed his temple. She snatched a pitcher from the straw-lined crate and readied it to throw.

“Doona think of it,” he warned in a rasp, scowling at her weapon.

She reared back her arm, just about to hurl it.

“I said”—he seized one wrist, then the other in one hand, then set the pitcher down—
“no.”

“And I've told you,” she bit out as she kicked his knee, “to go to hell,
bèstia!”

Still holding her wrists in a manacle-like grip, he set her away so she couldn't reach him with her pointy slippers and doubtless so he could gape further at her dress—the Pascal special she'd been trapped in. When the two ruffians had carried her inside this hovel and had set her on her feet with her hands bound, displaying her like a prize, she'd been forced to
watch in horror as her breasts had nearly spilled out in front of all these men.

MacCarrick began to speak, then closed his mouth, never taking his eyes from her chest.

“You are despicable!” she cried. “Is that why you kidnapped me? Because you wanted me? Because of one miserable kiss?”

At the last, she thought she heard murmuring just outside the door. MacCarrick turned to glower, but everyone had disappeared from view. “Doona flatter yourself,” he grated over his shoulder before facing her again, this time actually looking at her
face.

“Then why?”

“I have my reasons. Chief among them is revenge against Pascal.”

“But why me?” she demanded. “When will you return me?”

“We will no'.”

“But you must! You don't understand!”

“Doona understand that he was holding your brother's life over you to get you to marry him? Doona understand what you are?”

She labored for breath. “Y-You know that the only thing keeping my brother alive is my marrying Pascal? Why in God's name would you take me?”

“Your brother's gone, lass.”

“No, MacCarrick. He is not.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I have it on good authority that as of tonight he still lived.”

He shook his head. “We checked the jail for him. He was gone.”

She sneered the words. “That's because Pascal is keeping him at the main house.”

“And who told you that?”

She put her chin up. “A reliable source.” She knew he
would scoff that she believed Olivia. And truthfully, Olivia had never
said
he was there. But Annalía
knew.

“Tell me.”

When she didn't answer, he said, “Then I'll assume you're lying and will no' listen to you anymore.”

“Fine. Pascal's daughter told me.”

“Very reliable source you've gotten yourself.”

“You won't believe me, but know this, I won't believe you. He isn't dead, yet he might be after your efforts today if I don't get back there!” She marched past him, but he caught her around the waist, spinning her back into the room. “You can't keep me here!”

“Aye, I can. I'll no' let you risk your life when there's nothing to gain.”

“It's my risk to take!”

“No' anymore,” he said so easily.

“And just what do you intend to do with me?”

“We'll wait here for a couple of days, then I'm taking you to a posting house in Toulouse. It's safe there. You can contact your family.”

Her hands balled into fists. “And I should just trust that your intention is to get me to safety? Out of the kindness of your heart? I seem to recall you saying ‘Never trust me, Annalía.' ” She lowered her voice and mocked his Scottish accent. “ ‘I'm bluidy bad and ye wilnah liv tae regret it, Annha-leha.' ”

Outright laughter from the next room. He turned with a scowl, then faced her again. “I never said I was
bad.”

“I took license!” She fought to dampen her temper. “I am . . . sorry. I just want to come to some terms.” When he appeared unmoved, she resorted to begging. Clasping her hands together, she said, “I will agree to what you . . . to what you said before, but please—please—let me return to Pascal.” Instead of this softening him, he appeared to grow even angrier.

“Forget it. The plan goes ahead.”

“But I saved your life!”

“And I canna tell you how much I appreciate that.”

Loathe you.
So she wouldn't reach out her hands to strangle him, she crossed her arms over her chest. His gaze flickered over her breasts again as if he couldn't stop himself from leering.

And as easily as that, his mind was again on bedding her. “You are a rutting Scottish animal just as everyone said.”

He met her eyes, his expression deadly. “Calling me that? When you were there to
rut
with the general.”

She sucked in a breath. “I was there to marry him!”

“Even worse,”
he roared. “Why no' tell me the truth?”

“Why should I have?” she asked, truly bewildered. “Because of our friendship? Because of the kindness you showed me? You're worse than you think he is, which is precisely why I chose him over you!”

“I dinna harm you. I dinna steal your jewels or silver—”

“You say these things as if they're noteworthy!”

“For a mercenary, they are!” He raked his fingers through his hair.

“You're no
mercenary,”
she spat the word. “Mercenaries kill and then receive money for it. From what I heard at Pascal's you haven't managed the last.”

“You know nothing.”

“Couldn't get the gold from him? So for revenge you kidnap an innocent girl before her wedding?”

“Innocent?” He laughed, a mean, mocking sound. “You were no' so innocent on the desk.
Milady.”

Over her gasp, she again heard noise at the doorway. While MacCarrick strode to the door and slammed it shut, grating, “Mind your own damned business,” she tried to will the blood from her face.

Oh, my Lord.
Her skin burned, her eyes watering from humiliation that her shameful secret was known to these strange men. As long as she lived she'd never give in to passion again. MacCarrick was cruel,
taunting
her first taste of it, deriding what she'd found pleasant.
Not so innocent on the desk.
She turned from him, futilely tearing at her bodice.

“I wonder what Pascal would think about your kissing me right before the wedding.”

She replied over her shoulder, “I have never lamented anything more in my entire life.” A statement that was absolutely true.

He clutched her arm hard and turned her. “I've done you a favor. I saved you to repay my debt. I could have ransomed you to get back my money.”

“Yes!” she cried. “Please ransom me! Send a note, and then he'll know I didn't leave willingly—he'll know I was taken.”

“You've met him, you know he's a butcher, and you still trust him to have kept your brother alive? You trust him to free a man who's his biggest liability?”

“Yet you worked for him? Try to reason this out with your dull Scottish brain—if you're hired to do the dirty work of a ‘butcher,' then guess what that makes you?” She yanked her arm free. “You might want to think twice about calling Pascal one in front of me.”

“The opposite holds true as well, then. If we're as bad as you think, then know the fiancé you're keen to get back to was directing us,” he grated. “But you think to take his word?”

“Over yours?” she asked in disbelief. “Of course I would!” He strode to the doorway, but turned back to say, “Under-stand, I've locked the shutters outside—the thick, heavy shutters. And we'll all be out in the next room. There's no way to escape.” He slammed the door so hard the walls quaked.

“I wish I'd let you rot by the river!” she screamed, then took stock of her situation. She would get back to Pascal or she would die trying. She
would
marry him.

The irony wasn't lost on her. She'd dreaded marrying Pascal. Down to her very bones she'd rebelled against the idea. Now she was being forced to forgo being forced to marry. This was all MacCarrick's fault, and she simply could not allow him to hurt her anymore.

Tonight it had felt
good
to fight, to lash out against those who would control her.