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Authors: Keeping Kate

Sarah Gabriel (8 page)

BOOK: Sarah Gabriel
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He pulled away. “We must go,” he said brusquely, grabbing her elbow.

“I do not think I want you for my lawyer,” she muttered.

E
merging into the dark courtyard beside Fraser, Kate felt the cool bliss of raindrops and wind on her face. She lifted her head, glad to be outside for the first time in days, regardless of the circumstances.

Hastening beside him, she stumbled. He put a hand at her waist and guided her with him. Ahead, she saw a post chaise in the shadows by the main gate, harnessed to a pair of horses.

A man opened the door and lowered the hinged step. He was young, lean as a whip, wearing dark clothing, his features hidden by a cocked hat. He was not military, she noted, puzzled, as Fraser urged her toward the open door.

Quickly, he lifted her around the waist and dumped
her inside the coach. Kate scrambled onto the bench seat as he came inside to sit beside her. The seat of squabbed leather was comfortable, though the vehicle was small, intended to hold two or three.

Windows pierced the sides and the door, and the sloped front wall of the coach had one small window. Through that opening, she could see the horses’ heads and saw the coachman leap onto one horse to ride postillion.

“Sit back and hold on,” Fraser said. “Our rider will be in something of a hurry, I think.”

She settled back against the seat, thought at first the coach moved slowly, stopping at the gate as the postillion rider spoke to the sentry. Fraser lifted a hand in a brief salute, and the coach rumbled out over one of the stone roads that Wade’s construction crews had been cutting throughout the Highlands.

Suddenly the rider urged the horses on, and the vehicle lurched and began to race. Kate slid across the bench seat into Fraser, who righted her. Quickly she moved back to her own corner by the window.

She watched outside as the chaise rolled along. The rain lessened, and the sky, still in gloaming, was a hazy lavender above the dark shoulders of the distant mountains. She leaned her cheek against cool glass and watched the stars sparkle through a veil of scudding clouds.

After a while, she glanced at Fraser, who sat an arm’s reach away. A damp chill pierced the coach, and she shivered, trying awkwardly to pull her plaid closer around her.

He reached out and helped her drape the arisaid over her shoulders, since she was hindered by her shackles. His hands were deft as he fixed the silver pin, caught in the fabric, more securely for her.

“Silk-lined woolen tartan,” he remarked, fingering the fabric. “You make quite the living as a laundress.”

“Laundresses can have nice things, too,” she said, and he was silent, fastening the brooch. For a moment, she savored his closeness, the warm scents of soap, man, and a surprising hint of something sweet. “You smell good,” she said impulsively. “I noticed it before.”

“Thank you,” he murmured.

She held out her hands. “You may take these chains off me now, if you please.”

He regarded her wryly. “We might bargain for it.”

“I will not bargain.” She opened her palm. “I’ll have the chains off, and I’ll have my necklace from you, too.”

She thought he pinched back a smile. “The larger chains will stay for now. And the finer chain is in my safekeeping.”

“But it’s mine,” she protested, feeling frantic suddenly. The necklace was more precious to her than anyone outside her family knew. From the age of seven, she had never been without it. “I must have it.”

He lifted a brow. “And you said your name was…?”

She caught her breath and looked away. Fraser propped an elbow on the window frame and rested his chin on his knuckles. For a few miles they rode in silence, Kate continually glancing over at him.

Still, though she would not admit it, she was grateful to be in a fine coach, warmed by her own plaid and on
her way somewhere, anywhere, rather than sitting in that dungeon. She was grateful to Fraser for taking her out of there. Although she did not want to admit it even to herself, she felt a subtle but definite thrill running through her as she sat near him.

The coach rumbled along, and Kate bounced a little on the seat. The shackles, resting in her lap, clanked. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“Away from the Highlands,” Fraser said simply. His piercing gaze made her flutter inside, then he looked out the window again. In the dim light, his chiseled profile blended elegance and strength, so easy to admire that it made her feel pleasant inside. But his dark, straight brows were pulled tight.

“We’re following Wade’s road down the Great Glen into Perthshire,” she observed. “Will we head to Edinburgh from there, or take the lesser road straight east?”

“We’ll travel through Perthshire, then southeast for Edinburgh. If weather allows, we’ll make only one stop, since MacDonald recommends that for the sake of the horses.”

“MacDonald?”

“My ghillie and my cousin, John MacDonald. Jack.”

She nodded. “Your kin are MacDonalds?”

“Aye. My mother was born a MacDonald of Keppoch.”

She blinked. “The Keppoch clan are strongly Jacobite. But you’re a regimental officer, and a Fraser. What sort of Fraser are you—the Whiggish sort, or the Highland sort?”

He smiled. “
Comme çi, comme ça.
” He waved his hand.

She narrowed her glance. “A captain in a Highland In
dependent Company, wearing Highland gear and speaking only a smattering of Gaelic…you must be one of Fraser of Lovat’s own kin, since you are an officer.”

“That’s quite astute,” he said, sounding surprised.

“I would not be proud of the association, either, if I were you. Simon Fraser of Lovat has long toed the line in this dispute, when he is not turning in Scotsmen whom he has befriended. And now they say he refuses to acknowledge James as Scotland’s true king.”

“Well informed, lass.” He folded his arms.

“Your chief is well-known among Highlanders and Lowlanders alike. He began the first independent companies himself to form several companies of the Highland Watch. A good thing, until he gave control over to the British. Surely Lovat would place his own trusted kin as officers so that he could maintain a hand.”

“He likes money and the convenience of no longer having to supervise the companies,” he answered.

“And now you supervise one for him?”

He shook his head. “My father bought me a commission when I was younger, and Lovat made me a captain in one of his watches, the company called
Am Freiceadan Dubh
—”

“The Black Watch. I’ve heard of it,” she said. “So you are in Lovat’s pocket! Do you flip and flop as he does to protect yourself?”

“I am firm as a rock,” he drawled, “in my convictions.”

“I cannot argue that,” she murmured. Then she scowled, for his answering chuckle thrilled her too much. “But I cannot trust a turncoat, even one with Highland blood.”

“I am not a turncoat. And are you so willing to forget that we enjoyed…a friendly encounter previously?” he asked softly.

“It did not end on friendly terms. And,” she said emphatically, “it will not happen again.”

He was quiet. “Agreed.”

She felt disappointed by his reply rather than validated. Looking away, she watched the passing landscape in silence, then glanced at him again. “When we arrive in the city, will you deliver me to the Tolbooth, or to Edinburgh Castle?”

He settled back, glanced at her. “So eager to be confined?”

She lifted the chains, shook them. “I would rather be free. You could easily do that for me.”

“If I let you loose, you might decide to fling yourself from the carriage and run off.”

“What an interesting idea,” she drawled. “But my back and my limbs are still sore from the courteous treatment I had at Inverlochy Castle, thank you.”

“You can thank Colonel Grant for that. Tell you what,” he said, reaching into his sporran. “Promise me something, and we will bargain.”

“For my necklace?” she asked.

In answer, he waggled a small iron key with two fingers.

“I promise my good behavior,” she blurted.

“I was thinking of a more reliable token than that. Your name would be good for a start.”

“Kate.”

“Now, now. Full name.” He flipped the key, caught it.

“Katherine.”

“Pretty, but it won’t win the bargain, Miss Katherine. Or shall I call you Katie Hell?”

“You may call me Miss Hell,” she said primly.

He laughed. Kate had not expected that, or her reaction to its quiet warmth. She wanted to hear the sound again.

“Miss Hell,” he mused. “What clan is that? MacHellion? Are there many like you, Amazonian Jacobites snatching documents, hefting pistols and poison, and using female wiles on unsuspecting governmental officers?”

She lifted her chin, unsure how to reply. There was little point in denying that she was Katie Hell. Fraser and Grant, too, had sorted out that the laundress, the widow, the old wisewoman, the young woman in search of her brother—all the roles she had played over the past year—were the work of Katie Hell. Part of her secret was revealed—but Fraser alone knew more about her than any other man.

Not only had he claimed her body and captured a little of her heart in ways no man ever had—but he also had seen her in St. James’s Palace last spring. His testimony, if he chose to give it, would be enough to hang her as an
intriguante.
He could place her not only in the military encampment but near the king.

And if he learned her name, he would have enough evidence to arrest her kinsmen as well.

“Kate,” he prodded, as she remained silent.

She did not answer as she watched scenery flash by the window. The rain clouds were clearing, and she
saw the glitter of water beyond the lacy shapes of the trees. The chaise rushed over the road, and Kate shifted in her seat, chains jangling.

“Those irons look beastly uncomfortable,” Fraser said.

She shrugged. The chains were painfully heavy.

“Why did you come to my tent that night?” he asked. “What did you expect to find among my papers?” His gaze was intense.

Any information she gave him could condemn her and her kin. This man had showed her some small kindnesses, but she could not trust him—did not know if she ever could.

“What did you think to gain by seducing me? Not that I minded that part,” he added.

“What?” She blinked, looked at him quickly. “Seduce you? I never did that.”

“Have you forgotten?” He leaned over a little, his shoulder touching hers, the pressure sending a delicate shiver through her. “We made love that night, if memory serves. Or nearly so. I do recall enough,” he said, leaning closer and lowering his voice to a murmur, “to know that we shared more than just some kisses.”

“I recall nothing of the sort,” she said, lifting her chin.

“Do you not? I will not be ungentlemanly, Miss Katie—Katherine—what-you-will, but truthfulness is best here. You and I both know what happened. You perhaps more than I.”

“If you want truth, then you should recall that
you
seduced
me
,” she snapped. “I had every intention of leaving that tent as fast as I could.” She turned her head away again, heart pounding.

He had turned the tables on her that night, something she could not say aloud. Katie Hell had fallen, hard and fast and foolishly, for his kisses and his touch. And that dreadful mistake had resulted in her arrest.

“Seduced you? My dear, I was barely conscious after you put whatever it was in my tea, but I do remember what we did, or most of it. No, do not look away again. You’re no prim lass, if rumor serves. And I am not prone to bedding laundresses…or ladies of the royal court either.” He lifted a brow.

“Rumor does not serve.” She raised her chin. “And you are an insufferable cad.”

“That was you, wasn’t it, in London, last March?”

Her heart raced. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Perhaps you’ll remember soon.” He extended his open hand, the key upon his palm. “Sooner or later, Kate,” he murmured, “you must talk for even a chance at freedom. I do not mean now, from those chains. I mean…altogether.”

She shook her head, glanced down. “I cannot.”

“Then I presume you know something. Tell me,” he went on quietly. “I’ll listen. I promise not to use whatever it is against you.” His voice was soft, compelling.

“I cannot trust you.” Crazily, she wanted to do so. She wanted to forget all this and go to him, feel his arms around her again. But that desire made no real sense to her—the world had gone topsy-turvy. He had arrested her. She did not know what he wanted of her. And yet, he made her feel good. Safe.

Fraser slid the key back into his inside pocket and inclined his head to watch her in silence.

Kate sighed. “I suppose you think I am a true wanton. But I am not. Nor am I a criminal in need of restraint.” She shook the cuffs and chains. “You could free me here, in this chaise, if nothing else out of plain courtesy.”

“I would, if I believed that
I
could trust
you
.” He settled back. “I suggest you sleep. It will be a long ride.”

“Please,” she said. “The cuffs are hurting me.”

He tilted his head, relaxed and in control, an ease of manner rather than arrogance. She hated it all the same. “Just give me a little of the truth, Kate.”

“The truth is you are a damnable beast.”

“Ah. The lass needs a tongue-scrubbing.” He closed his eyes as if to sleep.

She sighed. “What can I bargain other than my name?”

“Do you really want an answer to that?” He opened an eye, closed it.

She knew what he meant, knew her own reputation. Remembering deep, luscious kisses, Kate glanced at him, at his lips, his hands. Blushing furiously, she was glad of the darkness. “Very well. My name is Marie Katherine. I cannot tell you more than that. Please understand. It would endanger too many.”

“Well, that’s more than we had.” He took the key out.

She lifted her hands. “At least loosen the manacles.”

“Iron cuffs cannot be loosened, darling. They are either on, or they are off.”

“Off, then. Please,” she added. Darling—somehow it melted her, weakened her utterly. For an instant, she felt tears sting, but drew a breath against them.

He played with the key. “Why were you in my quarters?”

BOOK: Sarah Gabriel
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