School For Heiresses 3- Beware A Scot's Revenge (21 page)

She didn’t understand. “So if he refuses to give you the money he owes—”

“Then I’ll call him out. And if you’re married to me, you’ll end up either a widow or the wife of yer father’s killer.” With a rigid tilt to his jaw, he crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Devil of a choice, wouldn’t you say?”

Chapter Sixteen

Dear Charlotte,

Why must you ask questions you know I won’t answer? This I will say: although I don’t much
enjoy society, I don’t stay locked away, either. If I did, how could I gain you the inside information
you need to help your girls? Careful, friend; if you don’t stop pestering me with questions about
my identity, you may find me much less eager to pass on my gossip.
Your determined-to-remain-anonymous friend,

Michael

L
achlan facedVenetia down, wishing desperately that she didn’t look so fetching in a shift, that her earlier cries of pleasure weren’t still echoing in his ears. Because her expression of horrified disbelief turned all his previous enjoyment to ashes.

“So that’s why we won’t be marrying,” he snapped. “This battle between me and yer father isn’t a game for ladies. It’s hard and cruel, and it won’t end to yer satisfaction, of that you can be sure.”

“Only because you’re both stubborn as the devil,” she said in a hollow voice.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

“Aye, I’m stubborn, but I deserve justice, damn it! And justice doesn’t mean letting him get away with what he did.”

“You’d fight him in a duel? That’s not justice. He’s an old man, not a soldier. We both know you’d win. It would be murder, pure and simple.”

“It was damned near murder when he set his men on me, but I don’t see you crying over the unfairness of that,” he spat.

“I did,” she said softly. “I do.”

There it came again, that sympathy in her face, that heart-wrenching sympathy that made him yearn. Damn her! There was no place in his plans for yearning.

“The point is,” he bit out, “marrying you won’t solve a damned thing. It’ll only force you into a terrible situation. And that’s assuming you could be happy with me in theHighlands at all, which is doubtful.”

“It certainly is,” she said haughtily, “if you’re meaning to kill my father.”

“I don’t want to! I want only what’s owed me.” He dragged in a heavy breath. “But if he refuses to pay, I’ll annihilate him, do ye ken?”

The vitriol in his voice made her recoil.

He struggled not to care. “I want the money. Failing that, I want to be sure he won’t send more men to kill me, and I can’t be sure of that unless he’s dead.”

“According to your image of him, you can’t be sure of that even if he pays the money.”

“Why would he kill me, then? He wouldn’t get the money back. But until the matter is settled, I can’t go back into the world. I refuse to spend my life hiding. One way or the other, this ends when he comes toScotland .”

“What if you married me?” A look of desperation crossed her face. “That would settle it. Surely he wouldn’t expose you if you were my husband. And my dowry is almost as large as his debt. You could forget about the loan.”

“Are you daft, lassie?” Opening his knapsack, he dragged out the tartan he used for warmth when he had to camp in the hills, then spread it on the floor where he’d thrown the pillow. “Have you forgotten who controls yer dowry?”

She paled. “Oh.”

“If we marry before yer father arrives, you’ll lose yer fortune and I’ll lose my chance at getting the money my clan needs. Besides, killing me would appeal to him even more if it was the only way to free you from my evil clutches.”

“He’s not this monster you make him out to be. If I could just talk to him, make it clear that I
want
to marry you, that I’m happy—”

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

“He’ll do a jig and forgive all, eh? Give us yer fortune, pay me back what he owes, welcome me into the loving arms of the family? Not bloody likely.”

“At least let me try.”

“No! I’m not taking the chance that he’ll cut you off and me in the bargain. My clan needs that money, do ye ken?”

She curled her arms about her stomach and sank down onto the bed. The haunted look on her face cut him to the soul. He hated destroying whatever romantic fairy story she’d been spinning for the two of them, but it was best to halt it now, before she started dreaming of how to paint Rosscraig and what color to weave the cloth for their baby’s blankets. He snorted. Weave the cloth, indeed. That was too practical. Fancy ladies plied their needles to ornament useless fripperies like dancing slippers and reticules. He couldn’t afford reticules or slippers for her. He could barely afford the copper for the whisky stills he hoped would make all their fortunes one day. The copper that Duncannon’s money would provide. But not if she tangled herself up in it. And for what? Because he’d given her pleasure, and she’d taken the notion that it boded well for their future? Damned fool female. What if she saw his manor and balked, as any woman of sense would? Then where would he be? Married to a woman whose father would kill to free her.

He wasn’t risking his head, nor his clan’s future. He needed that loan repaid, even if it meant he couldn’t have her. Even if it meant he’d never get to take her to bed, never get to make her his, never get…

He swore foully. Life wasn’t fair. He’d have to get used to it. “You understand now, don’t you, princess?”

She nodded mutely, tucking her legs up beneath her with the look of a wounded doe. Holy Christ, how that killed him.

“I have responsibilities to my clan and my crofters. I can’t just throw them away because I happen to fancy kissing Duncannon’s pretty daughter.”

“Stop calling me that, curse you!” Anger sparked in her eyes. “You’ve made it quite clear you have no desire to fit me into your life—don’t belabor the point.”

This time he made no attempt to apologize. Best to leave it this way. Then there’d be no confusion between them.

And no more kisses or caresses. No more fondling in the dark.

He gritted his teeth. This was how it had to be. He would never have dallied with her if he’d realized that she didn’t see it, too.

Right. He would have ignored the soft delicacy of her hands nursing him, the gentle caring of her smile…her half-naked form bending over him.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Don’t think about that, laddie, or you’ll never last the night.
“Well, then.” He tried for a tone of nonchalance. “Best we get some sleep.”

She rose abruptly. “You should take the bed. It’s not good for you to lie on the floor with your wounds still healing.”

That she could still care about his suffering made a lump lodge in his throat. “I slept on the ground on the way toEdinburgh ,” he said. “This is no different. At least I’ve got a pillow this time.”

“Lachlan—”

“No, lass, I’m not letting you sleep on the floor. Take the bed. That’s the end of it.”

As he turned to where he’d left his pillow and tartan, she hurried over to the bowl she’d left on the washstand. “At least let me finish dressing your wounds. I haven’t put the comfrey on them.”

“I don’t need—”

“I won’t take no for an answer.” She picked up the bowl, added some water, then worked the mixture with her fingers. “The crushed comfrey root is the most important part. It hardens on the wound, healing it over time. You must have it.”

Mo chreach,
would this night of tantalizing tortures never end? “All right,” he ground out, though he didn’t know how he’d survive another bout of her tender ministrations. “But be quick about it.”

Not only was the lass quick about it, she was downright unfeeling. With her face set, she plastered his worst wounds with the thick sludge and used some linen to bandage them. Then, cool as any physician, she washed her hands and trotted off to bed, leaving him staring after her. So that was how it would be, eh? No more kind smiles for him, oh no. She was done with that. Fine. He didn’t care.

He stretched out on his back on the hard floor, throttling his moans in his throat rather than have her hear them. He didn’t need her to nurse him, anyway—he’d done well enough until now without such a thing. Never mind that it felt good having her fuss over him. He wasn’t a lad anymore to need petting and such; he could take care of himself.

That was the unconvincing litany he recited as he fell off to sleep.

On the night after Venetia’s kidnapping, Maggie dined with Colonel Seton in the common room of theEdinburgh inn, wishing she didn’t feel so conspicuous. Surely people were wondering where her charge was. No one would believe for long the tale they’d spread about her niece being ill, not after how wellVenetia had looked only two nights ago.

Quentin would never forgive her for this. She could never forgive herself. Just the thought of whatVenetia might be enduring…

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
She moaned aloud.

“It will be all right, I swear.” The colonel gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, then held it a moment longer. Though she knew it was wrong of her to encourage such behavior, she let him. She was so worried, and he was so understanding, the poor, dear man.

Though it
was
scandalous that they should sit so, with their gloves off and their bare hands joined so shockingly.

“So your men have sent you no report?” she asked, trying not to notice that his strong grip made her tremble like a schoolgirl.

“Not yet.” He threaded his fingers with hers, his gaze a sharp, glimmering blue before he dropped it to their hands. “You know how wild theHighlands are. You can travel miles without seeing a village. And it’s only been a day—”

“A day and a half,” she corrected him.

He smiled indulgently. “Aye, a day and a half.”

“But the men left that very night?”

His smile faded. “I told you they did.”

“I would have felt better if I could have spoken to them first.”

“And how would that have kept your niece’s identity a secret?”

She’d forgotten about that stipulation. Nonetheless…“At least tell me whom you hired. Then when my brother-in-law arrives here, I’ll be able to tell him.”

The sudden flummoxed look on Colonel Seton’s face gave her pause. Until he began to cough and wheeze, and his cheeks turned a ruddy hue.

“Colonel Seton?” she asked. “Colonel? Are you all right?”

“Water,” he whispered. “Need…water…”

She poured water from a pitcher, then held it to his lips. But he was coughing so hard, he couldn’t manage more than a few sips.

Alarmed, she called for a servant. “My friend seems to be having an attack of some sort. Might you have a private parlor where he could rest for a moment?”

“Yes, my lady, this way,” the servant said.

Supporting the colonel with her arm about his waist, Maggie helped him stumble into the private room. Worry seized her heart as she sat beside him on a settee and stroked his back while he coughed. Strange how quickly she’d come to care for the man. She wished she could say it was only because he was helping her with the kidnapping, but she knew down deep that was a lie.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
After a few moments, his coughing subsided. “Better?” she asked.

“Much better,” he wheezed. Grabbing her hand, he cradled it against his chest. “Sometimes I have coughing fits. Bad lungs, you know.” He flashed her a warm smile. “Thanks for soothing it.”

“I did nothing really.” She fought the little flutter of her heart.

“Oh, you did plenty, lass. Plenty.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, then each knuckle, then turned it over so he could kiss her wrist.

“Colonel,” she said in a breathy voice, “perhaps you shouldn’t…that is…”

“Call me Hugh, at least.” His beautiful eyes played over her face. “And perhaps, if I might call you Maggie?”

“Yes,” she said, hardly realizing what she’d answered.

“Sweet, beautiful Maggie.” He leaned close as if to kiss her.

The door opened, and the innkeeper hurried in. “Are you all right, Colonel? My servant said you were unwell.”

The colonel—Hugh—let out a sigh. “I could be more right,” he said under his breath, his gaze dropping to Maggie’s mouth.

Her heart began to race in a most dangerous fashion before she shifted her gaze from him to the innkeeper. “Yes, he’s fine. But I’m sure he’ll feel better once he’s home.” She glanced at Hugh. “After all, the hour
is
late, sir.”

His brow darkened, but he nodded. “I suppose ye’re right. I should be going.” He stood and started to turn away.

“Wait, you said you’d tell me what men you hired,” she said.

With a furtive glance at the innkeeper, he murmured, “I’ll bring you a list in the morning, all right? We can have breakfast together.”

“Thank you, yes. That would be lovely.”

After he left, she spent most of the night wishing he’d stayed. So her first reaction when he didn’t come for breakfast the next morning was disappointment, followed swiftly by worry, since his note said he still felt unwell. She’d hoped he would at least send the list, but there was nothing with the note. He did, however, promise to attend her for dinner.

Except right before dinner he sent his regrets and promised breakfast the next morning. And still, no list. That’s when her suspicions became thoroughly roused. For a robust-looking soldier, Colonel Seton had more health problems than seemed normal: his bad foot, his lungs. Indeed, wasn’t it odd that a man with lung trouble would undertake a climb such as the one they’d gone on withVenetia ? And why did his health difficulties always crop up at the most inopportune times—that day on the mountain, and now when she wanted to know more about what he was doing to help her niece? It could
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
be nothing, of course, but still…