Seduced by the Highlander (6 page)

The Highlander sheathed his knife in his belt. “I’ve been hunting you down for three years, Raonaid. I’ll not give up now.”

“You are still certain that I am her.”

“Aye. Whether or not you’re telling the truth about your lost memories I don’t know, but one way or another, you’re going to remember the night you cursed me. I’ll find a way to make it so.”

She swallowed uneasily. “How do you plan to do that? The doctor has been thoroughly unsuccessful in helping me to remember.”

“Your doctor doesn’t know how to apply pressure like I do.”

She mulled over his meaning and spoke with seething hostility. “You’re going to threaten me again with ravishment, and try to frighten the truth out of me. Is that it?”

“Whatever it takes.”

She wanted to know the truth herself, desperately so, but she would not stand for abuse.

Taking a closer look at his black eye and the blood seeping through the front of his shirt, she asked, “How did you escape the prison coach?”

He put his finger to his lips again, as if he’d heard something. With light, swift movements, he crossed the library and peered out into the corridor. Reassuring himself that no one was about, he answered the question. “They tried to kill me on the way to the village.”

“Who did?”

“The magistrate and his thugs. He said they were to make it look like they were just doing their jobs, so they let me out of the coach, loaded their pistols, and told me to run.”

“And that’s what you did?”

“Nay, I didn’t
run,
” he practically spat. “I kicked the weapons out of their hands and used my fists.”

She glanced down at his big hands and saw that his knuckles were nicked and bloody. “But there were four of them,” she said with disbelief, not wanting to admit to herself—or to him—that she was impressed by such a feat.

“Aye,” he said. “Although there might not be quite so many of them now.” He peered out the door again to make sure no one was coming. “I might have killed one or two. Inadvertently.”

She pointed at the wound on his stomach. “What happened there?”

He glanced down and seemed to notice for the first time that his shirt was soaked with blood. “
Ah, ballocks.
One of them knifed me, but it’s just a scratch. I’ll live.”

They stood for a moment, staring at each other in the tense, heart-pounding silence, until he cocked his head at her shrewdly.

“If you’re thinking about screaming and turning me in,” he warned, “you ought to think again. Something’s not right here, witch. I believe they’re using you as much as you are using them.”

His eyes dipped lower, and he seemed to take in all the swells and curves of her body, awarding special attention to her neckline and breasts.

For a shaky moment she didn’t hear a single word he said, for she was growing weak in the knees under the stormy heat of his gaze. Everything about him was darkly sexual, burning with angry need, and she couldn’t deny that although he frightened her and made her fear for her safety, on some basic level, he fascinated her.

Catherine shook herself out of that treacherous fog, and worked to sort out what he was trying to say to her.

“I told you before,” she replied, “I am not using them.” She paused and shifted her weight from one foot to the other and recalled her constant suspicion that her grandmother was hiding something from her. “But what makes you think that?”

“You’re worth a lot of money, are you not? Or at least, Catherine was. Everyone in Scotland knows she’s about to receive a considerable inheritance, and from what I’ve heard, if she’s not alive to collect it, it will be forfeited to the Jacobite cause.”

She nodded her head. “Yes, but I
am
alive, and it’s
my
money. At least it will be in six weeks’ time, when I turn five-and-twenty. You think they are using me to gain access to it? To keep it from landing in the hands of the Jacobites?”

“Someone ordered me dead today,” he said, “because I know who you are. I wouldn’t want the same thing to happen to you, lass. Not before you lift that curse.”

“But I
can’t
lift it,” she insisted.

He stalked forward and caught her by the arm. His scorching gaze dropped to her parted lips. His face was only inches away; she could feel his breath beating against her cheeks. She sucked in a quivering breath.

“You’re lying.”

This time she did not argue. She could not even speak.

“I’ll use force if I have to,” he said in a low, threatening voice. “One way or another, you’re going to give me what I want.”

Her flesh sizzled where he touched her. She understood that it was part fear, part irrational excitement. He was stunningly handsome, bold and robust, and when she thought of how he had fought off all those armed guards, single-handedly, her body went weak all over again.

God,
why did he have to be so potent and alive? She didn’t want to feel any of the things she was feeling, but something about him awakened her spirit, and she was beginning to feel that he was the key to her past—that he would awaken her memories as well. Make them positively explode out of that tight, locked box.

“I told you,” she replied nevertheless, lifting her chin and breathing in his musky scent while reminding herself not to become too swept up in his vigor, for he might be handsome, but he was also dangerous and volatile. “I don’t know how to help you.”

The sheer force of his silence held her captive as his eyes burned into hers. Then suddenly he began to wrench up her skirts and wrestle with his kilt.

“What are you doing?” she asked in horror, fighting to twist out of his hold.

“We’ll do it your way then,” he growled. “If you won’t lift the curse, you’ll have to share it with me. Maybe then you’ll be more accommodating, when
you’re
the one who’s staring death in the eye.”

He crowded up against her until the backs of her knees collided with the sofa and she landed with a gasp on the plush cushions. He stood over her, gazing down with raging eyes, and was about to push her legs apart and descend upon her when she held up her hands and cried, “
All right! All right! I’ll lift it! I promise!
”

With one knee braced upon the sofa cushion, he halted. His chest heaved wildly.

“Do it then,” he commanded. “Do it
now.
”

Anxiety spurted through her. Part of her wanted to cry out for help, but who would hear her at this hour, in this deserted wing of the house? And if someone did come, her cousin would most assuredly kill this man, and she would never know the truth about her life.

What if he was right? What if these people were using her to gain access to Catherine’s inheritance? What if they had done something to her, to make her forget her life and cause her to unwittingly play the part of their missing heiress?

“Take me to Angus,” she demanded in a rush of desperation, needing to see the man who had allegedly been such an important part of her life. The man who was once her lover. “I promise that by seeing him again, I will be able to lift the curse. I just need to remember.…” She fought to consider the more detailed logistics of such an arrangement and quickly added, “I won’t do anything for you until you deliver me to him.
Safely.
”

The corner of the Highlander’s mouth twitched.

“I need to know who I am,” she continued to explain. “I cannot go on living like this. Only then will I be able to help you.”

They glared at each other like two cats, each waiting for the other to pounce; then he pulled her swiftly to her feet.

“How do I know I can trust you?” he asked.

“How do I know I can trust
you
? Especially when you are always looking at me as if…” She paused and gestured toward his big, rampant body. “As if you want to
eat
me.”

He gave her a threatening glare. “I
do
want to eat you, lass. And I can’t guarantee I won’t try to steal a taste of you along the way. It’s been a miserable three-year famine, you see, and I’m
verra
hungry.”

She could see that quite clearly for herself.

Nevertheless, she stood her ground. “No, that will not do. I’m going to need your word of honor that you will not touch me. If you give me that, I will leave this house with you quietly, without a fight. I promise.”

But would she be able to lift the curse when she met her former lover again? She wasn’t sure, and she knew this was a dangerous game to play.

The air sparked and crackled between them while the Highlander considered her proposition.

At last he gave her the answer she wanted. “All right, lass. I’ll take you with me.”

Catherine exhaled sharply with relief—a feeling that was quickly extinguished when he moved forward and spoke low in her ear.

“But know this,” he whispered with sinister intent. “If you break your word to me and do not lift that curse when we reach Kinloch, I swear on my life that I will take great pleasure in killing you with it.”

He took hold of her hand and led her out, while she prayed to God that she would get her memories back before then.

Chapter Five

Catherine settled into the saddle on the giant black warhorse, realizing with some frustration that she was still dressed for dinner. Her hair was curled and powdered, she wore formal silks and velvets, and the priceless Drumloch jewels were strung prettily around her neck.

“I don’t suppose you’d permit me to go back inside and put on something more … appropriate.”

The horse tossed his big black head, and his shiny mane flung about as he whinnied and grumbled.

“Nay, lassie,” the Highlander replied as he checked his saddlebags to make sure nothing was missing. “No time for that. Besides, I wouldn’t want you to change your mind about not turning me in.”

He swung up behind her and gathered the reins in his hands, then urged the monstrous snorting creature out of the stable to the meadow beyond. They galloped hard until they reached the forest; then the Highlander drew lightly on the reins.

“Whoa.”
His horse slowed to a walk.

“It’s very dark in here,” Catherine said as they entered the pitch-black depths of the wood.

Unable to see much of anything through the silent, murky gloom, she became more intensely aware of what she could
feel
—the firm wall of the Highlander’s chest at her back, rubbing up against her.

“How will we see where we are going?” she asked, struggling to ignore the vital sensation of his big, hard body, so close to her own.

“Leave that to me.” The creature’s hooves plodded heavily over the damp ground. “How long will it be before someone notices your absence?”

“Not until morning. Though my maid will notice later tonight.”

“Will she speak up?”

Catherine considered it. “No, she’s quiet and discreet. I believe she will wait for someone to question her.”

Catherine’s eyes adjusted eventually to the reduced light, and she was thankful at least for the full moon, which provided some illumination through the thick autumn foliage.

The horse picked his way gallantly over the leaves and dry twigs, and they soon found a narrow bridle path that took them farther away from the manor house.

“What is your name, Highlander?” she asked. “You have not yet revealed it.”

“I am Lachlan MacDonald, former Laird of War at Kinloch Castle.”

“Ah. A powerful and battle-seasoned warrior. I should have known.”

He gave no reply, and she did not press him for one, for she had not accompanied him on this journey in order to become better acquainted. All she wanted was to meet the man who had allegedly been her lover. She had so many questions for him.

But what if she found him hideous? What if he was cruel?

What if she still loved him?

“Tell me about Angus,” she blurted out, hoping to quench some of her curiosity and ease the nerve-racking fires of doubt in her belly.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything. Why do they call him the Lion?”

“Because he is a fierce and ruthless warrior, famous for his killing exploits during the rebellion.”

“The Jacobite Rebellion?” Her family had claimed she was a passionate supporter of the cause before she went missing.

John, on the other hand, was a Hanoverian.

“Aye. His father raised an army for the battle at Sherrifmuir.”

“That is particularly interesting,” she said. “Catherine Montgomery’s father, the former earl, died in that battle.” She turned her head to the side. “Does the Lion’s father still live?”

“Nay, he died for the cause, too, and now Angus just wants peace.”

Catherine considered all that Lachlan had told her so far and strained to remember. She tried to imagine a ruthless, lionish warrior who fought bravely in Scottish battles, but alas, nothing seemed familiar.

“Is there anything else you can tell me?”

He leaned forward and spoke in a soft voice that was snide and taunting. “He has a beautiful wife and child.”

Catherine turned quickly in the saddle. “A wife and child? Since when?”

Lachlan frowned at her, and his head drew back slightly. “You truly do not remember? Or are you just a gifted actress?”

“How many times must I say it? I do not remember a thing. I cannot even
imagine
what Angus looks like.”

Lachlan regarded her with increasing frustration, and she wondered if he would ever believe her about her lost memories. Either way, he seemed disappointed that she was not throwing a tantrum about the mention of a wife and child.

“Imagine this,” he answered harshly. “He looks like a lion, and has a mighty roar.”

The horse lost his footing slightly over the uneven ground. Catherine slid sideways in the saddle, but Lachlan held her steady.

Again, to her dismay, his touch sent a tingling flow of excitement through her body. It was a feeling she fought hard to crush.