The Capture of the Earl of Glencrae (35 page)

After a few seconds, she felt the first tug.

“I'm agreeing to this only because there is no other way.” His words reached her, low, frustrated, but also deliberate. Committed. “But that doesn't mean I approve, or that I'm not . . . torn. Never in my life has there been anyone or anything that has meant as much as clan to me. You do. Having to choose between you and clan—”

“You don't have to choose.” His fingers paused, and she went on, “As your countess-to-be, I consider myself clan—clan is now as important to me as it is to you. Just like you, I will do whatever is needed to ensure the clan thrives—that's what clan is about, isn't it?”

A silent moment passed, then his fingers tugged at her laces again. “I don't deserve you.”

Her heart swelling, she smiled. “Actually, you do—you just haven't fully realized it yet.”

“Be that as it may, although during this charade there'll obviously be times I'll have to follow your lead, I will do whatever I must to keep you safe.”

“I know you will—I would expect nothing less from you.”

“We're agreed on that, at least.” He pulled the laces through, started to tie them. “I know I have to trust you in this, trust you to know what you're doing, and I do,
but
 . . .” He paused, hands stilling, then she heard him drag in a breath. “It would help if you would promise that the instant you want to pull back, the instant anything frightens or offends you too deeply for you to go on, that you'll tell me.”

He knotted the laces and released them. She turned as he lowered his hands. She looked into his face, an impassive, impenetrable mask, but the real man—the man who loved her—looked back at her from his storm-sea eyes. “I promise. If things get too bad, I'll tell you.”

He exhaled. “Thank you.” He held her gaze. “There's one more thing.” When she arched her brows, he said, “I can't protect you if I'm standing behind you.”

She studied his eyes, considered what he was really saying. Negotiation being their key, she offered, “You can step in front of me, but only if there's no other way.
No
other option. Agreed?”

He held her gaze for a long moment, then curtly nodded. “Agreed.” His features eased not one jot, but he stepped back and waved her through the trees.

Five minutes later, wrapped in a rough wool cloak Jessup had produced, the hood pulled low over her head and face, and with her boots changed for her ballroom slippers, she sat with her hands bound as loosely as possible to the crook of her sidesaddle, now perched on the oldest sumpter horse. Beneath the hood, loose strands of her hair wreathed her face and neck; she and Brenda had dusted her gown here and there with dirt, and used grass to stain it in several places.

With every element of her disguise in place, eyes locked on Dominic's broad back, she watched as her wild highland laird led the sumpter horse and her on the very final leg of their journey, and into the battle to wrest the goblet from the dragon holding it, him, his castle, and his people to ransom.

Chapter Seventeen

T
he castle was far larger than she'd imagined.

Her first glimpse was of the top of the battlemented keep, then the lane curved north and a break in the trees revealed the massive gatehouse—twin cylindrical towers flanking a huge drawbridge, presently down. The clouds had thinned, allowing a suggestion of sunlight to filter through. The further they rode, the more of the fortified castle wall became visible, the expanse of gray stone exuding a sense of solid, rocklike permanence.

The castle reminded her of its owner—large, immovable, utterly dependable when it came to safety and security, and impressive in a viscerally powerful way.

The more she stared, excitement and delight welled, tinged with a certain awe. Also like him, this would be hers; this henceforth would be her domain.

A distant halloo rolled out over the trees. Dominic raised a hand in acknowledgment.

He'd told her the castle stood on an island and was reached from the loch's southern shore via a smaller island; lowering her gaze, she saw reflected sunlight dappling the base of the castle wall. “Is the drawbridge in working order?”

Without turning, he replied, “Yes, but we rarely raise it. At night we lower one or other of the portcullises.”

Thinking of their charade, she schooled her body into a defeated slump but continued to survey all from beneath her hood.

Ten minutes later, they reached the loch's shore and crossed a wooden bridge to the smaller island, the clop of hooves echoing loudly over the water. Unable to help herself, she looked around more openly, using apparent panic to disguise her curiosity. Shaped like a rounded crescent moon sailing in the lee of the castle walls, the smaller island was covered with grass, a smattering of low shrubs, and a few stray trees. The bridge from the shore gave access to the eastern end, while the castle's drawbridge met the western end, forcing anyone who wished to enter the castle to parade the entire length of the smaller island in full view of the castle walls.

While they did precisely that, she surveyed the island the castle dominated. Far larger than the smaller island, it appeared a heavily wooded, elongated oval with the castle occupying its center, the stone walls vertical to the waterline, leaving treed areas to either side, not sculpted parks but wilderness. The wilds of Scotland came right to the castle's door, a fact emphasized by a majestic backdrop of mountains, their peaks barren and brown, the lower slopes thickly timbered.

Surrounded by the primitive glory of Scotland, the castle was one of the most romantic sights she'd ever seen.

As far as she could tell, these were the only two islands in the loch. Since they'd turned off the main lane several miles back, she'd glimpsed no habitations for either man or beast.

They were approaching the drawbridge. Dominic glanced at her, met her eyes. “Ready?”

From within her hood's shadows, she flashed him a grin, tipped up her chin, but didn't alter her dejected pose. “Lead on.”

He held her gaze for a moment, then faced forward. Seconds later Hercules's hooves drummed on the drawbridge's planks. The sumpter horse followed, carrying her into her new life. She looked up as the cool shadow of the gatehouse's arch engulfed her, and suppressed a shiver, a premonition, but of what she had no clue.

They emerged into the faint sunshine bathing the bailey.

Never on returning to his home had Dominic felt so alert and tensed for battle. Yet the familiar sounds and scents greeted him; familiar faces swarmed around, bright and cheerful, all pleased to see him as he walked Hercules across the bailey to the keep.

He tried to smile and nod in response, but before he'd covered half the distance to the steep keep steps, the brightness dimmed as those in the bailey noticed the bedraggled figure lashed to the saddle of the horse he was leading. Their expressions, at first curious, grew puzzled, questioning.

Leaving the others to provide the answers, resisting the urge to glance back at Angelica, he rode to the steps, dismounted, and handed Hercules's reins to the groom who'd come running.

Features set, he glanced up at the raised porch—just as his mother came hurrying out through the open double doors. Halting in a swirl of dark skirts at the top of the steps, she stared—in surprise, in disbelief—at his captive.

Turning, he walked to the side of the sumpter horse, reached up, and lifted Angelica down. Whispered, “That's her at the top of the steps.” Setting her feet on the cobbles, he released her.

She stumbled against him—an act—then wrenching back with a choking sob, she looked wildly around as if contemplating fleeing.

Gritting his teeth, he set his hand to her back and turned her to the steps.

She stumbled as if he'd pushed her, nearly falling.

He caught her elbow, had to grip more tightly when she ineffectually struggled. Didn't have to feign the irritation in his “Stop it, you witless woman!” He thrust her at the steps, then was forced to haul her up them while she pretended to resist, to hang back, flashing her bound wrists in case anyone had missed them. Courtesy of her struggles, her cloak fell open, revealing her soiled gown.

She'd warned him she was an accomplished actress; he hadn't realized she'd meant she was this good. She almost had him believing . . . which made it easier for him to play to her lead.

With a flourish, he swung her onto the porch and released her so she staggered to a halt facing his mother. He looked at Mirabelle. “You wanted a Cynster sister kidnapped and brought here. Allow me to present Miss Angelica Cynster.”

Mirabelle's gaze locked on Angelica's face, still shadowed by her hood. “Indeed? You'll permit me to verify . . .” Reaching out with both hands, Mirabelle pushed back the hood.

Angelica sniveled, then looked up, displaying a tear-stained, abjectly terrified face. She stared at Mirabelle.

Mirabelle's eyes widened. Her gaze swiftly scanned Angelica's features, then lowered, taking in her wrecked gown, her bound wrists, before rising once more to Angelica's face, to her eyes. Mirabelle smiled. “My God. You've actually done it.”

The quality of her smile turned Dominic's stomach.

Angelica flung herself at Mirabelle, grasping Mirabelle's hand between hers and breathlessly imploring, “My lady! Countess! You have to make him see sense.” She bobbed a crude curtsy, deftly converting it into a supplicant's begging pose. “You
have
to make him let me go!” Her weak tone suggested she'd endured horrors and was likely to faint from the effects of her travails.

Dominic shifted and she shrank away from him; clenching his jaw, he glared, stepped behind her, caught both her elbows and dragged her up and away from his mother. “You don't understand, sweetheart.” Holding her in front of him, his voice harsh, beyond cynical, he said, “The countess is the reason you're here.”

Swinging her around, he pushed her toward the gloom of the keep's foyer. Ignoring their utterly fascinated audience, he stalked after her.

His mother, overjoyed and avid, scurried after them. “That's really Angelica Cynster!”

“In the flesh.” Reaching his captive, ineffectually dithering on the threshold, he prodded her on.

Obligingly she staggered into the foyer. Stumbling to a halt in the middle of the wide, high-ceilinged entryway, she started to clumsily pirouette as if searching for a way out.

Having no idea what she might next take it into her head to do, he grasped her arm, anchoring her. “Angelica Cynster, third daughter of Lady Celia Cynster. Kidnapped, brought here, and now paraded before you—as you demanded.”

Mouth falling open, Angelica stared, first at him, then at his mother, dawning horror in her face. “
What
 . . . ? It was
you
 . . . ?” After a second, she very creditably shrank away, blinking back tears. “But . . .
why
?”

Mirabelle's vindictive smile deepened; malice glittered in her eyes. “As to that . . . you'll learn soon enough, my dear.”

Dominic drew Angelica further from his mother, effectively interposing himself between them. “I've fulfilled my part of the bargain—now where's the goblet?”

Her gaze fixed on Angelica, Mirabelle's face suffused with gloating triumph. She stared for several moments, then looked at him. Eyes narrowing, she searched his face. After another long moment, she all but purred, “I honestly didn't think you would do it—that you had it in you.”

“In which you were clearly wrong. The goblet?”

She stared at him for a minute more, then said, “Don't be so hasty. You've surprised me—I need a little time to convince myself this is real and to absorb the implications. To”—her gaze swung to Angelica—“savor my victory.”

“That wasn't our bargain.”

“I never said I'd hand over the goblet the
instant
you brought me one of Celia's daughters.” Her face hardening into its customary spiteful lines, Mirabelle looked back at him. “You will have to allow me a day or two to confirm, and then relish, my revenge. God knows, I've waited long enough for it, and you'll still get your precious goblet back in time.” Returning her gaze to Angelica, Mirabelle beckoned. “Come with me, child.”

“No.” Dominic held Angelica anchored where she was, half behind him. “Until you surrender the goblet, Miss Cynster stays under my control.” He held Mirabelle's gaze. “I wouldn't want her escaping, or in any other way disappearing, not after all the trouble I've gone to to get her here.”

A muscle leapt along Mirabelle's jaw, then her eyes flashed. Without another word, she swung around and stalked across the foyer to the door to the north tower.

Once she'd disappeared, he cursed beneath his breath.

“You didn't imagine she'd hand it over just like that,” Angelica whispered from behind him.

“I'd entertained a wild hope that on setting eyes on you she would be so overcome with delight that she might hand it over without thinking.”

After a moment, Angelica poked him in the side. “Patience. We've only just arrived, and needs must when the devil drives, so come and show me this room you're intending to lock me in.”

He closed his eyes, clenched his teeth against another oath, then exhaled, opened his eyes, grasped her arm, and significantly less forcefully swept her on into the great hall.

S
hown to her temporary apartment on a lower level of the east tower, Angelica was pleased to discover small windows set high in the walls, and at the base of one wall a fireplace, albeit presently unused. If she had to spend hours there, it could be made pleasant enough. Circling the room, she tried to spot the door to the secret stair while Dominic, in a mood she equated with an irritated but restrained bear, growled orders to Griswold and Mulley, who had appeared with her bags; Brenda had taken her bandbox away to hide.

“Send John and Mrs. Mack here,” Dominic eventually said, “and organize guards in the corridor in case the countess decides to come looking for Miss Cynster.”

“Aye, my lord.” Mulley bowed and departed.

“I'll make sure all's in readiness above, my lord.” With brief bows to them both, Griswold followed.

Dominic swung to face her, then glanced around the room. “We'll make a show of setting this room up for your use, but in reality you'll be using my chambers.”

“Where's the hidden stair?”

He pointed. “Over there.” He picked his way across, around and over various obstacles. “We'll leave all this here—it'll make it seem more like a basement cell.”

She nodded and joined him by the outer wall; she'd assumed the stairway would be in the inner wall.

“Give me your hand.” Gripping her fingers, setting his own over them, Dominic guided the pads of her fingertips over and then into a shallow depression in one stone, then pressed.

Click
. A section of the stonework popped forward an inch or so. Releasing her, he showed her the finger grip worked into the exposed edge of the stone, then waved her to try it; expecting that she wouldn't be able to shift such a weight of stone, she nevertheless pulled and discovered the secret door was exquisitely balanced. Easy to swing, but the hinges shrieked horrendously.

The door behind them opened, admitting an older woman with iron gray hair pulled back in a tight bun, and a soberly dressed man a few years older than Dominic.

“My goodness.” Bobbing a curtsy, the woman pulled a face. “I'll have one of the lads in with some oil within the hour.” Straightening, sparing an expectant, but welcoming, glance for Angelica, the woman clasped her hands, fixed her bird-bright gaze on Dominic, and smiled warmly. “Good day to you, my lord. It's a pleasure to see you back.”

“Indeed.” The man had glanced at Angelica, then executed a neat bow, and now fixed an inquiring gaze on his master. “You wished to speak with us, my lord?”

Dominic introduced her to his housekeeper and steward as his bride-to-be—a revelation that left them openly delighted and predictably curious. Angelica responded with smiles and polite nods, but left it to Dominic to explain their scheme while she observed Mack's and Erskine's reactions.

From the way the pair reacted to him, and him to them, she suspected they'd both known him all his life. As with the others, both were immediately supportive.

Reassured, she glanced at the stairs. Listening with half an ear to the ongoing discussion and Dominic's orders regarding her comfort, she inwardly smiled. She'd thought she'd been prepared for the impact of his home, but her imagination, usually more than able, had for once fallen short of the mark. If the castle was impressive, the keep was magnificent. The soaring ceilings, the graceful arches, the fluting and carving of the stone were beautifully balanced against the solid simplicity of the stone walls. The windows in the rooms she'd seen were leaded and diamond paned, framed by velvet drapes, and perfectly set to themselves frame the views.