The Pursuit (14 page)

L
INCOLN
didn’t try to delude himself that Melissa’s uncles would see the error of their ways and back off from the stance they’d taken. They’d given him warning. He’d ignored it, had even told the youngest Ian that he would. Melissa had also said she’d be talking to them, so there’d be no doubt in their minds that he’d defied them.

He expected them to retaliate—and soon. He was braced for it. He even stayed away from home the next day because he didn’t want his family to witness the ensuing violence. Knowing the MacFearsons, he anticipated nothing less than the worst from them.

He left word where they could find him, though. Avoiding them was out of the question. Oddly, he was even looking forward to the confrontation. He couldn’t win, he knew that. There were simply too many of them. But they weren’t going to escape unscathed either.

It seemed as though he’d been preparing most of his life for this one confrontation. He was in supreme condition. He’d sought out some of the best fighters in the realm over the years to teach him their tricks. Never again was he going to be at such a disadvantage, as when he’d last butted heads with the MacFearsons. He’d made sure of that, even though he’d never really expected to run into them again.

Three or four at a time he could take on easily now. More than that, though, and he’d succumb to sheer numbers—which was how the MacFearsons fought. They didn’t know the meaning of the word “fair.”

Ah, well, he’d go through it as many times as he had to, if it meant Melissa would be his in the end. That was,
if
he survived. There was always the chance he wouldn’t.

They showed up at his private club late that afternoon. He’d bored himself most of the day playing billiards with a couple of the older regulars, so he was actually relieved when the MacFearsons got there. They couldn’t get inside, not being members, but he was informed of their arrival and went outside to meet them.

Only half of them had come. Well, eight was still a few too many to handle, but only a few, since it seemed only the younger MacFearsons had come, though the youngest Ian and Lincoln’s ex–best friend, Dougall, weren’t among them. The elders
were
getting a bit old for this sort of thing, he supposed. But the younger brothers
were more likely to lack the skill, at least up to his standards, which was something in his favor.

So as not to draw too much notice, he was going to suggest they adjourn to a sporting club, since there happened to be one handy just down the street that should still be open, even though evening was approaching. Londoners frowned on public exhibitions of fisticuffs in their streets. The streets in good neighborhoods anyway.

Lincoln never got a chance to open his mouth. He was pushed, shoved, and otherwise tossed into the large coach they’d brought along. They had a plan, apparently, and it didn’t include playing nice. Before they were done, he was bound hand and foot, gagged, even blindfolded, and left to stew on the floor of the coach at their feet.

Amazingly, they’d said not a word to him, nor did they even after he was fully trussed and helpless. He gave them credit for surprising him. Considering their numbers, underhanded tactics like this weren’t called for and hadn’t been anticipated. But they
did
have a plan, obviously, since they would have been arguing about what to do if they didn’t. They just weren’t sharing it yet. And whatever it was, he knew instinctively he wouldn’t like it.

It was perfectly natural, as the hours passed, for Lincoln to start imagining the worst. They’d bribed a jailer to toss him in prison and keep him there, and they were just waiting for the rest of the prison to be asleep before they snuck him into
it. Who, after all, listened to a prisoner’s plea of innocence? Or…they’d already dug a hole somewhere and were going to summarily execute him and cover him up in it. They were just having trouble locating it now that it was getting dark.

Tying him up was one thing, merely a way to keep him from fighting back. But the gag? Simply because they didn’t want to hear his opinion of what they were doing? Or didn’t want anyone else to hear him? The blindfold also wasn’t necessary to restrain him. In fact, he couldn’t think of very many reasons that one would be needed. So he couldn’t see where they were taking him? So he couldn’t see who was helping them, if anyone was? More likely so
they
couldn’t see the extent of his fury.

Oddly, he wasn’t angry—yet. Uncomfortable, yes. A bit worried, certainly. But mostly curious. This just wasn’t like them. They never avoided fights. If they wanted to do him serious harm, they were more apt to do it with their fists. If they merely wanted him out of the way so they didn’t have to deal with him anymore…

Wherever they were transporting him, it was taking a very long time to get there. Scotland came to mind. They could be taking him to their home to confine him there indefinitely, he supposed. They were a close-knit clan, after all. None among them would question it. And they could keep him confined until Melissa forgot about him and married someone else.

Or perhaps they weren’t actually leaving the city. He was reminded that he’d had his driver circle around last night with Melissa, just to be on the move, not to get anywhere. They could be doing the same thing, simply to kill time. But he’d lost count of the hours. His best guess would be that it was nearing midnight, or even later. And waiting until the wee hours of the night couldn’t bode well for him. It meant secrecy was needed, because whatever they were about wasn’t lawful.

They still hadn’t spoken, not once, not even to argue among themselves, which wasn’t a good sign either, since they liked to argue among themselves. He would almost think he’d been left alone in the coach if he didn’t occasionally hear the shuffling of their feet.

His own feet had gone numb, his hands, too, tied behind his back. Lying facedown, his cheek against the cold floorboard, he probably had a few splinters by now from being jostled by the occasional deep rut.

When the coach finally came to a halt, he stiffened—and soon regretted it as life came back to his sleeping limbs. He was pulled out of the coach and helped to stand on his feet, but only for a moment. One of them tried to get him up onto his shoulder to carry him, but that didn’t work out well. Some were as tall as he was, but most weren’t as hefty. He was solid weight and muscle, and broader than any one of their shoulders could manage.

He was put back on his feet clumsily, but not to
be untied so he could walk. He was lifted by two of them now, feet and shoulders, and they were even having trouble with that because of his weight—and his unwillingness to make it easy for them. But they carried him along for a while, and finally they were no longer outside. The abrupt end of a salty breeze he’d felt indicated that.

He was thankful for being indoors, wherever it was. He’d been able to smell the water on the way. Though he couldn’t tell if it were river or ocean, he had seriously thought he was going to be dumped into it. That would certainly solve the problem, as they saw it, that he presented. And he wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing to save himself.

But they weren’t murderers. He hadn’t
really
thought they were. Savages, yes. A law unto themselves, yes. But though they wouldn’t hesitate to join forces to beat him to a pulp, they drew the line at killing—at least intentionally. Accidentally, on the other hand…

Whatever he was laid down on was hard, but not solid hard, and not flat. It was rather lumpy actually. He waited to be untied. He wasn’t. And he could hear them leaving. They had delivered him and were just going to leave him, still trussed up. Without any explanation. He had an idea now where he was—the sounds around him were rather distinct—but no confirmation was forthcoming from them.

But one of them was still there. He tsked, and said in a complaining voice, “Ye wouldna listen,
arranged tae see Melissa anyway, though we warned ye tae stay away. She’s here tae get herself wed. We’re here tae make sure it isna tae ye. Wi’ any luck both will be accomplished afore ye find yer way home. Pleasant sailing, Linc.”

More hours passed. Lincoln slept at some point. He’d been left completely alone, closed into the hold or storeroom of some ship. His bed could be sacks of grain or flour. In London Harbor or some harbor down the coast, he had no idea which. And what was going to happen come morning? Would he be released and put ashore at the next port of call?

Not by the sounds of that parting comment. Nor by the remark of the fellow who showed up at some point late the next day to let him out.

It was a storeroom he’d been dumped in, rather than the hold. Fewer rats to contend with, at least. And the chap had apparently been paid to assist in his being shanghaied. Whether the ship was short of crew or not, Lincoln was going to be added to its ranks.

“There’s no point in complaining about it, so don’t,” he was told by the big lout as he was untied. “We’re at sea, on our way to China. You won’t be seeing land for several years. Get used to it, mate. Do your work like the rest of us, and you might even get to like it. It’s a healthy life, that of a sailor.”

With all restraints gone, and feeling finally returned to his limbs, Lincoln got to his feet and decked the fellow.
Now
he was angry, but it was contained, like the quiet before the storm.

“W
E
took care o’ it.”

Ian One was greeted with this announcement as soon as he left his dressing room. In the short time it had taken him to have his morning shower, all his brothers had arrived in his room for breakfast as they usually did. No stragglers, though. They’d apparently collected each other on the way there so they’d show up together.

“Breakfast?” he hoped Charles meant.

“Nae, Lincoln.”

He’d been afraid of that. Charles had sounded too smug with his remark. But he wasn’t the only one yet to be informed of how they “took care o’ it.” Half his brothers were staring at Charles, waiting to hear more.

“How?” Ian asked simply.

“Ye dinna want tae know,” Neill said. “I tried tae talk them oot o’ the plan they’d settled on, but they’d no’ listen tae me.”

“
What
did ye do wi’ him?” Adam demanded in an alarmed tone.

“It’s no’ what ye’re thinking,” Callum offered quickly. “He’s still alive.”

“Then what did ye do?” William asked.

“Sent him tae China.”

“I’m really hoping ye mean a china shop, though I wonder why I doubt it,” Ian Three said dryly. “D’ye e’en know where China is?”

“On the other side o’ the world, ye dafty,” Ian Two added. “And though that may no’ sound sae far away, it takes years just tae get there.”

“Exactly, that
was
the point,” Callum replied.

“He
agreed
tae go tae China?” William exclaimed, his expression incredulous.

“Well—no. We didna exactly ask him.”

Charles, who wasn’t one to hedge, bragged, “We tied him up and delivered him tae a ship scheduled tae sail with the morning tide, sae he’s oot tae sea by now. Any ship would hae served the purpose, but we just got lucky finding one departing for China. Did it wi’oot a single bruise, tae,” he added in a mumble.

There were several groans before George said, “Och, God, ye’ll be looking o’er yer shoulder the rest o’ yer lives now, cause he’ll definitely kill ye for that.”

“What the devil could ye be thinking, tae do that tae a mon, e’en him?” Adam added.

“It was better than beating him senseless, which was what Charles wanted tae do,” Malcolm said.

“I’d rather be beat senseless,” Ian Two replied with a scowl.

“Sae would I,” Ian Three agreed.

“And whose brilliant idea was this?” Adam wanted to know, glaring at each of his younger brothers in turn.

“Mine,” Jamie admitted, looking rather shame-faced by that point.

But Ian Four put in quickly, “In Jamie’s defense, Linc happens tae like sailing. He’s mentioned more’n once he’d enjoy the life of a sailor, sae Jamie didna think he was doing Linc that much harm.”

“But for those—like us—who dinna like it, it’ll be pure misery,” Adam said. “George was right, he’ll be killing everyone o’ ye when he gets back.”

Ian sighed and sat down on the edge of his bed. He’d gone to talk to Melissa yesterday, after Ian Six had apprised them that she’d spoken with Lincoln. He’d taken several of the eldest brothers with him. It wasn’t that he felt he’d have trouble dealing with a lass young enough to be his daughter, but he hadn’t felt completely comfortable with his decision to keep her in the dark and had merely wanted his brothers’ support on that issue.

He came back from that meeting angry, not at her but at himself, because he saw her point. They should have told her who Lincoln was as soon as they found out. She would more than likely have agreed that it was better to let sleeping dragons alone and just move on. And Lincoln would have
stayed away, because her family didn’t approve of him and she was in accord with her family. He
had
been staying away—until he found out she didn’t know the reason. So Lincoln had sought her out because he wanted her to know why he wasn’t coming around. They should have told her, if only to keep him from telling his side of it, because he obviously had her full sympathy now.

And hearing a bit more of his side of it, from her, Ian was beginning to wonder if they hadn’t made a serious mistake all those years ago. Lincoln’s temper
had
gone beyond reason. Dougi
did
need protecting from it. But not one of them had thought to ask why he’d gone off the deep end. Not that they would probably have done anything differently, but they could have been less forceful about it.

“I canna say I’m no’ glad to have the matter done,” Ian said with another sigh. “Those o’ ye who decided on this will tell Meli what ye did. It’ll be a long time afore she forgives ye, but at least she’ll agree now tae forget aboot Lincoln Ross. Three tae four years is too long tae wait for a mon tae show up tae finish a courting. When, or if, Linc does return, we’ll hae a new problem, but at least our niece willna be part o’ it. I’m thinking we can go home now and let her finish what she came here for.”

“Ye’re taking this awful calm, Ian,” Adam said, voicing what most of them were now thinking.

“Nae, I’m anything but calm,” Ian replied. “But I’m also glad tae hae the matter oot o’ m’hands
for the time being. I’m thinking Kimber will be laying into me for letting this get oot o’ control, and Lachlan will likely take his fists tae me for the same reason, but I’ll deal wi’ that as it happens. The fact is, I wasna looking forward tae another feud wi’ Lincoln. The first one went beyond good sense, and no’ just on his side but ours as well.”

“Ye would’ve done nothing, after he defied us and spoke wi’ her anyway?” Callum asked.

“He’d been abiding by our wishes because he
thought
she was in agreement wi’ them. He defied them only because he found oot she’d been told nothing aboot it.”

“What did Meli hae tae say aboot it?” Johnny questioned. “Ye came back from talking wi’ her yesterday and didna say much.”

“Because I had a lot tae think aboot,” Ian said. “And because she’d agreed no’ tae speak wi’ him again until after her da arrived tae settle the matter. Sae there was no hurry for any action.”

Jamie blushed guiltily. “I’m thinking ye should hae told us that.”

“I’m thinking I should’ve, too. But the reason I’m glad it’s no longer an issue is Meli still wanted him for her mate, despite what we had tae say aboot him. And she was confident that Lachlan wouldna deny Linc’s suit, after he heard the whole of it.”

“Ye think that’s possible? Wi’ as crazy as Linc once was?”

Ian shook his head. “Nae, she would’ve been sorely disappointed. Lachlan is no slouch in protecting
his own. Though she thinks the past has no bearing, he’d see it otherwise.”

“Ye’re sure that’s no’ just wishful thinking on yer part?”

“Ye know better. Wi’ e’en the slightest possibility that the mon could go crazy again, Lachlan wouldna turn his only daughter o’er tae his care.”

“I’m sure we’ll be finding that oot soon enough,” Ian Two put in, with another disapproving look sent toward Jamie, before he added, “No’ that it matters anymore, wi’ Linc now oot o’ the picture.”

Jamie blushed yet again but said defensively, “I thought it was a bloody good plan. It settled the matter. He’s gone, and gone for long enough that she’s no choice but tae forget him. She’ll be wed and wi’ several bairns, no doubt, afore he gets back tae cause any more trouble. And she’ll be thanking us someday.”

“Ye’re dreaming if you think she’ll e’er be thanking ye for having her mon shanghaied,” George said. “And that’s how she sees him, ye ken. In her mind he’s already hers—or he was. But at least there’s that. She
does
hae no choice now but tae forget aboot him.”