The Seduction of Miss Amelia Bell (13 page)

“Edmund!” she screamed, terrified, holding out her arms to him.

His thoughts fled, abandoning him along with doubt and hesitation. His dagger was
out of his belt and hurling end over end before the bastard had time to react and
hurt her. She screamed and leaped into Edmund’s arms while her attacker crumpled to
the ground, Edmund’s dagger in his throat.

“I’ve got ye, lass,” he whispered, lifting her to his pounding heart. “I’ll let nae
harm come to ye.”

She smiled while he carried her back to the castle. “Edmund?”

“Aye, lass?”

“Now I trust ye.”

He smiled and pulled her closer against him. Neither of them heard the bushes rustle
or the footsteps running away as the attacker’s unseen companion fled in the darkness.

Edmund brought her to the solar. He sat her on the cushioned settee and covered her
with a blanket when she trembled. Damn it, he thought while he started a fire in the
hearth. This would not have happened if he hadn’t put Grendel out while Darach played
the pipes. Grendel had taken off, mayhap as far as Skye to get away from the sound.
Had he been here, he would have alerted Edmund to the man waiting in the shadows.
Edmund swore again. He’d done nothing but put her in danger since he took her.

He swallowed and turned to look at her.

She looked up from her silent appraisal of the flames sparking to life. “Perhaps,”
she told him quietly, “ye should be away from me before I get ye killed.”

He blinked and then tossed her a disgruntled half smirk. “I think yer fergetting who
flung his dagger and did the killing, lass. I’m a wee bit insulted that ye have so
little faith in my skill.”

He decided then and there that her wry smile was every bit as bonny as her sincere
one.

“Truly, there isn’t one among the bunch of ye who doesn’t think his sword is the most
deadly.”

“Not as deadly as yer tongue,” he countered, coming to sit beside her.

Their eyes met and they smiled at each other.

“There is nothing deadly about me, save the curse I bring to others.”

He laughed softly, bending to her mouth. “I disagree, Amelia. Fer ye’ve brought nothing
but light to me.”

He cupped the delicate contour of her jaw in his hand. He watched her with hooded,
heated eyes as she parted her lips to receive him. When her body wilted against his,
he coiled his arm around her waist and pulled her in closer. Her soft groan against
his mouth made his body jerk as if a wet whip had been slapped across his back. The
bewitching innocence of her tongue fluttering inside his mouth made every inch of
him go hard as steel. He’d forgotten how damned good it felt to kiss her.

He’d been with a few other women, playful romps in the hay of his aunt’s barn before
he grew more serious about his love and his fight for Scotland. But none had ever
tempted him to offer them anything more than pleasure. None of them enchanted him
with their winsome smiles and restrained defiance—though the worst she had done was
befriend a servant and fall asleep barefoot in a garden.

He pulled back slowly, reluctantly, knowing that if he continued kissing her it would
only make him more desperate to carry her to the nearest bed and end any other man’s
claim on her. More desperate to keep her. And no matter what he felt about her, he
could never do that without betraying his homeland.

L
ucan MacGregor lay in bed and scoured his mind, trying to recall what he’d done to
bring this misfortune upon him. To be in a sickbed, as helpless as a babe…He detested
the thought of it so much that he couldn’t finish it. How long would it take him to
rise to his feet and fight for her properly?

“How badly does this pain ye?” Sarah looked up from examining his wound and poked
his stitches gently.

Lucan had been sliced up a few times, both on the practice field with his uncles and
cousins, and on the battlefield, upholding his name and his country. But no wound
had been as serious as this one, none so deep that it grew infected. He knew it was
by the red-hot pain coursing over his nerve endings. His breath faltered, and as it
did, a ginger curl popped loose of her side braid and dangled over her eye.

He smiled at her. At least, he thought he did. His head still felt rather cloudy and
to be honest, he wasn’t sure if he was awake or dreaming. She looked like a dream
working so diligently over him. She’d caught his eye from that first night in Edinburgh,
when she stayed so closely by her dear friend. He’d tried to share words with her
that night at the would-be celebration, but Malcolm had beaten him to it. Later, when
his cousin brought her along, Luke had wanted to beat him senseless. Being attracted
to her and then riding away from her forever was one thing. Having her around day
in and day out to distract him and drive him mad every time she smiled at Malcolm
was another thing entirely.

“Not so bad?”

He hadn’t realized he’d started breathing, or that he was smiling like an imbecile
now. “It feels hot.”

He watched her while she returned her attention to his flesh. The span of her shoulders
made him feel like a giant next to her. She would be easy to carry away…all the way
to Skye if she asked him to take her.

She’d saved his life. She made him dream of her and dulled his pain. How was he supposed
to woo her properly when he could barely sit up on his own?

It was bad enough that he couldn’t save her from a bastard Buchanan waiting in the
shadows, the way Edmund had saved Amelia the night before. But what made it all the
more undignified was that, propped up on a silk pillow, he couldn’t protect her from
Malcolm.

“I think ’tis infected.” She looked up and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I will
have to get Amelia. She knows more about herbs than I do.”

He stopped her when she turned to go, closing his fingers around her wrist. But when
she turned to discover why he’d stopped her, he didn’t know what the hell to say.

“Thank ye fer spending so much of yer time here.”

Her eyes widened with surprise. She laughed, as if he were mad to make such a ridiculous
statement. “How d’ye know how much time I spend here? Ye’ve been asleep fer most of
those hours.”

“But I know when ye’re here.”

Her laughter faded and she finally met his gaze head-on. “Ye do?”

He nodded. Damnation, this was the perfect moment to move closer to her. But he couldn’t.
“Ye wear a scent about ye of peat and morning dew. It makes me think of home. And
of ye. I’ve dreamed of ye twice now.” He looked away, not wanting to embarrass her
when he quirked his mouth, remembering the images that were fired into his thoughts.
“I’m grateful,” he continued, capturing her gaze again, “fer yer attention.”

She didn’t blush like others might, but paled until her eyes shimmered in a dozen
different shades of green.

“That isn’t something ye need to thank me fer, Lucan. ’Tis m’ duty.”

“Why? Ye’re not a servant here.”

“It matters not.” Her spine stiffened and she freed her wrist with a gentle tug. “I
do it because I should, and fer no other reason.”

“I see.” He nodded. “Such dedication to yer duty is even more commendable.”

She opened her mouth to say something but the door burst open and Malcolm, slayer
of hearts, pestilence to purity, entered, all smiles and carefree abandon.

“Good day, Luke, ’tis pleasin’ to see ye up and—” He narrowed his eyes and rethought
his next description. “Ye dinna’ look all that well in truth.”

Lucan cut him a sharp smile, or he may have frowned. He wasn’t certain. The chambers
didn’t look so clear either, and hell, but when had it gotten so hot in here?

“Yer insults have no effect on me, Cal. Someday ye’ll understand that ’tis what’s
inside of a man that makes him a man, not his appearance.”

“And someday, Luke, m’ courtly brother, ye’ll understand that ’tis what a man conceals
beneath his plaid and his skill at usin’ it that makes him a man. Now dinna’ vex me.
I’ve had to withstand the company of eleven Drummonds this morn when they came to
collect the dead fer the Buchanans. I’ve already warned Will Buchanan that if we are
attacked again, the only peace his people will know is what is carved into their chief’s
headstone.” He moved closer to the bed and touched his knuckles to Lucan’s cheek.
“When are ye goin’ to— Hell, ye’re burnin’ up.”

He turned to Sarah. “Where’s Amelia?”

“Malcolm, don’t shout at her,” Lucan warned. Damn him for not being able to do more
than that.

“She was in the garden this mornin’,” Sarah’s soothing voice flirted about his ears.

“I’ll get her,” Malcolm said. “Ye stay here with him.”

Kind of his cousin for suggesting she stay, Lucan thought, drifting off. He would
have to thank him later. “Sarah.”

“Aye?”

“If I had legs I would kiss ye, lass. I’d make ye ferget him and anyone else.” He
closed his eyes, happy to be dreaming about her again.

She smiled and coiled her arms around his neck as he floated toward the ceiling. “Prove
it,” she teased, parting her lips.

He did, closing his arms around her, pressing her closer to his hot body. Hers was
even hotter. Their tongues became flames that ignited passions yet unleashed for them
both and consumed them in fire.

Scorching fire.

And then he stopped dreaming and clung, alone in the fiery darkness, to sanity.

Amelia spread the cooled cloth over Lucan’s forehead in an effort to lower his fever.
She’d done everything she could with the herbs at hand and with what she knew, but
it was as if a fire raged within him. They reopened the wound and Sarah restitched
it. Malcolm contemplated riding to Skye and fetching Lucan’s mother, Isobel. According
to Darach, she knew how to heal any affliction. But the men doubted they could get
to her and bring her back in time to make a difference.

“As soon as he is well,” Sarah said, more confident, or perhaps…more hopeful than
anyone else in room, “I’m goin’ to ask Malcolm to bring one of the gels in from the
village to look after him.”

Amelia looked up. “Why?”

Sarah took in the sight of him, the size of him lying in the bed, and her breath appeared
to have been seized. “He makes me uneasy.” She spoke so low Amelia almost didn’t hear
her.

But Amelia did, and she couldn’t believe her ears. “How does he make ye uneasy? He’s
as helpless as a pup.” She eyed the spot before the hearth where Grendel usually lay.
He still hadn’t returned to Ravenglade and Amelia was beginning to worry about him.

“Och, but he’s not so helpless,” Sarah whispered, staring at him and sounding more
defenseless than Amelia had ever heard her sound.

“Whatever did he do?” Amelia went to her and took her by the hands. “Edmund told me
that Lucan would never do anything dishonorable. He’s been raised on tales of chivalry
and—”

“He’s just so kind to me!” Sarah blurted.

“What in blazes is wrong with that?” Amelia frowned at her, utterly confounded by
this jittery, irrational side of her best friend. “Here is a man who finally shows
ye some respect and it makes ye uneasy? Really, Sarah, I don’t understand.”

“Nor do I.” Sarah stepped away, and out of Amelia’s hands. “But he makes me uneasy
all the same. I would prefer not to attend him anymore.”

Amelia didn’t realize why, but she felt like weeping at Sarah’s announcement. She
almost reached out to stop her when Sarah turned for the door, anxious to escape.

“May we speak further of this later, Sarah dearest?”

Her friend smiled before she left, and a flicker of the flames that always shone in
her eyes returned for an instant. “Of course.”

Amelia stared at the door after it shut, wondering what kind of friend she was that
there was something about Sarah Frazier that she didn’t know until this moment.

She turned back to the bed and to the handsome face as still as a mask. “Well, sir
knight.” She went to him and smiled. “’Twould seem that yer influence on a lady in
distress needs not the attention of yer body when yer words are so powerful.” She
placed her hand atop his warm one and patted it. “And fer yer kindness to my Sarah,
I will make certain ye live. I promise.”

“And I bear witness to her vow, Luke.” Edmund winked at her when she whirled on her
heel at the sound of a voice behind her.

Oh, she knew what it was to fall entranced by words, a wink, a smile. To lose control
over yer own thoughts and desires was a frightening thing, especially when she’d just
promised to save someone’s life. She couldn’t let Edmund distract her, and there was
only one way to stop it. If he intended on spending so much time with her as he had
been, Amelia would have to make certain that time was spent keeping busy. “Will ye
help me do it? Help me save him?”

“Tell me what to do.”

“His body requires constant care. We must keep his fever down by preparing and feeding
him special medicinal teas and keeping him cool with rags and baths. We must make
absolutely certain that no part of the infection returns. To do that, we will need
to keep the wound clean and dry. He’ll need ointments applied and if he wakes with
terrors at night, he must be kept calm and still.”

“Let’s begin then.” The confidence in his tone and the set of his jaw made her smile.

Two hours later, they enlisted the help of Darach and Malcolm to stay with Lucan for
a short time while they took their first rest from their toil. They left the sickroom
and strolled the corridors, admiring the artwork along the walls. They stopped beneath
paintings of some of the Stuarts and Grants in their family’s history. There was a
portrait of Admiral Connor Stuart, his stance straight and immovable.

A few smaller, but not by much, portraits lined one particular corridor leading to
the master bedroom. Amelia saw the resemblance in Admiral Stuart and his sister, the
infamous sword-wielding Claire. She was gloriously beautiful with pale, wheaten hair
and the stature of a queen.

“I think poor Sarah is losing her heart to Lucan and she doesn’t know what to do about
it,” she shared with Edmund while he pointed out Malcolm’s parents on the wall. My,
but they were handsome. Malcolm was a blend of both of them, with his mother’s dark
hair and his father’s deep dimples. “That is why she has spent so many hours with
him.”

“I’m almost certain Lucan is suffering the same malady,” he confided, escorting her
back to the room. “I wish it weren’t so.”

“Why?” she asked, stopping to look at him. “Is it because of her station?” She couldn’t
imagine that it mattered to Edmund, but did it matter to Lucan?

“Nae, ’tis because of Malcolm.”

“I don’t think she cares for Malcolm,” Amelia told him. “Sarah is…” She paused, trying
to think of the kindest way to say it. “She is…not concerned with love. She enjoys
the company of men but…”

Edmund smiled. “I know what ye’re trying to say. I don’t think Luke cares about her
past.”

“But I think Sarah does.”

They reached the room and Edmund held open the door.

“What should we do?”

“Nothing,” he said above her ear as she entered.

“I speak of after he recovers, of course.”

“Even then, nothing.”

She formed a word with her lips and then decided against speaking it. “Ye’re correct,”
she admitted after their helpers left the room. “We will be leaving yer company soon
enough. No point in everyone getting attached.”

She thought she might have heard Edmund swear, or perhaps chuckle, behind her.

“I think ’tis too late fer not forming attachments.” He moved up behind her and swept
her hair over her shoulder, exposing her nape. “Grendel likes ye.” He kissed her once,
twice.

She stepped away. “I think the beast loves me.” She laughed over her shoulder at him.
But her laughter faded all too quickly. What about the beast who kidnapped her? Was
he growing attached to her? He certainly kissed her like he was. And she didn’t mind
his kisses. But she was a fool to think there could ever be anything between them.
If her uncle didn’t kill him, he would likely kill her uncle. She had to do something
to stop it all. Even if she did and everyone lived, Edmund would ride back to his
beloved Highlands and she…she would be returned to a life she didn’t want. She didn’t
want to marry Walter. She didn’t want to leave Sarah behind. No matter how she looked
at it, her future appeared bleak. This may be her last opportunity to ever experience
passion. Why should she deny herself? Still, it frightened her to think of what she
was capable of feeling for Edmund MacGregor.

When he moved after her, she picked up Lucan’s bowl of herbal water and shoved it
against Edmund’s chest, splashing water on him.

“We need fresh water.”

His slow smile warned her that a simple bronze bowl between them wouldn’t stop him.

“Thank ye, Edmund.” She stared up at him, her smile slight but obviously still possessing
enough power to bend him to her will and whim.

“Aye, lady,” he relented with a chuckle. “Anything fer my cousin.”

What about for her? Would he give up his fight for Scotland for her? Did she have
any right to ask him to?