A Highlander Never Surrenders (4 page)

The lass intrigued him. Graham watched her mount a snorting chestnut stallion with a single, graceful leap and his blood scalded his veins. He had never thought a woman could look so alluring in man’s garb. Her close-fitting trews accentuated the tantalizing swell of her backside, the maddening curve of her hips. Her legs were long and coltish, fashioned for running . . . and wrapping snugly around a man’s waist. Everything about her was a stark contradiction. She wore the face of an angel, pure as freshly fallen snow, yet she had killed six men and then rummaged around their bodies like a battle-hardened warrior, completely unaffected by the blood she’d spilled. Her form was delicate, utterly feminine, yet she moved like a feline predator. He knew he would be haunted for months to come by the look of her when they’d first come upon her. The spark of rage that colored her blue eyes to smoldering indigo. Strands of buttery blond hair eclipsing her flushed cheeks. The helpless look of her tied to a tree, half naked and ready to be devoured . . . the brazen satisfaction that fired her eyes when she returned his sword to his sheath.

“She’s no servant,” Robert said, gaining his saddle a moment after Graham gained his. “She’s lying. Why?”

“I do not know,” Graham said, keeping his eyes on her riding up ahead. “Let’s follow her and find out.”

“Nae, I cannot. I must get to Edinburgh, Graham.”

“And leave the lass to her own defenses?” Graham asked, knowing full well which weapon to use to persuade his friend into compliance. “Where is the honor I’ve come to value so highly in ye, Rob?”

Robert gave him his foulest look. “That’s low, even for you. I will not tarry because you have found yet another woman to your liking. We don’t know who she is or where she is going.”

“Lass,” Graham called out. When she turned slightly, his chest tightened at the beauty of her profile. He swore if she had announced her destination was France he would not have paused. “To where d’ye ride?”

“To Edinburgh,” she advised over her shoulder.

Graham grinned at Robert. “We, too, are headed fer Edinburgh. We shall ride with ye.”

“Hell,” Robert groaned, and shook his head at the heavens.

“Nae, you shall not,” she answered back, and quickened her horse’s pace.

“As much as we admire yer skill and courage,” Graham said, taking off after her, “we cannot allow ye to travel alone.”

Suddenly she wheeled her horse around and faced him fully. Graham let his gaze soak in every inch of her. Hell, she was bonny. Her thick plait cascaded over her shoulder and down her breast. She wasn’t as buxom as the maids he usually took to his bed, but he did not care. The spark of fearlessness in her eyes excited him. She would be a challenge, this one. He smiled at her. She did not smile back.

“You have no choice.”

“And what will ye be up to in Edinburgh, alone?” Graham asked her, unable to think of anything save the intoxicating shape of her mouth and how all that thick hair would feel coiled around his fists while he pulled her head back to ravish that creamy throat.

“I’ll be rescuing my sister.”

He raised a tawny brow. “From whom?”

“From General Monck.”

He would have laughed, but the curl of her mouth and the glint in her eyes was such a direct challenge, he almost believed she could do it.

Robert’s reaction to her statement was quite the opposite. He nearly choked on his words when he spoke them. “General Monck, the governor?”

“Aye.” She sighed, tapping her fingers impatiently on the pommel of her saddle.

“Are ye going to free her from servitude, then?” Graham inquired, enjoying the daring look she flung at him. She did not care if they knew she was lying. And Graham did not care how many men she’d killed this morn, she was reckless and foolish if she thought she could fight a full regiment by herself. “Have ye ever been to Edinburgh, lass? There are hundreds of guards patrolling the battlements. Ye cannot fight them all, and ye cannot simply walk into Monck’s home and rescue yer sister on yer own.”

“And yet that is exactly what I intend to do.”

“We will come with ye,” he insisted.

“You will be a hindrance to me.”

Now Graham laughed. Damn, she was arrogant. Her confidence stirred his blood. The way she met his gaze head on without even a trace of blush made him more eager for her surrender. He was not about to let her go. “Come with us and we will discuss yer sister’s release civilly with the general. If she’s but a servant as ye say, my friend here can—”

“Nae, I want no aid from a Roundhead.”

“I am beginning to take offense at that word,” Robert muttered, then he shook his head, fearing he was going daft for even having this conversation. “You are no servant. My guess, from the way you continue to insult me, is that you are a Royalist. One with skill and more weapons on her body than any woman should know what to do with. Whatever you are planning, I ask you not to be a fool. You will die.”

“So be it.” She shrugged. “I will save my sister first.”

“Is she in Edinburgh against her will?” When she nodded, Robert raked his hand through his hair. “Why is she there?”

The lines of her face grew rigid, bearing the evidence of belligerence no servant possessed. “She is there to face a fate worse than death.” Without another word, she turned her horse to leave them again.

“You will fail her,” Robert called out. “Let me save her.”

Graham turned to grin at him, and Robert ground his jaw before taking off after her. Aye, he was daft. He didn’t need to be reminded of it.

“Why would you aid me, Campbell?” she called over her shoulder. “You do the Parliament’s bidding.”

Catching up to her, Robert directed his steed in front of hers, cutting off her path. “My sister was once abducted by the MacGregors. Like you, I was ready to rescue her alone.”

“From the MacGregors?” She sized him up with a flicker of new appreciation in her eyes. “That was brave, but foolish of you.”

“Precisely,” he said, waiting for her to understand.

When she did, her expression darkened. She snapped her reins, but he blocked her route again. “I do not serve the military, my lady. But I do serve Parliament, and though my head may be put to the chopping block for this when it is restored, I understand what you want to do, and why you want to do it, no matter what position you hold.”

“Why should I trust you?” she threw back at him, misgivings clearly written on her face. “Campbells kiss the arse of whomever rules.” She turned on Graham next, her eyes lit with accusation. “And you, Highlander. The Grants have fought for years at the king’s side, and yet here you ride with a Roundhead.”

“Think what you will of us,” Robert said, sharpening his tone to let her know arguing this point was useless. “Right now, honor dictates that I help save a maiden in distress.”

She dipped her brow at him and then turned an incredulous look at Graham. “Does he jest?”

“Nae,” Graham answered, coming up beside her. “I believe it has been his lifelong desire to surpass even Sir Galahad where honor is concerned.”

“I see.” She cast a wry smirk back at Robert. “Are you pure of heart, then?”

“You know of Pendragon’s knights?” Robert asked her, looking more doubtful than he had when she told them she had killed six men.

“Not I, but my sister knows the tales well. Once, when she was a child, she pretended to be Guinevere and made everyone in the household call her by that name. She refused to answer to Anne for a full year.” The memory brought a delicacy to her smile as she angled her face to Graham. “And you, Commander? Are you pure of heart as well?”

He could not lie to her. Not when her lips took on a challenging slant that told him she already knew the answer. “Alas,” he said, not sounding repentant at all. “I fear I am as depraved as Satan himself.”

She stared at him long enough to make him doubt his declaration. “My thanks for the warning,” she finally said, then yanked on her reins hard enough to make her stallion rise up on its hind legs. Robert had no choice but to move out of her way lest he be struck by the beast’s front hooves. “Farewell, Roundhead and rogue!” she called as she thundered away. “For your sakes, may our paths never meet again.”

Graham and Robert watched her go, each at a bit of a loss after her swift rejection of their aid and her arrogant threat.

“She doesn’t like us,” Robert offered in a somber tone.

Graham turned to him. “She doesn’t like
ye
.” Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes that Robert knew all too well from the pair of years he’d spent in Graham’s company, Graham dug his heels into his mount’s flanks and took off after her.

Chapter Four

W
ould that I were with you, to ride once again by your side, and to warn you . . .

Claire muttered an oath against the wind cutting her teeth. She chanced a quick look over her shoulder while her horse raced across an open glen, its hooves tearing chunks of earth from the ground. The two men were still behind her. Damn them to Hades! She’d done everything to lose them in the past hour, pushing her poor steed to its limit. They had crashed through streams, bounded over farm walls, and thundered through two villages, but her would-be champions remained hot on her heels.

She had to find a way to rid herself of them. If she needed men to help her with what she meant to do, she would have brought her closest ally and Connor’s dearest friend, James Buchanan, and a few of his guardsmen along. Hell, James was going to be furious with her for leaving Ravenglade without telling him. But there was no reason to get him killed, which was exactly what would happen if she arrived in Edinburgh with the new leader of the resistance. Besides, he never would have gone along with her plan, and she loved him too much to battle him on the issue. If all went well she would rescue Anne without even having to unsheathe her blade save to slice Monck’s throat. That is, if she could just shake the two pests behind her.

She imagined they meant well. At least the Roundhead did. Aye, he was a Campbell, but there was something in those wide hazel eyes of his—a total lack of guile, a genuine sincerity she hadn’t seen in many men. Galahad, indeed.

His lecherous friend was another matter entirely. She knew his kind well enough. She’d practically grown up in the company of men, who for many years had regarded her presence in her father’s practice fields as nothing more than a pleasant distraction, a
woman
whom they ached to tame, claim, and conquer. None ever did, and many still bore the scars of their attempts.

The forest loomed before her. Patting her mount’s lathery coat, she dug her heels into the weary beast’s flanks and sped toward the trees. She must lose her followers within the labyrinth or be forced to stop her exhausted horse and speak to them again. If they discovered she was a member of the royal household and a promised bride to one of Monck’s men, they would try to take her into their custody and deliver her to the general’s feet.

Determined on her quest, she plunged through the dense forest, her ears pricked to the panting snorts of horses behind her. Darting through a stand of oak, she fled south, toward her destination. She would not be stopped from saving Anne—and herself—from arranged marriages to their enemies. At least, that’s what she was telling herself when her steed slowed its pace, then finally stopped running.

She tried to get the horse moving again, but it was no use. She had pushed him too hard. “Forgive me, Troy.” She slid from her saddle and bent her forehead to the horse’s neck. “But ’twas urgent, dear friend. I must . . .” Her apology was interrupted by the sound of her pursuers coming to a halt behind her. They were to blame for this. Grinding her teeth, she lifted her face and turned to them. “If my horse dies,” she dragged her sword from its sheath and pointed it at them, “I shall impale you both on my blade.”

The Highlander cut his gaze to her horse, then leaped to the ground. He strode directly toward her, his plaid swinging about his knees, and pulled the cap back from his head. Claire stood motionless while a lock of deep gold fell over his brow. When he reached her, he slapped her blade out of his way, discounting her threat as if she were no more dangerous than a badly behaved child.

“He needs rest,” he said, stepping past her and examining the animal’s coat and mouth. “And water.” He grasped Troy’s reins and moved to lead the horse away. Claire took a step forward, reaching for the bridle to stop him, but his fingers closed tightly around her wrist. “Ye were careless with yer steed, lass. If the beast dies, ye have only yerself to blame.”

She did not try to free herself from his steely hold, though his accusation enraged her. The attempt would be futile, and she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her struggle against his strength. Instead, she took a step closer to him and tilted her face to meet and match his cool gaze. “Either way, I will need another horse. Yours looks fit enough.”

His eyes flashed with a hint of mischief Claire was sure lent to his devilish reputation. His mouth pursed with the arrogance of a man confident in his power to take up any challenge she presented. Indeed, he welcomed it.

“Two on my mount would slow us up considerably.” His voice deepened to a husky murmur as he leaned down over her. “Though the prospect of having ye nestled between my thighs all the way to Edinburgh is tempting enough to make me dispose of yer horse myself.”