Captured by the Highlander (12 page)

“God
will
ing.” Beth’s father raised his glass and took another drink.

Beth quickly stood.
«Well
, I hate to break up the merrymakin’, gentlemen, but it’s morning. The cows
will
soon be whining, and the children
will
wake.”

Craig stood. “What are your plans?” he asked Angus and Duncan. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need.”

Duncan stood, too. “We
’ll
be heading out today, but we’d be grateful for some fresh provisions, and the lady could use a quiet place to sleep. She’s had a long night, and I reckon she’d like to wash up.”

“You can take the room in the back,” Beth said. “The youngsters
will
be up soon, and I
’ll
have them haul out the tub and heat some water for a bath.”

Amelia exhaled with relief. “Thank you, Beth.”

Duncan crossed to Angus and leaned close. “Where are the others?” he asked.

“Taking care of the camp,” Angus replied. “They should be along shortly.”

He glanced back at Amelia, then spoke privately to Angus again, but she strained to listen.

“Tel Gawyn to sit outside the lassie’s window,” Duncan whispered, “and guard the door as
well
.”

“I
’ll
see it done.”

“And send Fergus with a message for my brother,” he said in an even quieter voice. “I want him to know where we’re headed.”

He had a brother?

Duncan’s eyes met hers only briefly, cool and unreadable, before he closed his hand over the hilt of his sword and walked out.

* * *

Hours later, after a deep and dreamless sleep,
followed
by a much-needed warm bath, Amelia final y felt more like herself, cleansed free of the grime from days in the saddle and the clammy residue of that disgusting English soldier who had assaulted her on the beach. She was just braiding her hair and pushing past the curtain that served as a doo
r to the back room when she coll
ided abruptly with Duncan.

“I thought you’d never come out of there,” he said. A
ball
of fire bounced
in the pit of her bell
y. She had been naked not five minutes ago, believing herself alone in the
small
cottage.

She had not heard him enter and was unnerved by the possibility that he might have watched her bathe through a crack in the
wall
or listened to the dreamy cadence of her voice while she hummed. The framework of her stays felt suddenly tight and sticky over her breasts.

“And I thought I might have died and gone to heaven,” she casual y said, “when I thought I was actual y
alone.
”

His eyes gleamed, and danger
bells
began to chime inside her head, for it was difficult to ignore the sensual memory of his lips touching hers in the glade the other day.

She found herself knocked off balance by her body’s response to his nearness.

“I wanted to thank you,” he said, “for what you did last night. You could’ve left me in the woods to die, but you came here instead.”

“It’s not as if I had any choice in the matter. I wouldn’t have gotten very far on my own. And besides, those English soldiers…”

She did not need to explain herself further. He nodded with understanding, which left her feeling strangely displaced.

The truth was, she was deeply relieved that he was
still
alive.

Despite everything, she would never have been able to live with herself if she had
killed
him—especial y after what he had done for her at the lake.

They were
still
on opposite sides of this war, of course—he was a Scottish Jacobite and she was an Englishwoman loyal to the King—but the personal antagonism between them seemed less absolute now. Less fierce. It seemed to be hiding behind shadows, and she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that.

He twirled the axe around in his hand, then slipped it into his belt. “You
smell
pretty, lass. Just like that first morning in the cave, when I had to fight my brutish urges to keep from ravishing you.”

“And clearly your brutish urges have not diminished,” she replied, throwing a veil of playful hauteur over her unease. “At least I was quick to don my gown just now; otherwise you might be in danger of another thump on the head.”

He regarded her with amusement, his eyes like gemstones, and she felt the familiar embers of excitement burning into her skin, penetrating her nerves. It was as
thrilling
as fireworks.

“Do you mind if I go dip myself in your bathwater?” he asked. Without waiting for a reply, he began to unfasten his brooch and unravel his tartan. “Surely you
’ll
appreciate it later when we mount Turner together. You
’ll
prefer it if my whiskers are scraped off, so I don’t scratch your tender skin when I’m straddled close behind you.”

Why did he feel
compelled
to say such things? It made her heart beat fast with alarm.

She worked hard to speak in a detached tone while inching sideways to move past him, for they were wedged tightly between a cupboard and a chair. She was painful y aware of the thick muscles of his chest as her breasts brushed up against him, and as a result her heart catapulted into her ribs. She had to work hard to keep the hot stinging blush from her cheeks, for she would rather die than let him see what he did to her.

“That would be greatly appreciated,” she said, “because you
smell
like sweat.”

He chuckled softly, his tone low and sensual. “I was out in the yard with the lads, kicking a
ball
around.”

“Sounds like a lovely way to pass the time.”

“There are better ways.”

He backed into the curtain. It
fell
graceful y closed behind him, wafted in the air for a second or two, then went
still
.

Amelia was left standing there in the front room, aimless and deeply unsettled by the heavy pulsing of arousal in
all
her muscles and limbs. She felt like she was made of putty and
all
he had to do was touch her and she would soften and bend for him.

A few seconds later, she heard the sound of water sloshing about in the tub and knew he was
full
y immersed in her bathwater, naked, as she had been. Thinking about that —imagining the awesome spectacle of his nudity, and her very own water pouring over and caressing his thick, sleek muscles—was more than a little disconcerting.

She moved away from the curtain and looked around for something to do to keep her mind occupied, but this was not her cottage and even if it was, she wouldn’t have the slightest idea what needed to be done. She was the daughter of an aristocrat, and she’d always relied on servants to take care of household chores.

Feeling uncomfortable and fidgety, Amelia wandered to the door and
pulled
it open. The sunshine was bright and warm on her face. She raised a hand to shade her eyes and watch the children, who were
still
kicking a
ball
around in the stable yard, when suddenly Gawyn’s ruddy face appeared in front of her eyes.

“What are you up to, lassie?”

She nearly jumped out of her skin. “Gawyn! Must you startle me like that?”

“Duncan told me to guard the door,” he said, “so I’m just
following
orders.”

“I see,” she replied, taking a deep breath.
«Well
, I am not attempting to escape. I had nothing to do, so I thought I would see what everyone
else
was doing.”

“They’re playing
ball
, lassie. And I didn’t think you’d try to run off. I’m here to guard against the English. You never know when a red-coated thug might try to steal you back. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you about the soldiers at the loch.”

Amelia cleared her throat.
«Well
, thank you. I do appreciate your efforts.”

He nodded courteously.

“Do you know what Duncan has planned for today?” she asked, in an attempt to make casual conversation.
«Will
we stay here another night?”

“Nay, lassie, we
’ll
be heading out very soon, moving south toward Moncrieffe. It’s a two-day ride.”

“Moncrieffe?” Her heart went
still
in her chest at the possibility of traveling south toward a
small
orb of civilization in the middle of this wild foreign land. This was good news.

Perhaps Duncan would release her to the earl—if in fact he intended to let her live, which she now believed he did. At least that was what he had promised last night. And this morning he seemed genuinely beholden to her for saving his life. Her welfare and happiness might even be a matter of honor to him now.

But then she remembered his primary objective, which had nothing to do with delivering her to safety, and felt a disturbing pang of uncertainty. He might be beholden to her

—and he had certainly enjoyed flirting with her just now—but he was
still
stalking Richard, and when they arrived at Moncrieffe, Richard might have to fight for his life and his reputation in a savage, bloody battle for revenge.

“Thank you, Gawyn,” she said before she retreated into the cottage and closed the door.

It was quiet inside. Almost too quiet. There were no sounds of water splashing, or the scraping of whiskers under a razor, which made her wonder if Duncan was asleep in the tub.

“Aye, lassie, it’s true,” he said from the back room, crushing that theory when his deep tantalizing voice reached out to her through the curtain. “We’re riding south toward Moncrieffe today. I’ve no doubt you’re glad to hear it.”

“Indeed, I am,” she answered, fighting to keep her tone light and easy. “Although it matters less now that I have enjoyed a warm bath,” she casual y added. “I feel quite rejuvenated and ready to take on the world.”

“As do I,” he replied, splashing in the water. “And I must confess, the pleasure of lying here in this warm tub—with the lingering scent of your sweet naked body surrounding me—

has cured the ache in my head.”

She crossed the room, listening.…

“So you’d best be on your guard, lass. You’re in more danger than ever.”

Her heart began to pound, and she hated the fact that he could evoke this anxiety in her. And he was doing it intentional y. Of course he was.

“You know,” he continued, “I can’t help but wonder where my head was back at the fort, when I tore your shift from your body and tossed that skirt at you in such a hurry,
telling
you to get dressed. I let the moment pass without paying you the proper attention you deserved.”

Pressing her ear to the curtain, she strove to keep her voice steady and composed. “I assure you, Duncan, I would not have welcomed your attentions in the least. So there is no point in punishing yourself. There were no missed opportunities. You can be sure of that.”

She heard more sounds of water splashing; then the front door opened suddenly. Beth walked in with a basket of eggs and stopped dead in her tracks. She raised her eyebrows at Amelia and gestured toward the curtain, as if to say she knew exactly what she was doing and that she understood.

That
yes,
Duncan was a superb specimen of manhood and it was only natural for Amelia—or any woman for that matter—to try to steal a peek at him while he was bathing.

Furious with herself for being caught in such an embarrassing position, Amelia exhaled sharply.

Beth set the basket of eggs on the table and walked out again. The door swung shut behind her, which caused the curtain to flutter. There was now a space between the curtain and the
wall
, which suggested a person in Amelia’s position could peer through the crack. That was to say
if
a person was tempted.

She heard the watery splashes of Duncan rising up out of the tub.

Quickly she peered through, and could just as easily have been looking at a sculpted statue of sleek, shiny bronze, like Neptune rising out of the sea. Water dripped down the length of Duncan’s spectacular muscled form in clean silver rivulets.

She’d never seen a naked man before. She’d seen works of art, of course, but never a true flesh-and-blood masterpiece of virility. And Duncan was most definitely that.

Lips parted, she stood gazing at his narrow tapered waist, his solid, firm buttocks and broad thighs. Her pulse burned with both shock and fascination, and even when she knew she should turn away, she could not. She was rooted to the floor, staring through the narrow space between the curtain and the
wall
, powerless to even
swall
ow or blink.

Then, as the gleam of water streamed over the brawny bands of muscle on his shoulders and upper arms, she noticed the scars. Some were
small
, like tiny nicks in the flesh, while others were thick and deep. One was as long as her arm, from wrist to elbow, carved in the shape of a half-moon.

How many battles had this man fought and survived? Was he made of steel? He seemed invincible. No wonder he was such a legend. No one could crush or
kill
him, not with knife or sword or stone.

For some unbidden reason, she imagined him naked with a lover.
We’re not afraid to grunt and thrust and use our
mouths to pleasure our women.

Her insides burned with heat. She had not forgotten those words, or how he had pressed his body to hers and pinned her to the ground on the morning of her abduction.

He had grunted and thrusted. She remembered every heart-stopping moment of it—every movement, every sensation.…

Duncan reached for his shirt,
pulled
it on over his head, then donned his tartan and belt, fixing the brooch in place over his shoulder. He was just reaching for his weapons when Amelia shook herself out of her stupor and realized he would soon push through the curtain. She backed away, looked around for something to do, nearly knocked over a milk jug with her elbow—then crossed to the basket of eggs on the table. But what to do with them?

The curtain swept open with a barely audible swish, but she did not turn. She could do nothing but listen to his light footsteps across the floor, coming closer … closer …

approaching from behind.

The scent of him
filled
her head. It was not rosewater she
smell
ed, however. It was just him and the musky
smell
of his clothes, the plaid and the leather. It was the
smell
of Scotland.

She felt his presence—so close, his chest touched her back. His hands came to rest on her hips, and her skin erupted in gooseflesh.

“You were watching me, weren’t you?” he whispered in her ear.

There was no point in lying. He would know. “Yes.”

Her bones seemed to melt beneath the sudden scorching heat of her skin.