Her Highness and the Highlander: A Princess Brides Romance (8 page)

“Well?” she said.

He glanced back. “Well what?”

“Will you buy this from me?” She brushed a finger over the pendant with undisguised
regret.

“Nae, lass,” he said. “I could no’ take your grandmother’s necklace from you, and
certainly not when I could no’ pay you even a fraction of its worth.”

“Then what am I to do?” she whispered.

His jaw tightened and he glanced away.

For a moment her heart beat faster with the hope that he was about to change his mind
and accompany her on the journey after all. Instead, he walked forward and took her
hand, placing the envelope with the money inside her grasp and curling her fingers
over it. “You’re going to take this and no’ argue further about it. Then you’re going
to buy passage on the southbound coach, which you’ll ride to Edinburgh, then on to
London. The coaches are always jammed full of travelers, and the coachman keeps a
rifle at the ready. You’ll be safe so long as you stay with the crowd.”

Her fingers went cold and numb against the parchment.

“As for your necklace,” he stated, “I want you to promise me that you will tuck it
away and no’ show it to anyone again until you’re with your friends in London. If
you try selling it to someone else, you’ll only end up swindled and the meager amount
you receive won’t be worth the loss of such a valuable and sentimental piece. Do I
have your word?”

She stared for a moment, then nodded.

Satisfied, he released his hold, then strode across to retrieve his luggage. Turning,
he nodded his farewell. “Fair travels, lass, whoever it is you may really be.”

“I am Princess Mercedes of Alden,” she proclaimed in a resolute voice that in no way
revealed her misgivings. “As I said, I will not accept charity and shall pay you back
in full,” she stated, referring to the money in the envelope. “Where may I direct
its repayment?”

He arched a single red-brown eyebrow. “There’s no need, but if you insist, send the
money to me in Skye. I’m the only Major Daniel MacKinnon there, so it’ll get to me
right enough.”

She nodded and then turned away so he wouldn’t see her distress.

His steps nearly soundless, he turned and strode to the door. A moment later, he was
gone.

N
early an hour later, Mercedes exited her room and walked along the inn’s narrow corridor
toward the staircase. She was attired in the new brown linsey-woolsey dress the maid
had obtained for her—a hideous combination of materials she had decided no human being
ought ever be forced to wear, particularly in the summer.

As she walked, she did her best not to squirm against the rough texture of the fabric,
or give in to the urge to pull and tug at the inexact fit of the dress. Without exaggeration,
it was quite the plainest and most ill-made gown she had ever worn—a far cry from
the luxurious silks and satins and downy soft muslins and gauzes to which she was
accustomed.

She hoped she wouldn’t end the day with her skin chafed bright red from the itching.
Bad enough that she had to suffer all the scrapes, scratches, and bruises that she’d
collected during her flight through the woods.

When she’d stripped off her nightgown earlier in order to wash and dress, she’d been
appalled to see the results of yesterday’s escape, her skin bearing nearly as many
shades as a rainbow. But there was nothing for it except to let time heal
her wounds. Just as there was no choice but to endure wearing the uncomfortable dress
for as long as it took to reach Emma and Nick’s town house and the reassuring familiarity
of their protection and friendship.

Assuming I make it to London alive.

She was still disappointed that Daniel MacKinnon had deserted her, even if he had
been gracious enough to lend her the coach fare.

Well, good riddance,
she thought,
especially since he too refuses to believe that I am telling the truth.
How had he put it? She was…
confused
.
Insane,
he meant.

Well, she was far from insane, although she might very well find herself driven mad
by this gown if the wretched itching didn’t soon abate.

Reaching the staircase, she started down, feeling suddenly more alone than ever. And
afraid.

Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away. She had refused to cry after Daniel
MacKinnon had turned his back and ridden away, and she would not cry now. She was
alone, true, but that did not mean she was helpless. She would make her way to London
even if she must draw on a strength she’d never thought she possessed. But first,
she needed to be on her way.

The maid had told her earlier, as she’d cleared the breakfast of which Mercedes had
been able to eat no more than a bite, that Mercedes should ask for Stewart once she
was ready to depart.

“It’s all fixed,” the girl had informed her. “Just go out in the yard an’ tell ’em
ye’re ready tae leave. Stewart’ll be along with the gig in a tick.”

Mercedes couldn’t recall ever before traveling in a gig, but considering all the shocks
and surprises she’d experienced in the past twenty-four hours, it seemed a rather
minor inconvenience.

She descended the stairs and stepped into the spacious public room. Unlike the evening
before, it stood shadowed and empty, tables wiped clean and chairs straightened.

To her relief, the innkeeper was nowhere in sight. Deciding to take advantage of her
first piece of good luck that day, she strode toward the door and out into the summer
sunshine.

Put her from yer mind,
Daniel ordered himself nearly half an hour later as he guided his horse along the
road north.
She’s no’ your responsibility and
y
ou’ve nothing tae feel guilty aboot.
The lass will do just fine on her own.

But try as he might, he couldn’t stop thinking about Mercedes or remembering the stricken
expression on her lovely face after he’d refused her offer that final time. She’d
tried hard to mask her reaction, but he’d caught a glimpse of her anguish and fear
before she’d turned away.

She has a vivid imagination, that’s all,
he told himself again.
She’s no’ really in any danger.

Perhaps she was one of those young women who read too many lurid novels where the
heroine was always being chased by a dastardly villain. Obviously she’d cast herself
in the role of tragic heroine—or in her case, tragic princess.

And yet there was that necklace she’d offered him in trade.

He’d gotten a good enough look at it to know it was genuine. During the war, refugees
and itinerant camp followers had often tried to trick unsuspecting soldiers into parting
with their cash in exchange for all manner of fraudulent goods, including fine jewelry.
Daniel had seen enough paste rings and necklaces in his time to have learned how to
spot a fake.

So where had she gotten the necklace?

She said it had been a gift from her grandmother, which was entirely possible, he
supposed. Then again, she could have stolen it.

Was that why she was being chased? Assuming she was being chased?

Was she a thief fleeing from an outraged victim? A former employer? A neighbor? A
husband?

His hands tightened involuntarily on the reins, and his horse slowed its gait.

Nae,
he thought.
She canna be a thief. I don’t…I won’t…believe that of her.

As for being married, she seemed far too naive ever to have been a bride. Last night
when they’d shared a bed, she’d curled against him with absolute trust, acting more
like a frightened child than a self-aware woman. He doubted she’d ever even been kissed.
Unless she was the greatest actress ever to walk a stage, she was a complete innocent,
who clearly knew little of the world.

And he’d sent her off alone, prey for any unscrupulous blackguard who pegged her as
an easy mark. Guilt roiled unpleasantly in his stomach; he worked to shake it off.

He was on his way home, and home was where he was going. She wasn’t his concern and
he had no time to make unnecessary detours so he could act as her bodyguard.

He urged his horse forward. Yet even as he did, it seemed as if each foot he traveled
was taking him in the wrong direction.

She’ll be fine.

But what if she isn’t?

Her friends would look after her.

Assuming she makes it safely to London.

No one was pursuing her.

But what if someone is?

Yet did it really matter if he believed her story or not? Was it important whether
she actually was a royal princess from some small kingdom of which he’d never heard,
or just a girl with a vivid imagination?

She was frightened and had begged for his help, yet he had walked away and left her.

Alone.

Friendless.

Defenseless.

The world was full of countless dangers, but she would find a way to make do. Even
so, her fate weighed on his conscience. If he continued home, he would always wonder
what had become of her. She didn’t need a bodyguard. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t
use a man’s protection.

His protection.

And truthfully, what did he have waiting for him at home? An empty house and an uncertain
future. His family was dead except for a few distant cousins who were scattered here
and there. He had friends, but he hadn’t seen them in years; no doubt they had changed
as much as he had himself over the past decade.

Considered in that light, was it really so urgent that he press northward now? Whether
he arrived in five days or a few weeks, he’d been away so long that another small
delay could hardly matter. And if he traveled to London with Mercedes, he could see
what those solicitors wanted so they would stop sending him letters.

Scowling, he forced himself to ride another quarter of a mile before he slowed his
mount to a stop.

“Och, I’m naught but a bluidy fool,” he cursed aloud.

Without giving himself more time to consider, he wheeled his horse around and began
riding back the way he’d come.

Stewart, the stable boy, proved to be a surprisingly pleasant young man who liked
to chat and tell stories. He regaled Mercedes with one tall yarn after another during
their nearly five-mile ride to the coaching inn.

It was a good thing he was such an amiable companion, since the dimensions of the
gig were even smaller than she’d expected. But she’d found she didn’t mind, his stories
making her laugh more than once, so that by the time they arrived, she had all but
forgotten her fears. They rushed back upon her, though, only moments after he helped
her out of the gig and showed her inside the inn.

“Ye buy yer passage over there,” he said, pointing helpfully toward a small wooden
sign perched on the far end of the bar. It read
COACH
in rather homely white printing.

“First time traveling on a stagecoach?” Stewart asked.

Obviously, he’d noticed the worry in her expression. She nodded.

He smiled understandingly. “Och, an’ there’s naught to it.
Jest stick tae yer route and keep a sharp ear peeled fer the driver tae call time
on the stops.”

“The stops?”

“Aye. There’ll be stops tae change the horses and give the passengers a chance tae
stretch their legs and get a bite tae eat. Ye’ll need tae be quick aboot it, though,
since sometimes the breaks can run short.”

“What happens if you’re not quick?”

He raised a pair of jet-black eyebrows skyward. “Weel, they’ll drive off withoot ye.
The coaches keep tae a timetable and by Gad they stick to it.”

Mercedes gulped.

Stewart laughed. “’Ere, now, why doona ye let me help ye buy yer passage? That way
I’ll know ye’re set.”

Glad for any assistance he might be willing to offer, Mercedes agreed.

Nearly twenty minutes later, her fare had been paid and her name entered onto the
official list of passengers who would be departing on the next coach.

“Weel, I’d best be off or else they’ll skin me fer taking too long aboot the task,”
Stewart told her, his thumbs tucked in the waistband of his trews. “The coach’ll be
along soon. Ye might want tae buy somethin’ tae eat to take along on the trip. It
gets long sometimes between stops.”

“Have you made the journey to London, then?”

His eyes grew wide and he shook his head. “Me? Och, no. Took the coach all the way
tae Glencoe once to see me dyin’ uncle, but I’ve ne’er been farther south than that.”

“Ah.” She laced her fingers together in an attempt to keep them from trembling. He
would be leaving any moment now, and once he departed, she would be completely and
irrevocably on her own.

There was a certain novelty to the situation, she admitted, since until yesterday,
she had never really been alone in her life.

While at school, she’d taken an occasional stroll around the academy grounds, but
even then there had been a teacher
or a lady’s maid nearby to keep watch. She’d walked by herself in a few gardens, but
again, there had always been others so close at hand that she couldn’t really say
she had been alone. Not alone in the way she was now. Not alone in an unfamiliar place,
doing unfamiliar things, with unfamiliar people who gazed at her with either cool
disinterest or calculating regard.

I should never have agreed to this,
she cried inwardly.
What on earth was I thinking?

But what choice did she have? Nothing had changed since this morning when she’d considered
all her options and decided on her present course. If only she could return to the
academy and ask the headmistress for help, but the school was closed for the summer
holiday and there would be no one there by the time she arrived.

Her family would be horrified, of course, when they learned that she had made the
journey on her own; women of good family simply did not travel without a suitable
male escort.

Herr von Hesse, an older, rather humorless, distant cousin had been her escort—the
royal emissary sent to serve as her guardian during the trip home. But he too had
been killed.