In the Highlander's Bed (4 page)

Constance’s stomach hollowed with disappointment.

Mr. Lachlan had winked at Lady Mary Alice, her nemesis, and he’d done it right in front of her.

The music started. She moved her feet with the rhythm. She was too proud to let anyone know she’d witnessed the wink.

Of course, what bothered her most was that Mr. Lachlan almost had her fooled.

Yes, she found him physically attractive—what woman with two eyes wouldn’t?—however, in those brief, private moments between them, she’d thought she’d discovered somethingmore in him. He’d not looked down his nose at her as so many others did when she mentioned her American upbringing. He’d actually appeared to respect her for it, to understand her pride in it…to accept her.

Unfortunately, that wink evaporated all goodwill she had toward him.

And when Captain Ardmore and Lieutenant Nelson sought retribution for Mr. Lachlan’s flirting in the form of a well-timed shove out of the line, Constance didn’t bat an eyelash as the captain took the Scotsman’s place. She even smiled brilliantly at Ardmore as they reeled their way down the center of the other clapping dancers.

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Mr. Lachlan was left to partner Lady Mary Alice.

In fact, Constance thought it would be poetic justice if Mr. Lachlan ended up marrying Lady Mary Alice and had to wait on her hand and foot forever. That would teach him to keep his winks to himself.

Nor did she balk when the dance was over and Captain Ardmore led her to the punch table on the other side of the room.

Mr. Lachlan was stuck with Lady Mary Alice and Miss Heloise.

Not that she cared, Constance told herself.

She’d mentally drawn a line through Mr. Lachlan’s name. Let the other girls fight over him. She was running away. She’d best not forget it.

Unfortunately, Captain Ardmore had decided she was now his, and his comrades had gathered around, each begging for a dance. They would keep her busy all night. She’d never have a moment to slip away.

Constance took a sip of the punch Captain Ardmore offered her and decided the time had come for extreme measures.

She dropped the cup, groaning loudly as she did so.

“Miss Constance, is something the matter?” he asked.

“Yes, I’ve suddenly taken—” She hesitated. “—violentlyill. Please excuse me.” Dramatically, she threw her hand over her mouth and charged through the ring of soldiers, heading for the stairs leading to the upstairs living quarters.

As she suspected, considering her exit, Mistress Hillary followed close behind. Constance lingered at the staircase for her.

“Miss Constance, have you become ill?”

Constance sucked her cheeks, leaning against the banister. “I fear so,” she said in a small voice.

“Oh, dear,” Mistress Hillary said, lifting her skirts to come up the stairs to attend her.

“Please,” Constance said, warding her back with a frail hand. “I shall be fine. I just need to lie down a bit. You must see to our guests, especially since Mr. Fryson is not here. One of the maids will help me.”

The reminder to Mistress Hillary that she was the only one in full authority did the trick. The headmistress stepped off the stairs. “You are right. I need to stay down here. Let me send Miss Esmay up to you.” Miss Esmay was the French teacher and very well liked.

“No, she’s busy at the punch bowl,” Constance said. “But I need to go to bed…”

She didn’t wait for a response, but started climbing the stairs as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders, a weight she threw off the moment she’d rounded the corner of the upstairs hallway. She counted to forty-five and peeked back down the stairs.

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Headmistress Hillary was gone. At last, she was free to leave.

Constance walked to the end of the hall and the stairway that led to the kitchen. She wondered why she hadn’t thought of feigning illness sooner. No one would bother a sleeping sick person, and she could have been well on her way to Edinburgh by now.

The kitchen was deserted. All the servants were busy with the dance. Constance hurried across the room and slipped out the back garden door.

Light poured out from the ballroom windows onto the lawn. Conscious of her white dress, she stayed to the shadows, making her way toward the bundle of clothing she’d hidden in the shrubberies and congratulating herself with every step toward freedom.

Her skin tightened with the cold of the damp night air. The bundle contained a shawl, her beloved moccasins, and a sensible dress. She would change as soon as possible.

She’d also thought to pack a book to while away the tedious days of sea travel, a novel by Maria Edgeworth,Castle Rackrent. Miss Esmay had lent it to her on the sly since it wasn’t approved literature for the young ladies of Madame Lavaliere’s. Constance couldn’t wait to read it. In fact, her only concern in running away was that she wouldn’t be returning the book. Perhaps, when she reached the valley, she could send some money to the French teacher for its replacement.

Her eyes had adjusted to the dark, and the path was well marked. However, it took a moment to discover the exact location of her bundle. Pulling it out from under the shrubberies, she tossed aside her fan, kicked off her silly dancing slippers, yanked off the irritating silk stockings, and put on her deerskin mocs.

Mistress Hillary and Charlotte had refused to let her wear them. But now she didn’t have to listen to them, or anyone. Her toes wiggled in pleasure as she retied her bundle, placing her dancing shoes on top of her clothing. Her money and the book were at the bottom.

Her fingers had just finished the knot when she sensed that she wasn’t alone.

Her heart went still. A pair of booted feet walked up to stand beside her.

Relief flooded Constance. It wasn’t Mistress Hillary.

“Are you gardening, Miss Constance?”

Mr. Lachlan’s soft burr surprised her. She looked up. His face was in shadows. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, what he wanted. She considered making an excuse—and decided not.

She was too close to freedom to give up now.

So, doubling her fist holding the bundle of clothing, she started to rise to her feet. And, as she did so, she swung at him with all her might, aiming for his groin.

Castle Rackrentgave a nice heft to her attack and it was all that was needed.

The Scotsman doubled over in pain, and Constance took off running.

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Three

Gordon had not expected the attack. He had anticipated anger, perhaps a tear or two—but an attempt to neuter him?

He dropped to one knee. For one sharp, dizzy moment he couldn’t breathe let alone think. She had a surprising amount of strength and determination for a woman, not to mention that he felt as if she’d struck him with a brick.

Meanwhile, she’d taken off running in the opposite direction of the school.

Through the haze of pain, Gordon realized the contradiction.

Where the devil was she going? There was nothing surrounding the school but woods—She was running away.

The moment he had the thought, he knew it to be true. The question now was where was she running to, or to whom? Young girls didn’t take off on their own. There had to be a secret lover waiting in the forest.

He knew that if she reached him, he would lose his best opportunity to reclaim the sword.

Gordon stood and took off after her. Although he ran like a lame bear, his longer legs outpaced her before she reached the treeline.

This side of the house was dark and deserted, so there was no one to shout out when Gordon tackled Constance around the waist just as she was turning to see if he’d followed. He fell on top of her, his body weight pinning her down. For a second the air was knocked out of them both, but Gordon was taking no chances. He slapped his palm over her lips.

“Don’t,” he warned. “Not one word.”

She put up a struggle, hitting him again and again with her bundle.

These blows were not as mortal as the first had been, and he easily fended them off, yanking her bundle out of her hand.

“What do you have in here?” he snapped, shaking the bundle so the knot came loose. The contents spilled out, clothes, shoes, money—“A book?” he said in disbelief. “You almost neutered me with a book?” He tossed it aside and came to his feet, bringing her up with him. She twisted her arm and pulled, bending this way and that, trying to escape. He held fast. “Miss Constance, I don’t know where you were running off to but you are mine now—”

Gordon broke off as he realized she held a knife in her other hand. Moonlight glinted off a blade sharp enough to skin a rabbit.

She slashed out at him. He registered her movement in time to jump back, just barely keeping his hold on her. He grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the knife and used plain, brute strength to force her fingers to drop it.

He kicked it aside. With an angry sound, she lunged for it, but he yanked her back.

Her carefully coiffured hair now tumbled down around her shoulders. Her eyes were bright with fury.

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She attempted to kick out but he whipped her around to hold her firmly.

“Where did you keep that knife, lass? Do you have other weapons?” He made no apology as he subdued her with one arm while his other hand ran along the contours of her body in a quick search.

His purpose was the sexless one of survival, and yet he was aware of her womanly curves.Too aware.

He went hard, a reassurance that she, thankfully, hadn’t gelded him…however, she also felt the movement.

She drew a sharp breath.

He could feel the pounding of her heart. Her breasts were tight and full from their struggles. The curve of her buttocks nestled his hardness.

This was more dangerous than her attack.

Colster would want the girl back with her virginity intact. Still, it had been a long time since Gordon had felt this strong a need. He had a strong, almost overwhelming urge to bury himself to the hilt inside Constance Cameron. The sooner he handed her off for someone else to take care of, the better—

A sharp elbow in his side brought him back to attention.

In God’s name—The girl had the strength of ten men when she decided to use it. Gordon lost his hold and she took off running—this timetoward the house.

He cursed his own male nature and ran after her. Once again he caught her handily. She opened her mouth to scream but this time he didn’t waste time on niceties. He pulled a kerchief from Robbie’s coat pocket and stuffed it in her mouth.

Miss Constance almost gagged, and he didn’t blame her. He heaved her over his shoulder and started walking toward the woods. She tried to buck herself off his shoulder, to free an arm and hit him, but Gordon wasn’t letting go of her again.

He no longer feared a lover was close at hand to save her. Whoever she’d been running off to meet couldn’t have witnessed him manhandling her and stood by. He either wasn’t there or he was a coward.

Gordon reached the shelter of the forest, then gave her a good, hard smack on her rear. “Stop it,” he whispered furiously. “You will only make this more difficult for yourself.”

Her response was to shove her hip at his head. He ended that nonsense by resettling her on his shoulder so her head hung even farther downward.

As he moved in the direction of the horses, Thomas and Robbie fell in by his side.

Thomas’s eyes glittered with savage amusement. “Enjoying yourself?” he said.

Gordon dumped Miss Constance into the giant’s arms. “You carry her,” he ordered. “Did you see her attempt to gut me?” He should have known. They probably had a good laugh at his expense.

“With that wee knife?” Thomas asked. “Aye, we watched a good bit of it. We would have helped but you appeared to be having a good time.” Miss Constance was finding it harder to free herself from the
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giant. Thomas’s arms were longer and he proudly used his superior height and strength. “You are out of practice with the ladies, Gordon. If you are having trouble with a wee lass—”

His words were cut short as Miss Constance freed her hand and smacked his chin with the heel of it.

Caught by surprise, Thomas dropped her. “Hellion,” he hissed. He never could take a blow to the face.

She landed on her feet like a cat and would have been off if she hadn’t taken a moment to pull Robbie’s kerchief from her mouth. She made a face. “That is the nastiest thing—” She spat on the ground with the grace of a guardsman, giving Gordon the opportunity to catch her again. He grabbed her arm at the wrist.

By now they were far enough away from the school so he could talk without keeping his voice down.

“Stop it,” he ordered.

Her answer was to whip her head around, her flying hair a weapon. She wasn’t one to give up easily.

Gordon took her by the shoulders and gave her a shake. “Miss Constance, you can make this difficult or easy. It’s your choice.”

“My choice is to leave,” she said defiantly, and would have pushed away, but Gordon held tight, wisely keeping an arm’s distance between himself and her knees.

“You can’t, lass,” he said. “You are a prisoner of the Clan MacKenna. You will be our guest until the Duke of Colster meets our demands.” He braced himself for her to fight harder, expecting more scratching and kicking.

Instead, her struggle ceased. “A prisoner?” She glanced at all of them in the dark. “Are you kidnapping me?” she asked as she pushed her hair back from her eyes and righted her dress.

“Aye,” Gordon answered. “And you will stay with us until your ransom is paid.”

“By whom?” she wondered aloud.

“The Duke of Colster,” Gordon answered.