In the Highlander's Bed (7 page)

Constance shook her head. “It sounds as if it is the Scottish with whom you have a complaint, not the English.”

Disgust laced his voice as he said, “Aye, these landowners have English titles and prefer London to their own country while English troops set fires to burn the crofters out. They’ve left thousands of people with no homes, no land, and no way to feed their children.”

“Isn’t there a magistrate or someone who can use the law against this practice?” Constance asked.

“The English make the laws, lass, and they make them in their favor.”

“Then change them.”

He made an impatient sound as if finding her naive. “The landowners are powerful. They won’t change a law that works for them. And they’ll stop at nothing to silence a good man who speaks out for justice.

My father was such a man. He believed in the law. Taught me to believe in it. When he spoke against the Clearances, when he stood up for his countrymen, he was murdered. Stabbed by an assassin on his way home from court. The people took to the streets to protest his murder. They even caught his murderer, who confessed that he’d been hired. However, the man conveniently disappeared before he could be
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tried.”

“What do you mean, disappeared?”

“He escaped…or so they say.” The twist of Lachlan’s mouth said that he had doubts. “The man was never seen or heard from again. I know. I’ve searched for him.”

Now she understood what drove him. This quest for a sword was personal for him. He wanted vengeance, even if it meant rebellion.

And she didn’t want any of it. She wanted to go home. To return to her beloved Ohio Valley, where she understood the rules and didn’t need to be anyone other than herself.

She also realized something else. “If you plan to use this sword to lead a rebellion,” she said, “then the Duke of Colster must not give it to you. To do so would be treasonous.”

Lachlan frowned. “That’s his problem.”

“He won’t give you the sword,” she said with complete certainty. She didn’t know the Duke of Colster, had only met him once, but she knew his brother. She might think of Lord Phillip as evil and mean…but he was famous for being incorruptible and proud of it.

“You’d best hope he does, lass,” Mr. Lachlan replied.

“Because if not…?” she asked. “What will you do then?”

He looked down at her, meeting her eye. “’Tis the sword or your life.”

Panic choked her. He said it so casually.

She forced herself to be calm. “I know what it means to desperately want something. I want to go home.

It’s where I belong. There is a ship that is leaving Edinburgh harbor in four days time, sailing to New York. Perhaps there is a way we can both have what we want. You can pretend you have me. I’ll even write a note, but please, let me go to Edinburgh. I must be on that ship. Imust go home.”

He shook his head. “When Colster gives me the sword, I shall turn you over to him. It’s what must be done. I am a man of my word. You for the sword.”

Constance’s temper exploded. “I despise you,” she said, putting every ounce of her frustration and anger into those words.

“Good,” he answered, spurring his horse, increasing its gait to a gallop. “Keep it that way.”

Five

The movement of the horse and her tied hands forced Constance to lean against Lachlan. She didn’t hide her bitterness, little that he cared. She’d never reach that ship before it sailed. Not now. He was taking her farther and farther east. She could tell by the location of the moon.

Her heart heavy, she struggled with tears of disappointment. He must have sensed her movement and misinterpreted it—either on purpose or out of guilt; she hoped it was the latter—because he reined his
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horse to a stop to pull a swath of tartan wool from his saddlebag.

“Wrap this around you.”

“I don’t need it,” she informed him proudly. She knew this tartan was his clan’s colors. Well, she didn’t want to wear it.

His response was to impatiently wrap the tartan around her anyway.

They rode on.

At some point she surprised herself by nodding off. Right there in his arms. She slept deeply, too.

When she did wake, she did so in stages. Her joints were stiff and it took her a moment to remember she’d been riding a horse, and even a few seconds more to realize she was still on the same horse and still in Lachlan’s arms, albeit a bit more cozy and familiar with him. Her head rested in the indentation of his shoulder. The warmth of his body kept her relaxed. His jacket against her cheek smelled of damp wool and the pines they were riding through.

She didn’t move. She didn’t want him to know she was awake. Not quite yet…because this half dreamy state was pleasant compared to the problems of the real world. Once she opened her eyes, she’d have to battle him again. For right now, she’d rather conserve her strength.

However, curiosity eventually overcame her good intentions. Lifting her eyes just enough to take in her surroundings, Constance took in dawn’s murky light and the fog that hung from the fir branches of the forest and rolled across the ground.

The Scots were all quiet now. She imagined some napped lightly even as their horses kept going. She’d known frontiersmen who could travel in that fashion for days without stopping to rest.

She was certain Gordon Lachlan wouldn’t close his eyes. That would mean losing control, allowing the world to move upon its own accord, and he wasn’t that sort of man.

He confirmed her suspicions when he said, “So you’re awake, Constance.”

She opened her eyes wider. “You may refer to me as Miss Constance,” she replied, aping Lady Mary Alice’s hauteur. She wanted to stretch her muscles, but she didn’t, fearing it would bring her even closer to him. She wiggled the fingers of her bound hands, needing to circulate the blood in them. The bonds were not too constrictive, but resting her hands in one place for hours had given them cause for complaint.

“MissConstance sounds foolish and fussy,” he countered.

“It sounds proper,” she answered.

He made a dismissive sound. “Why stop there, lass? Why not have us call you Queen of All She Sees?”

She pretended to consider the suggestion. “That would be fine…and aren’t you touchy when you don’t have sleep.”

His brows came together in a frown. “I don’t need sleep.”

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She hummed thoughtfully and his scowl deepened.

“I wasn’t being sarcastic,” he replied. “I thought that was how you did consider yourself.”

“Humor, Mr. Lachlan?” She shook her head. “It’s not your strength, especially when you haven’t had sleep.” And then, before he could comment, she instructed him primly, “I don’t mind being plain Constance. I’m a free-thinking woman. An American.”

She liked the sound of her declaration, and realized that even though she was kidnapped and going in the opposite direction of her ship, at least she wasn’t stuck in that overbearing school. She was wearing her moccasins, and when she had the chance, she’d free herself of this fussy ball gown. She could slouch her shoulders and laugh loudly and speak her mind…

Suddenly, her situation didn’t look that difficult. She was on her own. Freedom was a heady thing.

Of course, there was the pesky problem of Lachlan and his band of Scots, but certainly she could think of a way to escape. With the dawn came a new day and a host of opportunities—

“Why are you smiling, lass? What mischief are you cooking up in that balmy head of yours?” Mr.

Lachlan asked.

“What makes you believe I’m thinking of anything?” she countered.

He shook his head in disbelief. “Since my path has crossed yours, there hasn’t been one second your mind was idle.”

“Even when I was asleep?” she wondered, pleased with his assessment. She shook her head. “Please don’t tell me you prefer women who lack nimble wit.”

“Slow women are more amenable.”

“Butless entertaining,” she retorted.

She startled a laugh out of him. The sound was obviously so rare, the others came alert and pushed their horses closer. Thomas the giant mumbled, “What is it? Is she being a pain in the arse again, Gordon?”

“Thomas,” Lachlan said in warning. “Constance is our guest.”

“No, I’m not,” she said. “A guest may leave.”

“Some women don’t understand we don’t want to hear them yap,” Thomas said.

“That’s not true, Thomas,” Constance said gamely. “We understand. We just enjoy irritating you.”

Robbie and Brian burst into laughter. But Gordon—because that’s how she wanted to think of him—held up his hand. “We’ll stop here for a spell.”

“It’s about time,” Thomas grumbled, and the others agreed. They slid from their horses, stumbling a bit as their legs became accustomed to bearing their weight again.

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Gordon didn’t stop. He nudged his horse through the trees, moving away from his men. A minute later they came upon a trickling stream.

Constance wondered if he’d known it was there or if they had happened upon it by chance.

He dismounted. “You will want a moment of privacy to see to your needs.”

Privacy.A magic word. “Thank you,” she murmured, knowing here was her chance to escape.

Gordon took her by the waist and swung her down. Like Thomas and the others, her legs had trouble adjusting to being on solid land, while Gordon seemed unaffected. Really, the man appeared invincible.

He kept his hand at her waist to steady her. It was a gentleman’s gesture, a kindness. And yet there was something protective in his touch, too. But she was no fool. Gordon Lachlan was protective of her because she was his hostage. Nothing more; nothing less. She shouldn’t read anything into it other than what it was.

Besides, in a few minutes she planned to give him a run for his sword.

His tartan was still draped over her shoulders like a shawl. Lifting her arms to show him her tied wrists, she said, “You will need to untie me.”

With a grim smile he said, “You can see to your needs fine, lass, without my untying your hands. ’Twill be awkward but you’ll manage, and save me the task of chasing you down later when you try to escape again.”

That wasn’t the answer she’d wanted. “You have a suspicious nature, Gordon,” she informed him.

“Aye, and it is the reason I still have you, Constance,” he replied.

“Yes, but you’ve obviously never had to see to your needs wearing a skirt and petticoats. It’s not easy.”

The argument worked. He gave her a suspicious eye, but pulled a knife from his boot and cut her rope.

“Don’t try to run.”

Constance opened and closed her fingers. It felt good to move freely again. She looked up at him. “You know, if you let me go, no one would know you kidnapped me. I would go straight to Edinburgh and you wouldn’t have to worry about your neck.”

He raised his eyes heavenward. “You could try the patience of a saint,” he said, with very little admiration in his voice.

“Why? Because I want my freedom?”

“No, because you are more annoying than a black fly, with your single-mindedness.”

“Some would call being single-minded a virtue—”

“Not I—” he started.

“—because such a title could be applied to you,” she finished, neatly cutting him off.

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He opened his mouth to retort, then stopped. “Do you want a moment alone? Or shall we be on our way?”

“I’d like a moment alone,” she answered.

“Then take it,” he snapped. “I’ll wait here.”

Constance was tempted to bait him again. She liked verbally sparring with him. However, shedid need a bit of privacy. And at some point he’d turn his back, and then she’d have a chance to run.

She began walking. At the stream’s edge there were some shrubs and the shelter of tall grass. “That’s far enough,” he warned.

She glanced at him. He watched with guarded eyes.

“I thought you were giving me a moment of privacy?” she accused.

“That’s private enough. And I want to see your head at all times.”

“You can’t,” she protested. “I won’t be able to do what I must do.”

“Oh, you can do it,” he assured her.

“You sound grumpy. You may need some sleep,” she countered.

He growled an answer.

Constance knew better than to argue. As the youngest in the family, she knew when she’d pushed too far.

Happily, she set about her business.

When she was finished, she went over to the stream, taking off the tartan he’d given her as she walked.

The pattern was a deep blue and green, with a bloodred line running through the plaid. She set it aside and knelt to wash her hands and face in the clear, frigid water. She’d grown up washing in cold water and the outdoors, but this time she discovered, to her surprise, that she didn’t like it.

England was taming her.

She sat back on her moccasined heels and assessed her surroundings, something she would have done immediately back home.

A crow called. Beside her moccasins, Constance saw deer tracks. All was peaceful here. She closed her eyes, listening not just to the water in the stream bed running over rocks, but the sounds beyond. To her left a leaf fell and there was a scurry of movement. It was a squirrel digging an acorn.

There was another sound—a whisper. She strained her ears and realized Gordon was speaking to someone.

Constance opened her eyes, wondering what it was he didn’t want her to overhear.

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Now could have been a moment to escape, but she was curious. Gordon’s low, soothing voice eased a tightness in her shoulder blades. It drew her to him as easily as a siren’s song lured a sailor.