Secrets to Seducing a Scot (19 page)

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Authors: Michelle Marcos

BOOK: Secrets to Seducing a Scot
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There was no answer. A feeling of dread drained him. Not since he witnessed the lifeless bodies of his parents and brothers had he felt so much loss. If anything happened to Serena, he’d go mad. “Serena!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.
A voice came from far below. “I’m here!”
Then he saw her, a tiny form leaning on a sapling that angled upward from the slope. So far away. “Are ye hurt?”
“No. Are you?”
The relief of seeing her brought him to his knees. But as the tension and dread wore off, the pain escalated. He took stock of his injuries. He was bleeding from abrasions all along his left side, there was a nasty goose egg developing somewhere on his grit-dusted head, and his arms were killing him. “I’ll live.”
“I love you.” The words floated up through the trees. Malcolm never thought to hear that from the mouth of any woman, let alone Miss Serena Marsh. It filled his body with warmth, and made his heart lighter than the ether. She’d saved his life. And now she’d saved his soul.
“I love ye, too.” He wished she were right there beside him, to be able to take her in his arms and show her what those words meant to him. To see her smile and read her eyes, and prove to her that her vulnerability was safe with him. Damned if the thought of it didn’t take every last bit of pain away!
But now there was the problem of how to get Serena
out of the gully. He had no rope and no tools, only a battered body. There was no way of telling how far it was until the road connected with the river once more.
“Stay put,” he called down to her. “I’ll think of a way to get ye up.”
“No, Malcolm,” she responded, her voice nearly muffled over the rushing water. “I have to climb down.”
“What?”
“My father’s medicine is in the wreckage below. I have to retrieve it before the river washes it away.”
“Ye’ll do no such damn thing!” He wasn’t about to let her risk her life … again. Beyond the small figure in the blue dress the terrain was rocky, gnarled, and difficult to negotiate. Any false step would result in a death slide.
“I must!”
He held up both hands. “All right. I’ll get the medicine. Just stay where ye are.”
There was no way Malcolm could get Serena out of the gully. He would have to find a way to go in.
Earlington had spent the better part of the day shivering with cold. The stone walls gave off a bitter chill, and though his nightdress had dried, it gave him no protection against the damp, fetid air. The cot smelled of sweat and fear multiplied over the course of decades. Never had he imagined an existence so tortured.
The injury to the back of his head had stopped bleeding, but it left a thick ache in its place. Added to that, worry about Serena plagued him. What if she had been captured? It made him miserable to think of her in a place such as this. But what if they had done unconscionable acts against her? What if they had raped her, or worse—what if they carried out their threat and mutilated her face? Pain pierced his chest and he clutched his heart. Both the pain, and the fear of the pain, locked upon his heart like a steel trap. Many anxious minutes passed while he held a hand to his heart. He grimaced, breathing through the constricting ache. Finally, the pain abated.
He tried to clear his head of the awful thoughts. But awful thoughts were like the foul smell that clung to these ancient stones … there was nothing to take their place.
Perhaps Malcolm had been able to protect her. Perhaps it was not Serena they were after. Maybe the
threatening letter had been only a ruse to distract him. Perhaps he had been the real target after all.
But to what end? He could not envision His Royal Highness bowing to the will of his captors just to get an ambassador returned. Parliament would not negotiate with revolutionaries, and the Crown would not be coerced by rebels. Otherwise, the government would be at the mercy of every radical who abducted an official. If he were in London and someone else was in this cell, he would advise the Prime Minister to call the rebels’ bluff.
Of course, that did nothing to console him. But it did clarify his thinking: It was completely up to him to get himself out of this predicament.
Though faint, he heard a sound beyond the thick stone wall. He wasn’t tall enough to see out of the window, so he overturned the waste bucket and placed it below the narrow opening to stand upon.
The window was still too high, but he managed to steal a glance. In the courtyard above, hundreds of men, maybe even a thousand, gathered. Someone, he couldn’t see who, was giving them instructions. He couldn’t make out any of the words, but the speech was punctuated with cheers from the assemblage, which, he noted, was armed with both swords and firearms.
Earlington sat back down. It was a soldiers’ parade, except that these weren’t soldiers. They were militia and mercenaries, just like the one who had abducted him. This group was organizing for its defense.
The turning of the lock reverberated across his chamber. The old man with the white beard appeared in the doorway, flanked by two armed guards.
“Ye’ll put this on,” he said, handing Earlington a shirt and a black woolen kilt. He was secretly grateful for the warm garments. But he would not be manipulated
into thanking his captors for giving him the barest of essentials.
“It is an outrage for you to keep me here. I demand that you release me at once.”
“Keep yer breath. Put on the clothes and then follow me. The McCullough will see ye now.”
 
The frightened horses had galloped over the broken road and into a field. They would have easily run for miles had not an ancient stone dyke cut short their panicked dash.
They seemed miles away as Malcolm hobbled toward them. The grays were still harnessed together, with reins and straps dragging behind them. On one side, they were still dragging a broken shaft that remained wedged in the tug loop. He had to get to them, if for no other reason than for the humane purpose of removing their bindings.
When he finally reached them, the horses were still wide-eyed and their ears were tipped back. He cooed softly as he approached, inspecting them for injuries from all angles. Miraculously, they didn’t seem to be hurt, with the exception of the horse whose rein had pulled him out of the crevasse. The edge of her mouth was torn and bleeding.
He made quick work of removing her bridle and unbuckling the harness. But he kept a hold on both the horses’ halters, and he led them quietly but firmly back to the road.
About a mile from where their carriage had dropped upon the loose rocks, the road had begun to wend downward until it united with the river. Malcolm let the horses drink before turning them back in the direction they came from, this time walking along the riverbed.
Finally, Malcolm came upon the shattered carriage
at the foot of the rocky outcropping. He looked up: The crumbling slope was being held up by the remaining valiant trees, but it wouldn’t hold out much longer.
“Serena!”
No answer.
He shielded his eyes from the late-afternoon sun as he scanned the slope. He’d give anything to be able to see a patch of blue fabric or a hint of blond hair.
“Serena!” he yelled louder. His voice reverberated across the canyon.
“Stop yelling,” came a voice behind him. “I’m right here.”
He turned, and there was Serena, smiling at him. He hugged her tightly, filling his arms with the feel of her, and spun her around.
“God be praised! Ye’re all right! How did ye get down here?”
“I climbed down!” she said triumphantly. “Did you take me for a frail milkwater maid?”
His jaw tensed. “Ye’ve far too much confidence for yer own good. Didn’t I tell ye to stay where ye were?”
“You said you were coming to get me.”
“So I was!”
“You took your time about it.”
“I had to fetch the horses.”
“Where did they get to … Norway?”
He pinned his fists to his hips. “I’ve a good mind to kiss ye.”
She smiled at him. “Well, what’s keeping you now?”
He seized her by the arms and snapped her to a hairsbreadth away from his face. A fierce grin cut across his face. “Why do I get the feeling that any road I share with ye will be fraught with danger?”
“Don’t worry,” she said with a wry smile. “I’ll protect you.”
Her lips touched his, and he melted all around her. His arms wrapped around her back as he feasted on her lips. She snaked her arms around his neck, putting his body in full contact with hers. They fit together so perfectly, wholly and in every possible way. What foolishness was it that taught her men wanted only showpieces on their arm? Malcolm not only wanted to keep her all to himself—he wanted to erase every lowly, contemptible man from her memory.
She exhaled contentedly. “My goodness! You are … That was …”
He chuckled. Now he knew how to rob her of speech. “Next time, ye’ll think twice about daring me to love ye.”
Being able to live out in the open air was not a gift Serena could boast about.
Malcolm took her downstream to where the rushing water gentled to a brook alongside a forest. It was here that he announced they would set up camp for the night, and a peculiar sort of dread overtook her. For one thing, modesty protested. In London, relieving oneself out of doors was something that only dogs and drunkards did. For another, she was certain there were creeping things and crawling things that came out at night, and she did not want to meet any of them face-to-antennae.
There was very little that could be rescued from the wreckage of their town coach. What wasn’t destroyed was washed away, including their provisions. However, Malcolm had found enough left with which to fashion rudimentary fishing equipment, including a net from one of her ruined chemises, which he used to pull a fat salmon from the brook.
“Right,” he began, tossing down the fish onto the ground, “I got dinner. Now you, Miss Marsh, are going to cook it.”
Her eyebrows flew into the air. “I?” She shook her head. “No.”
“I know, too,” he quipped. “Get to work.”
“I’m not a domestic.”
“If ye dinna cook, ye dinna eat.”
The thought of going without food even one more minute was unbearable. “Malcolm, I don’t know how.”
“Start with a fire. And ye’ll build it the Highland way. By yer wits, not yer assets.”
Serena sighed in frustration. She looked around her at the forest, as if she might be able to spot a fireplace or stove nearby.
Malcolm handed her the knife from the sheath strapped to his leg. “Take this. See that dead birch tree over there? Shave off a wee bit of the bark. That’ll be yer tinder.”
Serena gave him a look that she hoped would convey her displeasure. But she went off and did as he said.
She returned a while later and showed him what she’d collected. “Here you go.”
His eyes widened when he saw the pile of bark clutched in both her hands.
“Och, woman, ye only need a wee bit.”
“Well, pardon me, but I have a difficult time quantifying the word
wee.
Next time, say when.”
He laughed. “Looks like ye stripped the tree bare.”
She held up the knife. “I’d like to strip you bare.”
“Ye won’t be needing that. Just ask me nicely.”
She rolled her eyes heavenward, but the blush on her face confessed a different response.
“Come along.” He grabbed her by the wrist. “Since ye’re such an admirer of the blade, let me put it to another use.”
He walked her deeper through the forest until they came to a vast open moor. His eyes continually scanned his surroundings until he found what he’d been looking for.
“Here we go. See this marshy area? This is peat. Get some of this, and it’ll be fuel for yer fire.” He pointed
to a small overhang that faced the sun. “There. That part looks nice and dry. Slice off a portion from the outside. Not too deep, mind. The wet stuff won’t do us any good.”
“Won’t that black muck get all over my shoes?”
He turned to her. “And yer point would be?”
Serena shrugged. “Just clarifying. How much would you like? A wee bit?”
“No. A fair bit.”
She shook her head in exasperation.
“Keep away from that open bog to yer left. Get caught inside it and ye’ll never come out.”
Wonderful. She was in a wilderness, not another soul in sight, and even the terrain could kill her.
It was a woeful day for her boots. The muddy, black soil stuck to them, and she kept getting mired in the swampy marsh. It had a putrid, rotten odor to it, and she couldn’t wait to leave this bog. She found the mound he’d indicated and carved off a dried portion. Once she had two brick-size pieces, she rejoined him. He had collected a couple of handfuls of thick green moss.
“Right. We’re almost ready. Let’s go find some kindling.”
On the way back, he snapped off some dried twigs and collected them in his arms. When they reached the clearing, he assembled the fire, and they knelt at it.
“Here’s what ye’ll need to do, Serena. Rub this stick between yer hands like so. The faster ye rub it inside the notch on the wood below, the hotter it will become. When the wood below starts to smoke, place the birch bark on it. The bark will catch fire, and then ye can toss it onto the kindling. When that starts to go, put the peat on top of it. Understand?”
“I suppose,” she said uncertainly, as she awkwardly rotated the stick between her palms. “And what, may I
ask, will you be doing while I am rubbing calluses onto my hands?”
“I was planning to sit and relax with a cup of tea. But I thought it’d be better if I were to build us a shelter. All right?”
Serena grumbled, but resumed her rubbing.
At first, the only heat she felt was in her hands. But once she mastered the tricky skill of keeping the stick in place while it turned between her hands, smoke started to waft up from the notch. The more she rubbed, the thicker the plume became. Excitedly, she grabbed the birch shavings and put them into the notch. To her great surprise and joy, a flame licked up from the tinder.
“Look! Look!” she exclaimed, and excitedly threw the flaming bark onto the pile of dried twigs. In no time, the twigs caught fire. “Malcolm, I did it! I made fire!”
He came over and smiled down at her. “Ye’ve set me alight a time or two. Now I see ye can do it to wood as well.”
She was elated at what she had accomplished. She looked down at the roaring fire and was immensely pleased with herself.
“Now,” said Malcolm, “put the fish in between the sheaves of wet moss. This will keep it from charring when ye set it on the fire. And in about fifteen minutes, we’ll set down to eat.”
 
The salmon was exquisite.
Maybe it was Serena’s hunger, or maybe it was the pride she had taken in building her own fire and cooking it herself. And the absence of mustard sauce or a glass of wine, or even one of her twenty-five dish sets, didn’t matter in the slightest.
Malcolm had fashioned a shelter against a dried fallen tree by weaving together green branches and fir boughs, and he lined the inside with soft, dry moss.
“There ye are, milady. It’s a wee bit rough, but it’ll keep out the fierce wind and give ye a soft place to sleep.”
Serena looked inside the crude shelter. “I can’t sleep on grass, Malcolm,” she protested apologetically. “If anything even vaguely resembling a spider shows itself …”
“Dinna fash yerself. If any of the little beasties should bite ye, I’m sure they’ll expire from the venom in ye.”
She waved away his friendly insult. “I’m sorry. I simply can’t sleep out in nature.”
He laughed roundly. “I don’t know if ye’ve noticed, but at the moment, there’s a lot of it about. ’Course, there is just one alternative.”
“What is it?” she asked hopefully.
“Dinna sleep. I’m sure we can think of a way to while away the hours.”
“Malcolm, I’m serious. If I even see a spider, I’ll scream down these hills. Perhaps there’s an inn not too far from here.”
He sighed. “There are no inns for miles. But if ye like, I’ll make ye a hammock with my fly plaid. Will that do?”
“My unending thanks.” She watched him create a makeshift hammock with the black wool fabric, adjacent to the bed intended for her but about two feet off the ground. “In payment, how would you like a warm drink? I can boil some leaves of wild heather in the tin, and make us a nice cup of tea.”
They sat around the fire, sipping the hot tea, which tasted quite delicious. As night fell, the winds blew
back the blanket of clouds, revealing thousands of white stars. The only sounds were those of the leaves on the trees rattling in the wind and the crackle of the fire.
Silently, Serena watched him swallow the steaming liquid and lean his head back against a pine tree.
“They say you’re a thief and a traitor. A man not to be trusted.”
He opened his eyes and fixed them upon her. The flames reflected in what had become black eyes. “Who said that to ye?”
“Is it true?”
Malcolm shook his head and looked away. “Tell me something, Serena. Who do
ye
say I am?”
Serena leaned forward. “I say that you are someone much maligned, and unfairly so. I say that there is so much shame in you that you live in a suit of armor not to keep others out, but to keep yourself in. I say that you once had a compassionate heart, but it’s been kicked about so much that it’s callused over so it bleeds no longer. I think that that scar on your hand has compelled you to bury a lot of dreams. But equally I hope that whatever that scar may signify, it doesn’t keep you from seeing the man you truly are.”
A smile inched across his face. “My God. Now I understand the hold ye have over me.” He reached out his scarred hand and placed it over hers.
She squeezed it and lifted it up, cradling it between her own. “Does it pain you?”
He shook his head. “I canna feel anything there. The scars have blotted out all feeling. I carry the pain … a little deeper.”
“Who did this to you, Malcolm?”
He closed his eyes, and the furrow between his black eyebrows deepened. She sensed him going back in
time to a place that he had visited many times by himself, but never with someone else.
“My own clansmen.”
Serena’s mouth fell open. “The Slayters?”
He exhaled. “Slayter isn’t my real name. It’s my label. My … title.”
A cloud of confusion came over her. “Your title?”
“Aye.” A note of sarcastic asperity pierced his voice. “I’m to be known forever as a
slaighteur.
It’s Gaelic for ‘knave.’”
“
Slaighteur.
So that’s what the
S
stands for.”
“Aye.”
“What did you do to deserve that?”
Malcolm exhaled deeply. “I was born into a family of men that failed to present themselves in battle.” He paused. “My father and my brothers didna stand with the clan, and the clan lost. For this, they should have been branded. But the clan was no’ after justice. It was after revenge. They slaughtered my brothers, my father, and my mother, while the wee ones watched.”
Serena had never heard anything so horrifying. “That’s barbaric. Were the murderers caught?”
“Of course not. There is no justice in a place like this, Serena.”
“We have British laws.”
“But Highland ways. What law can exist here? The law of blood is all that is understood. Ye say it is barbaric, and so it is. At least I was thirteen. Almost a man. I could take it. But what sort of unrighteous justice would allow my young sisters and brother, three wee ones only this big, to be branded like so much cattle and taken as bondservants?”
Serena closed her eyes to the horror. “But why punish the little ones? Any of you? You were all innocent.”
“To show the world that we came from a family of
cowards. Because children grow up, and they might take it into their heads to avenge themselves. So no self-respecting Scotsman would support a man with a brand like this one. Would ye help a criminal?”
Serena’s voice dropped to a whisper. “And all this time I thought it was for something that you did.”
He closed his eyes. “I don’t deserve this for something I did. I deserve it for something I didn’t do.”
Her eyes snapped up to his face. He was staring at the
S
on the back of his hand. “They gave this to us for being cowards. Well, in my case, it’s become well deserved, for so I am. I couldna prevent the wee ones from being hurt, but I’m the only one who escaped. I should have gone after them. I should have tried to find them. I should have scoured all of Scotland for a clue as to what became of them. But I didn’t. I did nothing. I hid here, in the Highland wilderness. For almost a month, cowering in the fens and forests like a frightened rabbit. If it wasn’t for that game hunter in the next village who found me, I’d probably be here still.”
Serena raised herself to her knees. “Now you listen to me, Malcolm. You are not a coward. You were a little boy who
was
scared, and had every right to be. Even if you had been a man, armed with strength and wits, there was not much you could have done. Look at you now. Now you have the privilege of choice. You could have chosen not to protect me. You could have chosen not to go after my father. But instead you faced the danger. At great cost to yourself and with no promise of reward. I don’t know what other people see when they see that brand. But to me, you are a hero.”
He threaded his fingers in her hair. “Aye. And that’s enough for me.”
He leaned over and kissed her mouth. It was not just a kiss of affection; it was a profession of appreciation.
She returned it with equal fervor, pledging her indebtedness to him for showing her what a man’s love ought to be, and then being that man for her. Until she’d loved him, she’d never loved enough.

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