The Devil Wears Plaid (4 page)

Jamie ran a hand over his tense jaw, wondering why he’d been foolish enough to assign himself guard duty when he could have easily commanded one of his men to do it. He glanced toward the other side of the fire where they had bedded down for the night. Although he’d trust most of them with his life, for some reason he was reluctant to trust them alone with Miss Marlowe. Hell, at the moment he wasn’t sure he could trust himself alone with her. Especially not with Bon’s taunting words still fresh in his mind.

She had the blankets drawn up so high that even the coppery spill of curls at the top of her head was hidden. A frown creased his brow. She was a lady, not some sturdy Highland lass. She was probably accustomed to taking her ease in a fluffy feather bed piled high with down coverlets, not on the hard ground with only a thin layer of scratchy wool to shield her from the cold.

He squatted down next to her and drew back a fold of the blanket, seeking to assure himself that she hadn’t frozen to death just to spite him.

There was no coppery spill of curls. Miss Marlowe was gone.

F
OR A DISBELIEVING MOMENT,
Jamie could only stare stupidly at the empty spot where Emma should have been.

Not only had she managed to slip out of the camp with him sitting only a few feet away, she had been clever enough to mold the blankets into a rounded heap so that anyone giving them a casual glance would assume she was still safely tucked beneath them.

“Bluidy hell,” Jamie breathed, raking a hand through his hair.

He should have known that anyone who would consort with the Hepburn wasn’t to be trusted. He was a bluidy fool not to have tied her to the nearest tree when he had the chance. That would teach him to try to play the gentleman.

He straightened, his grim gaze searching the murky shadows beneath the nearest stand of cedars. He would have never dreamed such a slip of a girl
would be bold enough to defy his warning and brave the night or the wilderness on her own.

He knew only too well just how unforgiving that wilderness could be. A sheltered English lass had no chance of navigating the brutal terrain of the mountain. She probably wouldn’t survive more than an hour before falling into a burn where she would be lucky to drown before she could freeze to death, or stumbling over the edge of a cliff. The image of her fragile young body lying crumpled and broken at the bottom of some rocky ravine troubled him more than he cared to admit.

Jamie knew his only rational course of action was to rouse his men from their bedrolls and send them out to scour the woods for her. But some primitive instinct stayed his hand. The Hepburn had put a price on his head the minute he’d been born. He knew exactly what it felt like to be hunted through these hills; to run until you thought your aching legs would collapse beneath you and your lungs would explode; to never know if your next breath might be your last. He couldn’t bear the thought of his men driving Emma before them as if she was some sort of helpless woodland creature. They could very well be the ones to spook her over the edge of that cliff.

Jamie strode to the border of the clearing and swept aside a low-hanging cedar bough. As his practiced eye scanned the underbrush for fallen needles
and broken twigs, a smile slowly curved his lips. It seemed that Miss Marlow had left a trail even a blind man could follow.

E
MMA PLUNGED BLINDLY
through the forest, her only thoughts those of escape. She knew she had no chance of making it back down the mountain on her own but if she could get enough of a head start on Sinclair and his gang of ruffians, perhaps she could find some hollow tree or sheltered nook where she could hide until the earl’s men arrived to rescue her. She could tell by the steep slope of the land and the number of times she had stumbled over her own feet that she was at least headed in the right direction—down.

This forest was nothing like the wood that bordered her father’s lands in Lancashire. She and her sisters had spent many pleasant hours there when they were children, picking wildflowers or gathering mushrooms for their mother’s table while playing at being pirates or fairy princesses. The sheltering branches of elm and oak were spaced widely apart there, inviting in glowing shafts of sunlight. The mossy hollows and gentle glades seemed more like a park than a wood.

This place resembled the forest in some dark and forbidding fairy tale—a place where time had stood still for centuries and some slavering ogre might spring out at any minute to devour you.

The thickly laced branches over Emma’s head allowed in only grudging flashes of moonlight. As she scrambled down a slick, mossy bank, the rasp of her own breathing echoed in her ears like the panting of some desperate wild thing.

She’d yet to stumble across anything even remotely resembling a road or a path, which was probably for the best. The last thing she wanted to do was make it easy for Sinclair and his men to track her.

Branches lashed at her as she ran, their bony fingers stinging her cheeks and tearing at the fragile silk of her gown. A sob of pain escaped her as her left foot came down squarely on a jagged stone. The thin soles of her kid slippers provided little protection for her tender feet. She might as well have been barefoot. She winced as she splashed through the icy water of a shallow creek, knowing it was only a matter of time before the slippers gave way altogether, leaving her completely exposed to the elements. What she wouldn’t have given for the pair of sturdy old half-boots she’d left tucked beneath her bed at home! Her mother had refused to let her pack them, insisting that the earl would buy her all the elegant slippers she would need once they were wed.

She glanced behind her. It was impossible to tell if she was being pursued or if the sounds she could hear over the rapid throb of her heart in her ears were simply the echoes of her own clumsy thrashing
through the underbrush. She wasn’t about to stop long enough to find out.

She had no desire to find out just exactly how Jamie Sinclair might punish her for refusing to heed his warning. Judging from the icy composure he had demonstrated in the abbey and the authority he exerted over his own men, he wouldn’t take kindly to being defied.

Doubling her pace, she dared another desperate look over her shoulder. The moon was sinking in the sky and the shadows themselves seemed to be chasing her, the billowing clouds of darkness threatening to swallow her whole, leaving no trace behind.

She jerked her gaze back to the path ahead of her only to find herself heading straight for the edge of a steep bluff. It was too late to slow her forward momentum. Too late to do anything but make a frantic grab for the slender trunk of the birch tree overhanging the rocky gorge far below.

The smooth bark slid right through her hands, offering her no purchase and no hope. A shriek escaped her lips as she slid over the edge of the bluff and into thin air.

J
AMIE FROZE IN HIS
tracks, his ears echoing with a cry so sharp and brief he might have imagined it. Or it could have simply been the night cry of some animal, either predator or prey.

He cocked his head to listen but heard only silence, unbroken except for the mournful sigh of the wind through a nearby copse of pines.

That’s when he realized something was wrong. He had been tracking Emma for nearly an hour, tracking her with his ears and eyes but also with some sense deeper and more primitive than hearing or sight. No matter how far or fast he traveled, he’d known she was there… somewhere ahead of him, out of his reach but still within his grasp. But now that awareness of her was gone. It was as if an invisible thread had been cut, leaving him dangling over a dark precipice with no bottom in sight.

Biting off an oath, he broke into a run, heading in the direction of that helpless cry. He paid no heed to the branches that slapped at his face or sought to trap him in their thorny embrace. He’d gone charging through these same woods dozens of times before, usually with a pack of Hepburn’s men hot on his heels.

This time he wasn’t running away from something but toward something. Unfortunately, that something turned out to be a downward slope that came to an abrupt end when the earth tapered off into nothingness.

Jamie staggered to a halt a few feet away from that deadly drop, his heart plummeting in his chest. He knew that particular bluff only too well, knew more than one man who had plunged to his doom there
due to ignorance or carelessness or a fatal combination of both.

He drifted forward, his steps robbed of their confidence now that he knew his worst fears had been realized. He closed his eyes briefly before peering over the edge of the bluff, already dreading the sight that awaited him.

E
MMA WAS GOING
to die.

If the thin shelf of dirt and rock that had broken her fall didn’t soon crumble beneath her, sending her plummeting to a stony grave, then she was going to freeze to death. As the fruits of her exertion faded, the chill hanging in the air began to worm its way deep into her bones. She huddled against the stony wall of the bluff and hugged the tatters of her wedding gown around herself, fearing her uncontrollable shivering might further damage the fragile soil holding the shelf in place.

She cast a despairing glance upward. She was only a few feet below the top of the bluff but the distance might as well have been a hundred leagues. Even if she could manage to make it to her feet without sending the entire ledge crashing to the gorge below, the rim of the bluff would still remain just out of her reach. There wasn’t even a stray rock or root protruding from the damp wall to use as a hand or foothold.

It was probably a poor testament to her strength
of character that she was feeling in that moment not grief or prayerful resignation, but anger mixed with a petty dollop of satisfaction. It appeared she was to have the last laugh after all, she thought with a faint edge of hysteria. Once she was dead, she would be of no value to Sinclair, her papa or the earl. They would no longer be able to barter her back and forth as if she was some prize sheep or sow at the local market. She wondered if Sinclair would go to the trouble of burying her or if he’d just leave her body to rot on the ledge and go riding off to abduct another bride.

“Halloo down there. Is anybody home?”

Emma started violently, sending a fresh shower of dirt skittering to the gorge floor below. She slowly tipped back her head to find Jamie Sinclair grinning down at her from the rim of the bluff.

Her heart betrayed her with a wild surge of relief. To hide it, she narrowed her eyes to glare up at him. “You needn’t look so smug, sir. As far as I’m concerned, you can go straight to the devil.”

Her words only deepened his smile. “You’re not the first lass to tell me to go to hell and you probably won’t be the last.”

She snorted. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

He dropped to one knee and peered over the edge of the bluff, his sharp gaze quickly assessing the urgency of her situation. “Would you like to come up or shall I come down?”

She smiled sweetly up at him. “Oh, do feel free to come down. I’ll make sure and wave as you go by.”

“Now, that wouldn’t do either one of us any good, would it? Especially since you’d be destined to join me shortly thereafter and then we’d have to spend eternity in each other’s company.”

She watched warily as he stretched out full-length on his belly and extended one arm over the side of the bluff, offering her his hand.

Remembering exactly how she had come to be stranded on the ledge in the first place, she ignored the undeniable temptation of his outstretched hand. “I heard what your man said,” she reluctantly confessed. “While the two of you were sitting around the fire.”

His eyes clouded briefly, then cleared as comprehension dawned. “Oh,” he replied, the single word speaking volumes. “So that’s why you ran. Because you thought you were about to be…”

“Fooked,” she finished grimly.

He looked startled, then was forced to strangle back a cough. While he was struggling to catch his breath, his eyes a shade too bright, she shook her head in frustration. “I’m not familiar with the word because I don’t speak Scot but I’m not completely ignorant. To prepare me for my wedding night, my mother explained to me that a man has drives… much like an animal.”

He cocked one eyebrow. “And that a woman doesn’t?”

“She implied that there were women who did, but that they were unnatural creatures, given to bringing scandal and ruin upon their families. She also explained in rather excruciating detail what would be expected of me if I was to provide the earl with an heir.”

The sparkle in Jamie’s eyes hardened to a dangerous glitter. “And you assumed I would be expecting the same thing from you.” It was not a question.

“From what your man said, you’d be more likely to demand than expect.” Even though it was one of the hardest things she’d ever done in her life, she forced herself to hold his direct gaze. “Or to simply take what you wanted without begging my leave.”

His rugged jaw tightened, that subtle motion only hinting at the dark things that could pass between a man and a woman when she was forced to rely upon his mercy. “As long as Hepburn gives me what I want, you’ve naught to fear. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” He paused for the space of a heartbeat. “Including me.”

She gazed at his outstretched hand, still torn. All she had to do was stand and stretch out her own arm to seize his offer of salvation.

She had no reason to trust him. He was a scoundrel and a thief. He could be lying through his teeth.
Her gaze darted to the dizzying drop below. If she were a true lady, she would fling herself upon the rocks rather than risk being defiled by his hands.

Almost as if reading her mind, he said, “You’re forgetting one thing, lass. Your virtue is of nearly as much value to me as your life. The Hepburn isn’t going to pay me so much as one halfpenny for damaged goods.”

“What makes you think he’ll still want me? How can he not consider me
damaged
after you and your band of not-so-merry men have dragged me halfway to Hades without the benefit of any sort of chaperone?”

“Oh, he’ll still want you,” Jamie said grimly, “if only to prove a Sinclair didn’t get the best of him. Knowing the Hepburn, he’ll probably insist his own personal physician examine you to prove you’re still worthy to be his bride.”

As the full import of his words sank in, a scorching blush drove the chill from Emma’s cheeks.

“Why, I wouldn’t put it past the auld buzzard to invite the wedding guests into his bedchamber to witness your deflowering or to hang a bluidy sheet out the window the next morning just as the Hepburn lairds of auld used to do.”

“Stop it!” Emma shouted. “Stop trying to make a kindly old man out to be a monster when you’re the true villain! For all I know, you’re lying about everything, including what you plan to do to me if I trust you enough to give you my hand!”

“What if I am?”

The deadly calm of his tone cut right through her agitation.

A taunting sneer curled his lips. “What if I am lying to you? Have you so little spirit that you’re willing to die to preserve your precious virtue?” Even though Emma suspected he was deliberately trying to goad her into action, she was still mesmerized by the cruel cant of those sensual lips. “You set a very high price on yourself, don’t you, lass? Why don’t you come up here and show me whether or not you’re worth it?”