The Pretender (20 page)

Elizabeth stared at him in horror.

“I do not believe measures that extreme will be necessary,” said the MacKinnon chief. He stared at his unexpected niece. “Although we will have to do something with the lass to ensure that our plans don’t go awry.”

“We could set her adrift then,” suggested Iain. “By the time she lands, the prince will have escaped.”

“Or we could lock her in a tower . . .”

“But I can help you.”

Everybody turned to stare at Elizabeth.

“What do you mean, lass?” Douglas asked.

“I could help you to divert the general’s attentions while he is here. From what I have just learned, you are laird here, so then I am the lady of this castle.” She looked at him. “Am I not?”

Douglas nodded.

“Well, I am also the daughter of an English duke, which would make any effort on behalf of the prince even less suspect.”

“She makes a good point,” said Iain Dubh.

“Aye, but it is that same fact,” Old Raasay retorted, “that makes her even more suspect. She could be just tryin’ to lay us a trap.”

“What you are proposing is treason, Elizabeth.”

She looked at Douglas directly. “To hunt down and kill a member—any member—of the royal family is a far worse crime. You forget—this man is my kin.”

“Kin?” Young Iain came forward. “What do you mean?”

“Charles Stuart’s father descends from Mary, Queen of the Scots, granddaughter of Margaret Tudor, a sister to Henry the Eighth, from whom my own father descends, albeit illegitimately. In any case, we are cousins, the prince and I.”

“Aye, but that would make the Hanoverian your cousin as well, my lady,” pointed out Iain Dubh. “So the question that remains would be with which of your royal cousins does your loyalty lie?”

Elizabeth heard the muffled voices coming from outside the door. She lay on the bed in the castle chamber she’d been taken to the night before. It was early morning. The sun was up and shining on the water that broke against the rocks below her window. She hadn’t seen Douglas at all.

After she’d made her offer to Douglas’s uncle to assist them in liberating the prince, the MacKinnon chief had dismissed her, citing the need to consider her proposal and discuss it more thoroughly with the others. His guardsman had brought her to the highest chamber in the castle, with a window that looked out onto the sea, and had sat outside the door to keep her from fleeing.

All the rest of the night Elizabeth had simply waited, expecting that Douglas would come to her, to explain why he had done this, leading her to believe he was a farmer and not the laird of this castle. There had to be a reason. But as the hours passed and she’d seen no sign of him, she had begun to worry that he might not trust her to do as she’d promised, that he would listen to the others and lock her away in this tower. Sometime, she couldn’t say when, she must have fallen asleep.

She slipped from the bed and walked quietly to the door, testing the latch. She was hungry and she needed to relieve herself. The latch lifted easily, and she eased the door slightly forward, expecting to see the guardsman still posted there.

He was not.

Perhaps he’d gone to find something to eat, or to relieve himself. Whatever his reasons, he was away, and the voices that had awakened her were still echoing from down the hall. They sounded muffled, angry; likely they were discussing what to do with her. And since she had every right to know, Elizabeth walked quickly to the stairs and descended to the floor below.

As she came to the study door, she could pick out Douglas’s voice among them, and another that sounded like the MacKinnon chief. There was a third she did not recognize, but it was the one that was speaking the loudest. She was just about to knock upon the door, to demand to know what they planned to do with her, when she heard the MacKinnon chief say something that had her dropping her hand to her side.

“No one can be more distressed by this turn of events than I am, Maclean, but it matters naught. The lass will be going back to England—where she belongs—at the end of the month. Douglas has explained the situation to me. It was unavoidable. He was unwillingly duped into wedding this girl and then was forced to remain wed in order to regain the rights to Dunakin. It is blackmail pure and true, but her father has agreed that once the two months is up, he will grant an annulment and see that Dunakin and the earldom are restored to Douglas.
Douglas will then be free to marry your daughter as was originally planned.”

Elizabeth’s breath caught and held. Her vision blurred and she had to flatten a hand against the wall when the floor threatened to shift beneath her feet.

Douglas was going to marry someone else?

For the first few moments, she wanted to think that she’d heard them wrong, that they were speaking of someone else. But how could that be? She wanted to scream. Why hadn’t Douglas told her this weeks ago when it had all begun? He had kissed her. He had done precious more than just kiss her, all the while knowing that he was promised to another.

What an utter fool she’d been.

Elizabeth yanked the door open. Inside, four pair of eyes turned to stare at her, watching as she crossed the room straight for Douglas, pulled back her hand and cracked him hard against the side of his face.

He didn’t even flinch.

“You bastard,” she said, horrified with herself that she felt the threat of tears. “You lied.”

She saw a flicker of something deep in the blue of his eyes. Pain? Regret? She’d thought it would make her feel better. But it didn’t.

Douglas’s expression was rigid, marked only by the burning imprint of her hand. “Elizabeth, leave us.”

“Why should I wish to do that, my lord? I have always thought it unfair that a person should be discussed in such intimate terms without being present.” She turned to the others, quickly setting her sights on the newcomer. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lady Elizabeth MacKinnon,
this man’s wife.
”

Elizabeth was too upset to realize that the man was looking at her with murder in his eyes.

Douglas muttered. “That will do, Elizabeth.”

But she was beyond all sense or reason. “I’m not nearly finished.”

Douglas looked like a storm about to break. His eyes had darkened, and his mouth was set in a grim and angry line. He glanced beside himself to where Roderick stood, a spectator to the debacle.

“Roderick, take her to the croft.
Now.
”

Roderick came forward. “Come, my lady.”

“I have no intention of leaving this room.”

“Please, my lady.”

But she folded her arms and planted her feet. She had her pride, after all.

Roderick looked at Douglas.

Douglas nodded.

Before Elizabeth realized what was happening, she was lifted bodily from the floor and thrown over Roderick’s shoulder with all the grace and dignity of a sack of oatmeal.

He headed for the door.

“Put me down!”

She kicked and struggled, flailed and bucked, but could not break the Highlander’s hold. “You cannot do this to me—”

They were gone.

Douglas stared at the vacant doorway for a very long time, warring with the urge to go after her and the knowledge that if he did, his life and the future of his clan would be ruined.

He had to make Maclean think she meant nothing to
him. If the man so much as suspected Douglas might have any feelings for Elizabeth, he would slay them all by nightfall.

“She will no longer be any trouble,” he said, trying to sound as indifferent as he didn’t feel.

Across the room, Malcolm Maclean was staring at Douglas. “She’d better not be, MacKinnon. She’d better not be.”

Elizabeth yelled all the way out of the castle.

She yelled through the courtyard, past the ancient arched gate covered in ivy, that had heralded the arrival of at least seven Scottish kings. She yelled down the first hill, and then up the next, and all along the pathway that ran beside the shore. She yelled until the castle was a distant, shadowy figure, and she cursed a string of curses so colorful it would have set a sailing man to blushing. All the while Roderick carried her, leaving a trail of astonished faces staring in their wake.

A Dia,
Roderick thought, grunting as she pummeled his back with her fists.
’Tis a good thing they none of them spoke the king’s tongue.

He didn’t pause, not even to rest, until they reached the croft. In truth, he feared that if he did, she would somehow wriggle free and he’d end up having to chase her all the way back to Dunakin.

Only then, he’d be the one yelling.

At the cottage, Roderick kicked open the door, setting Elizabeth on her feet with a
thunk
. The Sassenach lassie was so furious, even her hair seemed to have turned a shade redder.

“How dare you?” she railed. “How dare you treat me in such a manner? Do you have any idea who my father is?”

Roderick simply looked at her. He was not intimidated by the idea of any Sassenach duke. “My apologies, my lady. I was simply doing as I was told.”

“And do you do everything you’re told, Mr. MacKenzie?”

Roderick thought for a moment. “Aye, I do.”

He watched her pace before him, wringing her hands. He tried to put her at ease. “The laird will come to see you when he is ready.”

“When he is . . . ?” Elizabeth took a deep breath as if, if she didn’t, she would surely scream. “He will speak to me when I wish him to. Which is now.”

She started past him, but Roderick shot out a hand, taking her by the arm.

She glared at him. “Unhand me.”

“I’m afraid I canna do that, my lady.”

“Doing what you’re told again, Mr. MacKenzie?”

“Aye.”

She pulled away from him and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ll scream.”

Roderick had to smile. “You did that all the way here. Now come, just sit and wait like a good lass. The laird will be here directly.”

He led her to a chair, surprised when she sat down without further objection. She frowned at him, scowling
so deeply that her eyebrows nearly met. Even so, Roderick had to admit it was easy to see why Douglas was so taken with her.

The lass had spirit.

Roderick turned, crossed the room and closed the door. He slid the cupboard in front of it, just in case she should bolt.

When he turned, she was taking up a wooden trencher, readying to throw it at him.

“Whoa! Now, what’ll tha’ do, lass, except give me the de’il of a headache and get you tied to that chair?”

Elizabeth thought a moment, then lowered her arm. No doubt she’d save the trencher for Douglas.

Or rather, Douglas’s
head
.

By the time Douglas appeared, more than an hour later, Elizabeth had devised thirty-seven different ways in which to torture him. Thirty-eight, actually. The last one, however, had the potential for imprisonment so she decided against it. She might be furious, but she wasn’t willing to spend the rest of her life in Newgate for it. All she really wanted was for him to feel as horrible as she did.

“My thanks, Roderick,” he said, watching her warily as if he expected her to leap upon him at any moment. “You may leave us.”

“You are certain?”

“Aye. I think she is clever enough to realize that killing me will not make matters any better for her. Right now, I’m the only one keeping her from being left on St. Kilda.”

Elizabeth simply stared at the floor.

“Perhaps I should tie her up afore I go?” Roderick asked. “Just to be safe.”

“Nae, I dinna think that will be necessary.”

Douglas waited until Roderick had gone, closing the door behind him. He crossed the room and took up a chair, setting it directly in front of Elizabeth. He sat. She simply frowned at him, but the expression in her eyes told him exactly what she was thinking.

It wasn’t anything at all pleasant, either.

“I will explain everything.”

“Which version?” She lifted her chin, tilting it stubbornly.

“The truth, Elizabeth.”

Blessedly, she listened.

“You have every right to despise me. I have deceived you from the very beginning in more ways than one. Some I did because I had no choice. Some I did because it was the only way I could protect you. Yes, your father and I entered into an agreement whereby if I would stay wed to you for two months, he would help me to regain this estate. It is my birthright, and was forfeited by my father for his part in the Jacobite rebellions of thirty years ago. I had intended to tell you the truth, but your father insisted that I should . . .” He chose his words carefully. “. . .
sustain
your belief that I was a poor Scottish farmer. So I did. At first, I wanted to teach you a lesson every bit as much as he did. Wedding you caused me a great deal of complication.”

“Indeed. Particularly since you were already betrothed to another.”

“Aye, I was. My betrothal was arranged when I was in the cradle. It is no love match. I dinna even know her. It
was a means to put to an end to a feud that has waged between the MacKinnons and the Macleans for three hundred years.”

“That is absurd.”

“No more absurd than your
Sassenach
marriages arranged for financial or dynastic reasons.”

Elizabeth frowned at him. Her parents’ marriage had been just such a union.

“You don’t understand the Highland way of life,” he went on. “My uncle is our clan chief. He is father, king, and leader to us all. His word is never questioned. It was he who arranged the marriage when I was just newly born, and I agreed to honor it for the good of my people. I am a chieftain. The people of Dunakin are my responsibility. My clan is weakening and with each new generation our numbers diminish more. I could have refused to see the marriage through, but I chose to barter my happiness for the well-being, the future of my clan. And I thought I could do that. In fact, I had convinced myself of it.
Until I met you.”

Those four words caused Elizabeth’s defenses to buckle. She didn’t want to believe him. She wanted to believe he would say anything to keep her from ruining his plans. But she could not deny the light of sincerity she saw in his eyes, the way his voice had softened until it was nearly a whisper.

He looked into her eyes, deeply, completely. “I have never met a woman like you. I, too, judged you wrongly when we first met. I thought you were spoiled, pampered, that you saw me as some sort of a pawn to use in a game against your father. But in the weeks since we
have been together, I have seen that you are so much more than that.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes, fighting tears. “But I heard what you said, what your uncle said, to that man. You told him you were going to send me back to England.”

He kissed her temple, her eyelids, saying against her hair, “I would have said anything to keep you from harm.”

The tears came unbidden, rolling down her cheeks. God, how she wanted to believe him.

“I have been nothing but a burden to you,” she whispered.

“Oh, but you are mistaken in that.”

Douglas stepped away, only far enough to remove something from the pocket of his waistcoat. Through the haze of her tears, Elizabeth saw that it was a ring. A single band of gold.

“I should have given this to you long afore this.”

He took up her hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. It fit too loosely, so he closed her fingers around it, then covered her hand with his.

“This ring was my mother’s, given to her by my father when they were wed. It is simple and plain, aye, but it was the most precious thing she ever owned. I would ask that you wear it . . . as my wife. Because I love you,
leannan.
”

Elizabeth blinked, hoping, praying she had heard him rightly. “But what of my father’s stipulation?”

“Damn his conditions.” He pressed his fingers to her lips. “It is you who are my wife. Elizabeth MacKinnon of Dunakin. For the rest of my life, it will always be
you
.”

Elizabeth felt her throat tighten against her words. “Only in name.”

“That, can be remedied.”

Douglas lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her deeply, passionately, and with all the love in his heart.

And it felt so right. So very right.

He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

Douglas lay Elizabeth back, raining kisses on her face, her neck, her mouth. She closed her eyes, letting him love her, giving herself over to him, this man, her husband.

He stood above her, dark, potently male. The room was so still, she swore she could hear his heart beating. Time stopped. Neither spoke. They simply stared at one another, memorizing the moment.

Douglas reached for her, touching her on her face. Elizabeth closed her eyes, and slid her fingers up, covering his as she rested her cheek against the warmth and roughness of his hand.

Her breath hitched when he broke from her and hooked his fingers around her neck to draw her slowly toward him. Elizabeth closed her eyes and waited for the kiss that she knew was coming.

She felt the heat of his breath against her cheek and his lips took hers. She let her head fall back, offering herself to his mouth. She never wanted it to end.

But it did end and Elizabeth opened her eyes to see him standing above her. She blinked once, then eased her hands upward against his thighs, sliding them beneath the woolen hem of his kilt. His body was warm. She heard him suck in his breath sharply, watched him close his eyes as she splayed her fingers over his belly.

He let out a moan that sounded like her name, a desperate, wanting sigh.

Elizabeth moved her hands to his waist, tugging at the wide leather of his belt, releasing its buckle.

The kilt loosened, fell.

She watched him as he lifted his arms and slid away his shirt. She thought she had never before seen anything so perfect, and so male. The hardness of him, beautiful and sexual, stoked an ache deep in her belly.

Slowly she reached out to him and closed her fingers around him.

“Dia . . .”

He dropped back his head and surrendered to her touch.

Elizabeth marveled at him, the size and texture of him, the steel and softness as she stroked her fingers over him. His body hitched and tightened. A moment later, he covered her hands with his, easing them away.

“We’ve all the time in the world, lass. The rest of our lives.”

He reached for her, and soon Elizabeth was naked beneath his gaze.

“You are more beautiful than can be possible,
leannan.
”

He whispered words of love to her in Gaelic as he took her hand and had her kneel on the bed. He kissed her, tenderly, fully, cupping her breast in his hand, caressing her delicate skin, as he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her against him.

They sank to the bed as he nuzzled her neck, fondled her breasts, rubbing his fingers against her taut nipple. He kissed her in sensitive places she’d never
imagined . . . the very top of her shoulder, the inside of her wrist. She wanted to touch him as he was touching her, and her hands sought him out, stroking him.

She felt his hand slide between them, gently pressing against her. She opened to him, seeking, needing what she knew he would give her.

She arched, sucking in her breath when his finger entered her slowly and his mouth closed on her taut nipple.

She prayed he never stopped, never realizing she’d spoken the words aloud.

How did he know just what to do, just how to touch her to make her feel as if her very blood and bones and flesh were aching for more? She lifted her hips against the pressure of his hand, climbing, seeking, straining, begging him to bring her to that exquisite place where all she would do was feel . . . feel.

And when he did, when she drew that last breath and held it, gasping out loud as her body convulsed around his touch, he covered her mouth, taking in her soft cry.

She felt as if she might weep from the pleasure of it.

She felt him settle against her, felt the heat and hardness of him pressing to her, and suddenly nothing in the world mattered more than wanting, needing to feel him inside her.

He pulled his mouth away, and she slowly opened her eyes to see him braced on his arms above her.

“Look at me, lass. Tell me you’ll be my wife, for now . . . and forever.”

Elizabeth gazed into his eyes, and whispered the words that would bind them completely.

“I will, Douglas. Yes, I will.”

Douglas thrust his hips forward, stilling when she
gasped out in pain from the sudden tearing of her maidenhead. He waited a moment, until she had accustomed herself to the weight and fullness of him inside of her. He felt her ease, then sigh, and gathered her into his arms, pressing kisses along her throat and neck. He drew back slowly, and the slickness and tightness of her was almost too much to bear.

“Sweet, sweet Elizabeth,” he whispered as he pressed forward again. She opened her eyes on another gasp, this time not of pain, but of pure, primitive pleasure.

Douglas drew in a controlled breath as he began to move, slowly at first. She gave herself to him utterly, matching his movements thrust for thrust, deeper and faster until he was breathless above her.

A moan tore from his throat when he climaxed. He buried himself within her, spilling his seed in violent, shuddering tremors. His hands clutched her hips, desperate to feel her as spasm after spasm rolled through his body. It was so fantastic, so wonderful, he had to squeeze his eyes tight against the sting of wondrous tears.

He could not move for what seemed an eternity. He never wanted this sweet oneness with her to end. When he did finally move, pulling up on arms that felt as powerless, as pliant as potter’s clay, Douglas drew her into his arms and kissed her tenderly, this woman who was now his wife in the most essential of ways.