The Seduction of Elliot McBride (Mackenzies Series) (17 page)

Elliot settled himself into the tree he’d selected, and waited. He’d exchanged his working kilt and tough boots for the dark silk clothes he’d sometimes worn in India, and soft leather shoes, best for climbing.

The tree was wide, and the three-branch cradle he’d found supported him comfortably. He’d chosen with care.

On his lap, he held his Winchester Model 1876 lever-action rifle he’d purchased when he’d first left the army. He’d ordered a smaller bore, a.40-60, that they’d begun making in later years—though it was still called the 1876. Elliot had confined his shooting, once he’d left the army, to food game and target shooting, rather than big game—tigers and elephants were too beautiful in the wild, and what had they ever done to him?—and so saw no need for a larger caliber gun. Englishmen in India enjoyed shooting
glass balls or plates out of the sky. Elliot, as a sharpshooter in a kilt, had been a favorite entertainment.

The rifle carried five rounds in the chamber, the lever action meaning he could pump the trigger mechanism after each shot to eject the cartridge and slide the next bullet into the chamber. He could fire all five rounds very quickly.

Stacy, of course, knew about this rifle and had a similar one of his own. What Stacy did not know about was the telescopic device Elliot had ordered before he’d gone back to India the second time. Snipers in the American Civil War had used such devices to bring their game into view—enemy officers rather than deer or bear.

Elliot had fitted the scope to the rifle before he’d left the house. McGregor had been fascinated with it, making Elliot promise to bring it with him the next time they went to McPherson’s. McPherson would be green with envy, McGregor said, with glee.

Elliot lifted the rifle and sighted through the scope, the bright moonlight bringing the hanging bag of foodstuffs into sharp focus.

It still hung where Hamish had left it, full and untouched. Squirrels and birds would get it if he left it through tomorrow, but tonight, in the dead of night, Stacy might just come out for it.

Wind sighed in the trees, and scraps of clouds drifted overhead. The weather here, so close to the sea, was ever changing. A few miles north of McGregor’s estate, the land curved and headed for the utmost north of Scotland and the stretch of water to the Orkneys.

Juliana would like a summer journey to the Orkneys, to watch from the boat as they slid past the Old Man of Hoy, standing sentinel over the islands. Elliot imagined her on the boat’s deck, the wind in her fiery hair, her eyes filled with wonder as she stared at the tall pile of rock.

There were so many wonders in the world. Elliot wanted to show them all to Juliana.

His perch was cold, but he welcomed the wind. It erased the stifling heat of India from his brain, not that the Punjab couldn’t turn bone cold in the winter.

Archibald Stacy. When the man had arrived in the Punjab with his young Scottish wife, looking to make his fortune, he and Elliot had resumed the friendship they’d begun in the army. When Mrs. Stacy soon died of typhoid fever, Elliot had nursed Stacy through his grief.

Then they’d met Jaya, the kin to princes of one of the native states. Elliot had not fallen in love with her as Stacy had, but Elliot had been young, lonely, and virile, and at the time, he thought he’d never make enough money to see Scotland and Juliana again.

Then when Jaya had played her game to make Stacy believe she preferred Elliot to him, Stacy had gone mad with rage. Elliot had been surprised. Stacy had always spoken of Jaya with indifference, having deeply loved his wife. Stacy had given no indication he’d been in a hurry to replace the first Mrs. Stacy, and so Elliot hadn’t realized the man’s true feelings.

They’d quarreled, and Elliot had relinquished Jaya back to Stacy, who’d promised to marry her. Elliot had thought the matter resolved.

Not long after that, Elliot and Stacy had been tramping together in the hills far to the north, never knowing that a tribal skirmish in the remote passes to the Afghan lands had begun. That was where Elliot had realized that Stacy still held a grudge, and held it with a vengeance.

The Highland moon sank behind the mountains, swallowed by the light that began so early in northern summers.

Strange that the sun stayed up so long in these latitudes but the air remained cool, while in the tropics, the sun sank quickly but the heat lasted far into the night.

As long as the darkness remained, Stacy never emerged, and the bag of food still hung untouched.

He doesn’t like my Judas goat.
Elliot allowed himself an inward smile.
My Judas ham.

As the sun climbed out of the sea, Elliot lifted his rifle, aimed, and fired one shot. The rope holding the bag split and the bag fell with a thump to the path.

Elliot skimmed out of the tree, fetched the bag, and walked the few miles to McPherson’s to give the contents to McPherson’s grateful dogs.

Juliana stepped out to the kitchen garden with her basket, determined to fill it with the runner beans she’d spied yesterday. She looked up after picking the first handful to see her husband, clad in a short indigo jacket and dark pants that clung to his legs, walking up from the westward hills.

He was bareheaded, carried his rifle over his shoulder, and was followed by a long-haired red setter.

Chapter 17

Juliana watched Elliot come, her feelings a mixture of anger and relief. The shot that had awakened her at dawn had terrified her. Mahindar and Hamish had gone to investigate and returned saying they’d found nothing. No Elliot, no intruder, no bag of food, nothing.

Juliana had not been able to sleep again, fearing bloodshed and Elliot gone forever. Now she was sandy-eyed and a bit annoyed that Elliot should stroll casually through the garden gate as though nothing was wrong.

As Elliot neared her, Juliana admitted even in her anger that in the foreign clothes Elliot lookedquite delectable. His tanned skin gave him an exotic touch, and the trousers, hugging him to his ankles, outlined every muscle of leg and buttock. The short jacket gaped open over a thin white shirt, which fit snugly to his tanned chest.

Juliana cleared her throat. “Good morning, Elliot.”

Elliot lowered the rifle and stood its butt on the ground. “You’re out early.”

“I was awakened early. By a shot.”

He nodded. “That was me. But the only casualty was a bit o’ twine.”

Juliana closed her eyes, letting out her pent-up breath. “Elliot.”

Elliot touched her cheek, and she opened her eyes to find him gazing down at her, his gray eyes warm. “There was no need to worry, lass. I’m very good at taking care of myself.”

“That might be true, but…”

“I hoped I’d find you in bed.”

Juliana’s heart jumped then settled down to a hurried thrum. She tried to shrug. “Vegetables still grow in this garden. They’ve gone a bit wild, but they’re here. I thought I’d gather some. To help Mahindar cooking for everyone.”

Babbling helped, but she could not stop gazing at his taut thighs and the thick bulge the trousers didn’t bother to hide.

Elliot waited until she’d run down. “Where is Priti?”

“With Mahindar. Helping him with the goat.”

“Make sure she stays with him or his family every moment of the day and night. Is Hamish here?”

“Banging around in the scullery. I don’t think he ever sleeps.”

“He’s a lad.” Elliot rubbed his chin, where golden whiskers had sprouted in abundance. “But I’ll draw my own bath. Never mind.”

Elliot made no move to go inside, however. He remained on the path, his hands on the barrel of his rifle.

“Elliot, you do know there is a dog following you, don’t you?”

The red setter had sat down a few feet behind Elliot. When it saw Juliana looking at it, its tail thumped against the path.

Elliot glanced at it and the tail thumped double time. “She’s one of McPherson’s. She must be after more ham.”

“Ham again? You’re becoming quite obsessed with it.”

“’Twas the same ham. I fed it to McPherson’s dogs.”

“So that’s where you got off to so early? Fetching it?”

“Watching to see who took it. But no one did. I decided the dogs might as well enjoy it.”

“Then you were mistaken about Mr. Stacy,” Juliana said. “He isn’t here.”

Elliot shook his head. “I’m not mistaken. My experiment proved it to me.”

“But if he didn’t come out for the food…”

“If the man lurking in the woods had been a tramp or a Romany, he’d have come for the food. Stacy knows better.”

“Oh.” Juliana’s nerves tightened again. “So by
not
seeing him, you know he is there.”

“Yes.”

Of course. So logical.

Elliot leaned to her, holding the rifle out of the way. His body heat touched her through his clothes, the cloth warmed by him. He kissed her, his unshaved whiskers rough on her lips, his skin smelling of wind, cold, and silk.

“Finish picking your vegetables,” he said. He kissed her forehead, lifted his gun, and strode into the house.

Juliana watched him go, the silk trousers clinging to the finest male backside God had ever created.

Elliot, knees drawn to his chest in the old tin bathtub, scooped water into the brass bowl and poured it over his head. Warm water rained down his neck and back, washing away dirt and suds.

He felt the draft though he hadn’t heard the door opening over the sound of the water. His head was bent over his knees, and he didn’t look up. He scooped up more water, his skin heating as he poured the water down his back.

“Come in, Juliana.”

The door closed, the draft vanishing. “How did you know it was me?”

He’d know her anywhere, anytime. “I recognize your step. I know what everyone’s sounds like.”

“I admit, there’d be no mistaking Hamish.”

No, she certainly wasn’t Hamish. As soon as Elliot had heard her walk into the room, as soon as her sweet scent had come to him on the draft, his erection had climbed high and stayed there.

Damn Stacy. Elliot could have spent the whole night wrapped around Juliana instead of sitting in a tree looking for the man.

Elliot’s eyes were tired from lack of sleep, and his fingers were starting to shrivel from the water, but his cock was plenty awake.

He lifted his hand from the water, letting a stream of droplets fall on the rugs Mahindar had shoved around the bath. Elliot took Juliana’s hand and placed it on his cheek.

“I’ve shaved,” he said. “Not so much a barbarian anymore.”

Her cheeks went pink. “I like you a barbarian.”

Elliot’s body went tight, and his cock was in danger of poking its way out of the water.

Juliana traced his cheekbone then moved her finger down to his lips. Elliot opened his mouth and gently bit her fingertip.

Juliana started, but she didn’t pull away. She watched in fascination as Elliot closed his lips around her finger and sucked.

“Please tell me,” she said, her eyes still on his mouth, “what happened to you in India. I want to understand.”

The trickle of good heat in Elliot’s veins started to ebb. He released her finger. “Not now.”

“This isn’t a whim of mine. I came up here on purpose to ask you.”

Elliot returned his hand to the side of the tub and closed his eyes. “I don’t want to go back there. I want to be here. With you.”

“I won’t insist on any detail that is too upsetting for you. But I want to know the gist. Please, husband. Let me understand.”

The word
husband
made the heat return. But Elliot’s fingers bit down on the tin bath, muscles bracing. “Mahindar…”

“I do not want to ask Mahindar. I want
you
to tell me.”

Elliot pried his eyes open but slid down to let his head rest on the back of the tub. “Why?”

“Because Mahindar knows only the story you told him. I’m certain you left things out.”

“Mmm. Probably.”

Juliana put her hand on her chest, over her heart. Her wet hand seeped a damp handprint onto her blue bodice. “I know what you experienced was terrible. I know it will hurt your pride to talk about such things with your wife…”

Elliot laughed, letting his eyes drift closed again. “Pride? Pride was ripped away from me a long time ago. Pride is worth nothing. Nothing…”

The word spun the cold of the mountains toward him, the sound of gunfire, the endless skirmishes between people who cared nothing for borders drawn by governments—theirs or that of the British Raj. Elliot hid in a crevice in the rock, next to Stacy, neither man worried. They’d be able to slip away in the darkness, back down the hills to safer ground. Served them right for not checking local gossip first.

Then there had been the families. The two stupid Englishmen and their wives in their topees, bringing their children and a few Hindu servants with them to explore paths Alexander the Great had trod.

Stupid Englishmen who thought the color of their skin and their nationality would save them. They’d been cut off from retreat down the pass, targeted by one of the tribes who didn’t give a donkey’s balls about their nationality. The tribal men had lived in their rock fortresses in the hills for centuries—even Alexander, one of the greatest generals in written history, had turned back from them.

Elliot remembered the fear, the screams of the women, the cries of the children. He and Stacy had come out of hiding and cleared the way down the pass. He’d told the idiots to run—slow, too slow.

Shots had rung out, and one of the ladies had been hit. Only wounded, by the grace of God, but her terrified screams had split Elliot’s ears for a long time to come.

He and Stacy had held a hurried conversation, deciding their strategy. They had to be drastic to get away at all. Elliot would hold down the tribesmen with his repeating Winchester, while Stacy herded the English families down the hill. Stacy would return when they reached safe ground, and cover Elliot’s retreat.

Only Stacy had never come back. Elliot had held off the tribesmen for a long time, they determined to get the crazy shooter in the pass. But finally, Elliot had run short of ammunition, and the tribesmen had overwhelmed him.

Elliot’s hands burned again as they wrenched away the rifle. They spit at him and called him a coward, then wiped the blood of their fallen comrades on him and tried to kick him to death. Stacy was gone, and rescue would not come.

Elliot flinched as the blows came down, feet and sticks, the butt of his own rifle.

His thrashing tossed water onto the floor, and Juliana’s hands came to rest on his shoulders. “Elliot.”

He opened his eyes to Scottish sunlight, tepid bathwater, Juliana sliding her arms around him from behind.

Juliana didn’t ask why he’d started fighting, nor did she demand him to tell her what he’d remembered. She simply held him, never minding that her sleeves were getting all wet, the blue broadcloth becoming dark with water.

Elliot turned his head and kissed her cheek, liking how her breath felt cool on his damp skin. The screams, shots, and enraged shouts of men faded, to be replaced by the quiet sound of his lips on hers.

He reached his very wet hand up to undo the buttons of
her bodice, but his fingers were too slick. “Take this off,” he said, tugging a button.

Her eyes widened. “Right now?”

“You charged in here while I was in my bath.” Where Elliot couldn’t walk away from her. “What did you think I’d do?”

He drew his finger down her closed placket, finding the damp spot where she’d pressed her hand. Her shoulder was also dark with water from where he’d rested his head.

“I am rather wet, aren’t I?”

Juliana undid the first two buttons of the bodice, and Elliot’s erection returned, harder than ever.

“Stand up,” he said. “Bare yourself for me. I want to watch you.”

Juliana’s face flooded with color, but she rose, fingers still on her buttons. “Only a very wicked woman would do such a thing.”

“Only wicked if the man is not her husband.” Elliot laced his fingers behind his head, the warmth in his blood hotter now than the water. “But you’re wicked, lass. You sat on a man’s lap, in a chapel, and told him to marry you.”

“That was not quite how it happened.”

“’Tis how I remember it, love. Go on. Unbutton.”

Elliot rested his hands on the sides of the tub again, but this time, his fingers were relaxed, warm.

Juliana, after a little hesitation, popped another button of her bodice. The linen corset cover beneath had a bow at the neckline, so fetching. Elliot watched her fingers, which trembled a little, as she unbuttoned the bodice all the way down.