Her Highness and the Highlander: A Princess Brides Romance (21 page)

“Stewart?” she suggested to the dog, who looked at her with interest but no recognition
of the name. “Robbie?”

“Robbie?”
Daniel repeated skeptically.

She turned to him, her arms akimbo. “Yes, for Robert Burns, the great Scottish poet.”

This time Daniel did laugh. “Robbie Burns, were he no’ now rollin’ in his grave, would
be honored, I’m sure.”

“And so he should,” she stated. Bending down, she patted the dog again. “You’re a
good dog, aren’t you, Robbie?”

The animal barked and wagged his tail enthusiastically.

“See?” she declared. “I’ve found it.”

“You’ve found nothing. He just likes you smothering him with attention.” Daniel picked
up the valise. “Then again, who would no’?”

She met his gaze and gave him a little smile.

His eyes warmed briefly; then he nodded toward the horse. “We should be on our way.
Come, lass. Come, dog.”

“Come, lass? Come, dog?”
she said, trying to decide just how affronted she ought to be by the command.

His expression remained unrepentant, although his eyes twinkled. “All right, then.
Come, lass. Come, Robbie.”

“Your Highness,” she stated, her voice ringing with quiet authority.

He regarded her for a long moment, then held out a hand. “Come, Your Highness. Please.”

Crossing the distance separating them, she accepted his hand.

Daniel wasn’t sure if the dog led him or he led the dog, but the four of them—man,
woman, dog, and horse—set out across the countryside in search of human habitation.

Mercedes had offered to walk alongside, but he’d helped her mount the horse again.
It wasn’t that he thought her incapable of long treks, but he sensed she was more
used to walks along well-tended paths than rough hilly terrain full of rabbit holes
and heather. He supposed he was treating her like the princess she claimed to be,
but he didn’t want her coming up sore in blisters or, worse, a twisted ankle.

“Robbie,” as he was now known, often raced ahead, barking enthusiastically as if urging
them to follow. He would veer away to chase a hare or a squirrel, disappearing briefly
before returning to run alongside.

After more than an hour, Daniel was beginning to wonder if they should head in an
alternate direction when they came up over a rise and found themselves looking down
into a green valley—a valley that contained a neatly tended stone wall with a farm
and a small house with wood smoke curling from its chimney.

The dog barked and raced ahead, his buff-colored tail waving like a processional flag.

Daniel glanced up to find Mercedes smiling at him, her chocolate brown eyes alight
with excitement and relief. “Robbie led us in the right direction after all. I wonder
if this is his home.”

Daniel wasn’t sure if they had found the house because of the dog or by pure happenstance,
but he decided to let Mercedes think as she liked on the subject. As for the animal
belonging here, only time would tell.

A man strolled out of a nearby barn, wiping his hands on
a cloth before tucking it into his pocket. He studied them with interest but did not
speak.

Daniel turned to Mercedes and helped her dismount from the horse. Only then did he
approach the other man.

“Fair mornin’ to you,” he said, extending his hand. “Name’s MacKinnon and this is…Mercedes.”

She nodded and smiled.

The man’s expression softened ever so slightly before he turned back to Daniel. “Dougal
Cameron,” he said, shaking hands with a firm, quick clasp. “Not from around these
parts, are ye?”

“Nae,” Daniel stated. “We were traveling through and our carriage broke down. We would
be most obliged if you could help or at least point us in the direction of someone
who can.”

“This is my farm and I can help. Where did ye say ye left yer carriage?”

“On the main road.”

The man nodded, clearly considering. “Ye must ’ave been travelin’ awhile, then, since
it’s a fair piece from here. But no’ to worry, I’ve a wagon we can take.”

Cameron paused and looked over his shoulder toward the front door of the small stone
house where a woman now stood. She had bright copper hair and pale freckled skin.
A toddler with the same color hair clung to her skirts, while an older girl, of maybe
five or six years, peeked out from around her mother’s generous hip.

“Me missus and the little uns,” Cameron said, motioning toward the family grouping.

She gave Daniel and Mercedes a friendly smile before turning a glare on her husband.
“What are ye aboot, Dougal Cameron, keepin’ this pur thing standin’ while you men
flap yer gums? Ye ought tae have offered our hospitality the moment they turned up.”

Scooping the toddler into her arms, she strode forward, the older child following
shyly behind. She stuck out her free hand. “Sara Cameron. Welcome to ye.”

Mercedes stared at the woman’s hand for a moment as if
she were uncertain how to respond. Then she accepted and shook it with a firm grip.
“Mercedes,” she replied. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Sara Cameron raised a pair of carroty eyebrows, clearly surprised by Mercedes’s refined
greeting and gentle way of speaking. And the fact, no doubt, that she was plainly
not Scottish.

Daniel was only grateful for the fact that she had decided not to add Princess in
front of her name. Somehow he didn’t think the Camerons, despite their generosity
so far, would understand that particular eccentricity.

“Did I hear somethin’ aboot ye being stranded?” Sara said. “Broken carriage? This
mornin’, was it?”

“No,” Mercedes replied. “Last night. We tried to locate help, but there was none to
be had.”

“Ne’er say ye had to stay the night in the out-of-doors?”

Mercedes nodded.

“Och, weel, ye pur wee lass. Ye must be half starved and full done in. Here, now,
ye come wit me and I’ll fix ye up right ’en tight. I’ll make ye somethin’ tae break
yer fast and fix up somethin’ yer mister can take with him while he and Dougal go
tae see aboot yer ride.”

Mercedes shot Daniel a look of dismay at the prospect of being left behind. But she
didn’t have time to so much as let out a squeak before Sara Cameron clamped a hand
on her forearm and turned her toward the house.

Knowing Mercedes would be cared for, Daniel took the horse’s reins and strode toward
the barn with Cameron to get the wagon.

Mercedes trotted along next to Sara Cameron, the woman’s brisk strides—not to mention
her hold—forcing her to keep up. She was glad for the hospitality, truly she was,
but she wasn’t used to being commanded, or commandeered, in such a forceful manner.
But as she’d reminded herself many times before, she wasn’t in her usual environment
and must adapt as needed.

She was doing a lot of adapting lately, it would seem.

Behind her, Robbie got to his feet. While all the conversation had
been unfolding, the dog had sat and waited patiently. Mercedes half expected him to
follow the men to the barn. Instead, he trailed after her.

At the doorstep, tail wagging, he started inside, but stopped when Sara Cameron put
out a foot to prevent him. “Here, now, an’ what do ye think ye’re aboot?” she demanded
to the animal. “Ye’re not comin’ in ’ere. Off wit ye, now.”

Robbie raised his head to look at Mercedes, hurt confusion swimming in his big amber
gaze.

Gently, Mercedes pulled her arm free. “Is he not your dog, then? I rather thought
he was since he seemed to lead us here. He found us this morning out in the hills,
you see.”

“Weel, he may have done since I’ve seen ’im aboot a time or two, but it ain’t ours.”

“To whom does he belong?”

“No one, far as I ken. Jest a stray. Now git.”

She made to shoo him away, but Mercedes stopped her. “No. Please do not do that. He
is a very good dog and did us great service. If there is no one to claim him, then
I shall. Robbie is my dog.”

“Robbie? Ye named him, did ye?”

“Yes. I did,” Mercedes stated with implacable resolution.

The woman paused, a half smile playing around the corners of her mouth as if she thought
that highly amusing. “Weel, he can stay, then, but he canna come in the house. I don’t
hold with animals inside. Too much dirt and I’ve enough to clean with these babes
and that husband of mine always trampin’ in with his boots.”

Mercedes wanted to point out that Robbie’s paws were surely cleaner than Mr. Cameron’s
boots, but she supposed she was a guest and Mrs. Cameron made the rules. “Of course,
I would not wish him to make extra work. If I might, though, he needs to eat. I would
appreciate a dish of food for him, if that would be possible.”

The woman studied her. “Aye, I’m sure I have some nice meat scraps he’ll like. Shouldn’t
be a problem, seein’ I’m feeding all of ye.”

Mercedes drew herself up, her voice chilly. “Major MacKinnon and I have no wish to
be a burden.”

The woman looked taken aback. “Och, now, doona take on. Dougal’s always tellin’ me
I talk afore I think, so I meant no disrespect. Ye’re no trouble at all and ne’er
think so. Frankly, it’s nice tae have a bit of female company, even if ye aren’t from
here.”

She smiled and gestured for Mercedes to enter the house.

Robbie gave Mercedes a hopeful look.

She turned and stroked the top of his soft head. “You be a good dog and stay. I shall
be right inside and return soon with something delicious for you to eat. Now sit.”

Robbie hesitated, then dropped onto his haunches on the small pebbled walkway.

He must have been someone’s dog, Mercedes decided. He clearly understood commands.

“Good boy,” she praised. “Good Robbie.”

He thumped his tail again, his tongue lolling out.

“You wait here,” she commanded in a gentle voice. “Lie down.”

His eyes turned sad. Resigned, he did as he was told and put his head on his paws.

Knowing he would come to no harm in the yard, she followed the other woman into the
house; the entrance opened directly into a small but tidy kitchen with a broad hearth
that dominated the space.

Bunches of fragrant herbs, tied neatly with string, hung from the rafters—lavender,
thyme, rosemary, mint, chamomile, and more. In the middle of the room stood a big
wooden trestle table strewn with vegetables and a creamware jug of milk that had probably
been left over from an early breakfast. A few toys lay scattered on the wide plank
floor in a quiet corner near what appeared to be a flour barrel. This was where Sara
Cameron set the toddler—a boy, Mercedes noticed, despite his long baby dress and shoulder-length
curls. The girl joined her little brother and picked up a rattle to amuse him.

He smiled and clapped his hands, reaching pudgy fingers toward the toy.

“Sit, sit,” Sara invited, gesturing toward a chair. She waited, arms folded at her
waist, while Mercedes did as instructed.

“Yer husband…the major, is it?” the woman continued, “said ye were travelin’ through.
Where is it ye’re from, then?”

Mercedes opened her mouth to correct the woman’s assumption about her and Daniel being
married, then closed it again, remembering the other night at the inn.

What was it Daniel had said? That it was simpler to let people believe they were a
respectable married couple than to invite the certain disapproval the truth would
bring. She imagined trying to explain the situation to Mrs. Cameron, then imagined
her taking back her offered charity and ordering her and Daniel off her land. For
all she knew, the woman might chase them away with a fireplace poker shouting “sinners”
in their wake.

She sent up a silent plea, begging for forgiveness for the second lie she was about
to commit in as many days, then pinned a smile to her face and repeated the question.
“From? Do you mean myself or Daniel?”

There,
she consoled herself,
I didn’t really lie.

Like the innkeeper, Sara Cameron assumed what she wished; Mercedes hadn’t actually
said she and Daniel were wed.

Still, a lie was a lie, she knew, however white it might seem.

“Well, both of ye. I noticed yer major has a Highland brogue, but he’s not from these
parts. One of the north counties or the islands? Mull, perhaps?”

Mercedes shook her head. “Skye.”

“Och, aye, now I hear it. Of course, Skye. And ye? What aboot ye?”

Yes, what about me?

Again, she couldn’t very well tell the truth.

Or could she?

What harm could there be if she told her precisely where she was from but left out
the part about being a member of the ruling royal family? Odd how being Princess Mercedes
of Alden had become such an awkward implausibility these days. Odder still how lately
she wasn’t sure she truly minded being known as someone other than herself.

“I am from Alden, a small country on the Continent.”

The woman’s mouth rounded with surprise. “Really? How curious. Then how did ye and
the major come ter meet?”

Mercedes paused, knowing she was back to the lies.

But before she had time to think of an explanation, the other woman held up her hands.
“Oh, wait. It must’ve been durin’ the war, wasn’t it? Him being a soldier and all.
Ye met and fell in love and he’s brought ye ter meet his family.”

From what little Mercedes had gleaned of Daniel’s home, he didn’t have much family
left. But as stories went, it was a good one. She would have to remember to tell him
everything as soon as she had the chance.

“Yes,” Mercedes said.

“An’ now ye’re on yer way back south. Surely ye’re not travelin’ all the way ter the
Continent?”

“No, just to London.”

“Och, London. I’ve heard ’tis a grand place if ye’re not mindin’ the Sassenach on
every corner and curb. Dougal took me ter Glasgow once fer our honeymoon and ye’ve
ne’er seen the like. I still ponder on it from time tae time.” She stopped, her eyes
suddenly sparkling. “Ne’er say the pair o’ ye are doin’ the same? On yer honeymoon?
An’ he’s takin’ ye on a real tour?”