The Seduction of Miss Amelia Bell (21 page)

J
ohn Bell paced a worn path in the grass. He looked off into the distance to where
he understood Ravenglade Castle to be. He couldn’t see it from where his brother-in-law’s
army made camp. Why were they so far away? What were they waiting for? He didn’t care
if the duke wasn’t here yet. If Amelia meant more to her uncle than his position,
he would be here by now, and so would her betrothed. How could Walter not be here?
John closed his eyes to drive out the truth that Amelia meant little to her future
husband. They should have charged forward and taken her with the force of their numbers.

Ah, he was normally a patient man. God knows he’d been patient with his wife for years,
listening to her constant complaints about her life, and how she was forced to marry
below her. He’d been patient when she arranged the marriages of their daughters Elizabeth
and Anne to older, wealthy noblemen. He knew power was important to Millicent and
she wanted her daughters to have it all, so he let her have her way. Besides, his
two eldest daughters were exactly like their mother in that they sought power in their
unions, not love. Amelia was different. She had always been different. He cursed himself,
as he did every day, for not protecting her enough from her mother’s critical tongue.
He’d made many mistakes in his life, like agreeing to live in Queensberry House with
his family, a place that wasn’t his own, that he hadn’t worked for, and could be taken
from him at any point in time. He did it for his wife. But letting Millicent constantly
berate Amelia was his greatest regret. If what that Buchanan man had said was true,
that his Amelia had been seen kissing her captor, then he had no one to blame but
himself and his wife. He’d been a coward, afraid that Millicent would have her brother
toss him out on the street. There were many times when he’d wanted to leave on his
own, but he’d taken vows and he couldn’t leave Amelia. He’d stayed for her. He did
all for her. He might not have protected her enough, but he was there to love her,
and to remind her that she was a gift to him, a ray of sunshine in an otherwise gloomy
hell. He wondered how his little girl was faring. He’d lain awake every night alternating
between tears and rage. Would he ever see his daughter alive again? When he heard
Buchanan speak of her, he almost fell to his knees with relief.

Had the outlaws hurt her? If they had, he would kill them himself. He knew how to
fire a pistol and even wield a sword, though he hadn’t wielded one in years. Nothing
would stop him from ending the lives of anyone who put hands to his girl.

“There you are!”

John didn’t turn at the sound of his wife’s piercing voice. He closed his eyes and
prayed for even more patience. When this was all over…

“What are you doing here all by yourself, John?” She walked around him so she could
see him, or rather so he could see her when she shook her head at him. “Sometimes
you are so odd.” She blinked and then smoothed a wrinkle in his coat. “Walter and
my brother have finally arrived and plans are about to be discussed on how to proceed.
Do you want to be included or not?”

“Of course I do,” he said, moving her out of his way. “What kind of foolish question
is that? I’ve been waiting to proceed since Amelia first disappeared. Since we discovered
where she was and yer brother took his damned time going after her.”

“John”—his wife looked around nervously—“lower your voice before someone hears you!”

“Let them hear!” he shouted, frustrated and fed up at the slow pace of his daughter’s
rescue. He was tired of being a coward. He was going to fight for his Amelia. “I don’t
give a damn about politics or—”

“We already know that,” Millicent hushed sourly.

“Good! Know this also. I don’t care what people think about us killing Highlanders
who have kidnapped my daughter. I don’t care about which Parliament rules, or if Scotland
and England unite. I care only about my Amelia, as should ye, woman!”

She pressed her hands to her chest in a display of utter shock and offense, a gesture
John had seen on her as often as she breathed. “How dare you! Of course I care about
her!”

“Aye, ye care that she marries one of the most powerful men in Scotland. Not because
it’s what she wants, but because it will benefit yer place in society. Aren’t I correct,
Millicent? Ye’ve always been hard on her, but after she caught the chancellor’s eye,
ye scrutinized everything she did, every move she made, even more than before, until
ye likely have pushed her into the arms of a Highlander!”

Millicent looked so stunned and wounded that John almost relented and left her alone.
But then she opened her mouth and he changed his mind. “With her natural tendency
for disaster, her unladylike outbursts of laughter, and other emotions she has yet
to learn to restrain, much like her father, not to mention her close alliance with
a
servant
, could you blame me for worrying and trying to oversee her actions?”

“Aye, I could blame ye, but I blame myself as well, fer not getting her away from
ye sooner.” He had nothing more to say to her and stormed away, leaving her to look
after him, speechless.

He entered the camp feeling like a new man.

“Bell.” The duke barely looked up from a missive he was reading when John entered
his tent. “Where’s my sister?”

John didn’t care where she was. He wasn’t going to let another instant go by. He glanced
at Seafield, who was sitting in a chair by the small table. “Are we going to get my
daughter, or is her betrothed striking his proposal?” He turned to look more fully
at the chancellor. “If so, I agree to it being stricken.”

“John.” His brother-in-law looked up.

“I’m her father,” John reminded him. If he refused to give Amelia to Seafield, no
one could force him.

“Lord Bell.” Seafield snapped up from his chair. “If I’ve given you cause to doubt
my love and devotion for your daughter, I beg your forgiveness. Let me do whatever
I must to prove to you that she means everything to me?”

John looked into his eyes. “Go get her.”

Amelia set the last cup in place on the long table in Ravenglade’s Great Hall and
stepped back to admire their work. She, Sarah, and Henrietta had stayed up all night
preparing a French feast for Darach’s breakfast. While Amelia learned how to make
chocolate mousse tarts, crème brûlée, and basil salmon pâté that almost made Amelia
cry it tasted so good, Henrietta talked about coming to know the Grants, and later,
the MacGregors. She told them about Edmund’s and Malcolm’s parents, and hearing about
them, Amelia felt closer to the outlawed family. She already loved Luke, Darach, and
even Malcolm.

How would she ever leave them? Leave Edmund? The time was coming. It was just outside
the door. How could she marry Walter knowing what he may have done, what kind of man
he may truly be? She hadn’t told Edmund about the dead woman in Walter’s life. Oh,
how she wished her father had come with the army. How she wished she could speak to
him. If he knew about Walter would he…And even if he did, Edmund would always be her
family’s enemy. No, she wouldn’t think of it today. They had until at least tomorrow
to forget the army that had come for her. Today they were celebrating Darach’s being
home. He’d arrived last night, looking quite well save for the fading bruises on his
face and the smell of hay and other barn odors saturating his clothes. Amelia hadn’t
realized how worried she’d been until she saw him and felt the overwhelming relief
of his safety and shared the joy of his laughter.

She looked at the table now, arrayed with hot, scrumptious dishes, big cups of warm
honey mead, and two huge vases filled with bluebells and beautiful purple ling heather,
obtained from the rolling hills just beyond Ravenglade’s village.

“He comes!” Sarah called out from the entryway, then ran to stand with Amelia and
Etta at the table.

They watched him enter the Great Hall, clean and beaming from ear to ear when he saw
the table; Amelia caught Edmund’s eye from his place beside his cousin and she smiled,
pleased when the four big men entering the Hall closed their eyes and inhaled the
delicious aromas of breakfast.

“Is that crème brûlée?” Darach asked, his voice quavering for the first time since
Amelia had known him. “I love ye,” he told Henrietta when she told him it was.

“The ladies helped me prepare it,” the gracious cook told him.

He tossed Amelia and Sarah a grateful look. “I would kiss ye both but I dinna’ want
Edmund and Cal to accuse me of stealin’ their women.”

“Alas,” Malcolm pined, “Luke already stole Sarah from me.”

Darach winked at Sarah while he passed her to take a seat at the table. “I knew ye
were an intelligent lass.”

“Amazing,” Lucan said, taking a seat. “What did they do to ye in that barn to make
ye compliment me?”

“Presently.” Darach closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He groaned and reached for
a tart. “I would compliment even that hideously homely dog that has taken up Grendel’s
place at Edmund’s heels.”

“Ye see?” Edmund glanced at Amelia while he dipped his bread into the brûlée. “I told
ye to poison his tarts.”

“Oh, we don’t have to go to such extremes, do we?” she asked, slipping into the chair
closest to Darach. She rested her chin on her hand and smiled at him when he looked
up, chewing.

“Her name is Gazardiel. We call her Gaza.”

“Who?” he asked, taking another bite.

“Our new dog.”

He cast Edmund a questioning look, then returned to his food.

“She used to belong to Alistair Buchanan.” She nodded when the dawning light shone
in his eyes. “Did ye see Alistair there?”

“Nae, lass, I saw only William.”

“No one else?”

He looked at her. She quirked her eyebrow at him.

“There was no one else. May I commence eatin’, then?”

“Edmund and the others told us that there was a girl at William’s side who caught
and held yer eye.”

“So? I catch and hold the attention of many women.”

“Nae, Darach,
she
caught
yers
. This one was…Edmund”—she turned to him—“who did ye say told ye that she was the
chief’s sister?”

“The chief himself as we were leaving, and I invited them here for supper.”

“Ah, aye.” She graced him with a smile she longed to bestow on him for the rest of
her life. “Now I remember. Janet is her name.”

“Whose name?” Darach asked.

Amelia blinked, turning back to him. “Janet’s.”

Across the table, Edmund smiled.

“What the hell are ye talkin’ aboot, lass?”

“Very well, let me be clear.” She moved forward and patted Darach’s arm. “We all want
to know about this Janet, who, according to Luke, quipped about ye being impotent
in her barn.”

Sarah’s laughter made the rest of them laugh with her. Darach kept right on eating.

“He has nae shame,” Malcolm noted, then swigged his drink.

“Shame fer bein’ shackled?” he asked, moving on to the brûlée. “That’s what she meant.”

“Then ye do know her.”

“Aye, ye brought her back to m’ memory. Janet Buchanan, a she-devil whose purpose
on this earth is to make men wish they were never born. She’s pig-headed and prideful
and merciless. She stitched my brow withoot a drop of whisky to dull the pain.”

“Hell, ye didna’ weep, did ye?” Malcolm asked, digging into the salmon. “I mean, the
lass stuck ye with a needle. I’m no’ certain one can recover from that.”

“I didna’ piss m’self like ye did when Luke sealed that wound on yer shoulder last
spring.”

“He sealed it with a red-hot brand,” Malcolm reminded him. “Ye would have fainted
like a woman.”

“Ha!” Darach countered. “I’ll let ye cut me later and then let ye seal it with an
iron just fer sport.”

Amelia rolled her eyes when Edmund and Luke joined in on the conversation, jeering
at one another and their weaknesses—which, of course, they all denied having. Was
this what all Highlanders were like?

Grendel sat up on his haunches and growled. He waited a moment, ears perked, and then
galloped out of the Hall. Edmund immediately stood from his chair and followed, knowing
his dog well and knowing that something was amiss. Gaza took off after him. The Hall
was silent for a moment. Amelia was about to leave her chair to find Edmund when Grendel’s
resonating bark shattered the morning peace.

Luke, Malcolm, and Darach were the next out, ordering the ladies to stay put. The
ladies didn’t.

She heard Edmund’s shout like a rushing wind, bringing calamity and heartbreak.

“’Tis the duke! He’s arrived.”

E
dmund,” Amelia said, heart racing, mouth dry, while she followed him between the garrison
and the Hall as he gathered his weapons. Her uncle’s army was camped well beyond the
gate and drawbridge and out of range of any arrows or cannons, which Ravenglade did
not have. “I don’t want ye to die, Edmund. Ye must let me go.”

He stopped moving and turned around to her, taking her in his arms. “I don’t know
if I can, Amelia.” He looked deep into her eyes and she saw his purpose and his love
for Scotland and for her fired from within. He must choose between the two desires
of his heart. He couldn’t win them both.

And what of her? She too fought a battle in which she knew the outcome—she would lose—but
still had to fight, else her father would lose along with her, because of her.

“What about ye, Amelia?” he asked her. “Do ye truly want to go back? Tell me yer heart
and I will honor it, if I must.”

Of course she didn’t want to go back. She
had
to go back. Was she supposed to abandon her father? God help her, could she?

“But Edmund, what about the Union with England?” she asked him and felt a tear drop
from her eye onto her cheek. “What about all ye’ve done? Could ye abandon it all?”

“There’s nothing more to do,” he told her. “I’ll always fight fer Scotland’s freedom.
Whether ’tis now or five years from now, I’ll fight with the rest, but in the meantime,
I want to live my life with ye. I’ll do what I must to bring ye with me to Skye, but
I know the sacrifice ye’d be making and I need to know if ye want to make it.”

Oh, she wanted it. What if what he must do meant killing her uncle? Walter? It would
save her from her obligation to wed the latter.

Dear Lord, she gasped. She was becoming as savage as her beloved.

Tears slipped over her cheeks and he wiped them away gently. She would never be happy
with any man, save him. She would never love another man, especially not Walter. Leaving
Edmund meant sentencing her to a life of misery, but staying with him meant ruining
her father. Her heart broke with the decision she had to make.

“I must go back, Edmund.”

She thought she would weep for a year without ceasing at the memory of his eyes on
her at that moment. She wished he knew her father so that it might help him understand
why she couldn’t leave him powerless in the hands of her uncle. ’Twas her father who
brought her through her childhood a happy, well-minded lady. Without him, living under
the weight of her mother’s heavy words after the accident with her mad cousin, she
would have crumbled and become a very dark, sad little girl.

“We’ll speak more about this later,” Edmund said, bringing her attention back to him.

He left before she could say anything else. She watched him leave. Would he let her
go? He’d told her that he hadn’t signed his ransom letter. He hadn’t planned on fighting
an army. Four men had no chance and no hope against a regiment. How long could they
stay here? How much food was left? And when the two sides finally met, would she watch
Edmund die? Panic sapped her strength. She had to do something. The army was here
for her.

“The entrance is secure,” Lucan called out when Edmund entered the inner bailey. He
met Sarah on his way back and took her by the hand. “Tell Etta, we may be needing
boiled tar and a source of fire.”

“Ye four cannot hold them back fer long,” Sarah spoke her fears out loud as Amelia
entered the inner bailey.

“Just until we figure something out,” Lucan promised. “Don’t fear, lady. My cousins
and I have gotten out of worse circumstances than this. Have we not, Edmund?”

“Aye,” Edmund agreed. “We have.”

Lord, how could they remain so calm, so confident, when they clearly would not see
victory? Amelia wanted to weep for them, but they would find insult in it. They were
proud and loyal to one another to a fault. Not one of them suggested the obvious:
send her out. Lower the drawbridge and get rid of her and get the hell on with their
lives.

It didn’t matter whose fault it was, trouble followed her. And in this case, it came
to the Highlanders in the form of the Royal Damn Army.

“We will see to what ye need,” Sarah promised and hurried along.

Amelia went with her. She would figure out how to convince Edmund that he had to return
her. She didn’t want them all to die because of her. She would never let it happen.

“Sarah spoke true, Edmund. We cannot hope to hold them off fer long.”

“Aye, I know, Cal.”

“How long d’ye think ’twill take Darach to return with reinforcements?”

“A day, mayhap two.”

Many clans in Scotland, Lowland ones included, were against the treaty and had already
pledged their lives to fighting it. Stopping Queensberry was vital, and the MacGregors
and Grants had him and his army sitting in one place, not suspecting resistance from
behind. Darach needed to recruit those men now and bring as many as he could back.

They had lowered him from a window on the north face of the castle. With its boggy
terrain and where the deepest part of the moat met the widest, no one was stationed
there. Of course, it meant that Darach would have a difficult swim, but he had done
it. By now, he was on his way to the next village.

“The Murrays and the Gordons will come fer certain.”

Edmund agreed.

They stood together on the western side of the battlements with Luke holding the eastern
wall. A light rain had begun to fall, making the walls slippery if anyone thought
to climb them. No one did, for they would have to swim across the moat first, and
Malcolm never cleaned the moat.

“I was careful not to pen any mention of who we were or in which direction we were
heading with Amelia.” Edmund racked his brain for the hundredth time, trying to understand
how the duke had found them. He’d written only that he’d taken Amelia and if the treaty
was signed, he would kill her.

“’Twillna’ be enough fer them to have her back.” Malcolm slicked his dark hair back
to keep the rain from his eyes. “They will want our blood.”

“I know.”

“So dinna’ return her. Use her.”

Edmund looked up from across the moat. “As far as we’ve heard, the treaty hasn’t yet
been signed. As long as we have her, there’s still time fer him to stop it.”

Malcolm smiled. “Ye’ve thought this through already.”

“’Twill buy us more time to figure out a way to escape.”

“Is that the reason?” Malcolm asked him skeptically. “Or is it that even she canna’
tear ye from Scotland, yer true love?”

Edmund shook his head and returned his attention to the army below. But he said nothing.
He could not deny that he pondered ways to still save his country. Scotland had saved
him, after all. But he had begun to doubt that Scotland was his true love. Amelia
had stolen that title. He would do anything to keep them all alive. But for her, he
would surrender anything, his life or his country. She didn’t want to hurt her father
and she was willing to sentence herself to a miserable life and a loveless marriage
to the chancellor to prevent bringing shame on the Bell name. Edmund understood, and
if the treaty was dissolved, he would honor his word. If it wasn’t…

“Should we keep waitin’ fer him, or send word first?”

Edmund found the duke among the men, doing what cowards tended to do—staying far behind
his lines. “I’ll get my quill.” He sighed and set off to see his word done.

A short while later he returned with a missive of their terms. He rolled it, then
tied it to one of Malcolm’s arrows, lit the back on fire, and watched his cousin shoot
it.

“Did ye remember to tell him that I enjoyed his wife?” Malcolm asked him.

“I’m saving that fer later.”

“Mary, I believe is her name.”

“Hell.” Edmund laughed and shook his head at him. “Do ye speak in earnest? Is there
a woman ye didn’t sleep with in Queensberry?”

“At least two.” Malcolm winked at him. “I knew Luke was attracted to Sarah. But I
tell ye, cousin, ye’re fortunate to have met yer Amelia before I did.”

“Mayhap if ye had, we would not all be in this quandary.”

Malcolm shoved him away. “Dinna’ doubt what we did now. We did what we did fer Scotland.”

Aye, and it put Amelia, all of them, in danger. He said nothing but rested his hand
on Grendel’s head and scratched him behind the ears.

The worst thing about being stuck in a castle was the waiting. The only strategic
defense at Ravenglade was the drawbridge. If this were Camlochlin, cannons would have
already been fired. His kin didn’t need a moat and drawbridge when there were hundreds
of men able to fight and only one direction from which to approach the castle.

“Ye need cannons.”

“To use against whom”—Malcolm glanced at him—“the Buchanans?”

Before Edmund could answer, they spotted a fiery arrow sailing toward them. Before
it struck a wall and fell harmlessly to the ground, Luke joined them and waited while
Malcolm went to fetch it.

“Well, let’s hear what he has to say then, shall we,” Malcolm said, taking up the
arrow and unrolling the missive attached to it.

“Gentlemen,” he read out loud. “What ye demand is impossible. Actions regarding the
great Treaty of Union are already set in motion and canno’ be stopped, nor do I wish
them to be. Ye have m’ niece, Miss Amelia Bell. Ye have one hour to release her, unharmed,
or I will set m’ men loose on Ravenglade. I do no’ care how many soldiers accompany
ye, none will survive.”

Malcolm looked up from the note. “He’s an arrogant bastard,” he said before continuing
on.

“I prefer no’ to war with the MacGregors or the Grants, so if m’ niece is freed, we
will take our leave withoot further quarrel.”

“Not likely,” Luke said aloud what the rest were thinking. “He gets her back and then
he tries to kill us.”

“I don’t want to give her back.” Edmund’s confession drew their gazes. “But I can’t
ask any of ye to sacrifice yourselves when our cause is just about lost. We’ve run
out of time, lads. I fear if we don’t give her up, he’ll bring a battle here. I don’t
want to risk her life.”

“We’ll figure something oot, Edmund,” Malcolm told him. “We’ll take her to Camlochlin.”

She wouldn’t want to go. Edmund didn’t tell them about Amelia’s choice. He should
honor it, but how could he? It was like watching someone walk toward a cliff, someone
he loved. Should he remain quiet and let her sacrifice her life, or shout for her
to go the other way?

Edmund looked at Luke. “’Tis not just her, Sarah will not let her go alone.”

Luke cast him a baffled grin. “Why d’ye remind me as if I might actually be considering
lowering that bridge and letting either of them out of our sights? We haven’t gotten
what we wanted and at this point, even if we do, I still don’t want to send Sarah
back.”

“’Tis settled then.” Malcolm crumpled the note and threw it over the wall. “We’re
hunkerin’ doun, lads.”

Edmund nodded. He would speak to Amelia about her choice later. “We need to get the
women up here, Chester and the other servants, as well. Disguised, the duke will believe
them to be our soldiers. After they are seen, we can set them to safety again inside.
Let’s bring up all our weapons from the courtyard and keep them at the ready. I’m
going to need to bring Amelia to the edge. Hold a blade to her throat, put a pistol
to her head. Whatever needs to be done to make the duke believe we’ll kill her.”

Malcolm agreed it was a good plan and returned to his position. Luke moved a bit more
slowly, eyeing Edmund from beneath the wreath of his dark lashes.

“Ye think the duke will believe our wee performance?”

“Why wouldn’t he? He doesn’t know any of us or what we’re capable of.” Edmund knew
he had to
make
the duke believe it if they planned on getting out of Ravenglade alive.

“I’ll get her,” he said, turning to go. “I’ll speak to her…to all of them before I
bring them up. Aye?”

Lucan nodded and pounded his upper arm. “Aye.”

As Edmund left the battlements, he thought about what his life would have been like
without these men in it. Without his kin. He loved them and he missed the ones he’d
left behind. His brother, who hadn’t given up the skill of swordplay, but preferred
perfecting the art of being indefinable and obscure, and discovering everyone’s secrets.
Nichola, his wee sister—well, not so wee anymore, he thought, reaching the second
landing and heading down to the kitchen. At ten and seven she was blossoming into
a beautiful woman and he should be home seeing to her well-being.

He stopped outside the kitchen, where the smell of burning pitch stung his nostrils,
and thought of his father. Edmund missed practicing with him behind their manor house
early in the morn, before the rest of Camlochlin woke. Like Malcolm’s parents, Edmund’s
had chosen not to live inside the castle, preferring the intimacy of quiet mornings
and warm, cozy nights over drafty halls and boisterous breakfasts. Not that they didn’t
spend time inside the cavernous fortress; Edmund and his cousins played in every chamber,
explored every cave, while their clan came together and shared laughter and whisky.

He wanted to see everyone again. He wanted to make it out of this alive and go home.
And he wanted to bring
her
with him.

He watched Amelia step out of the kitchen. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. From
the moment he first laid eyes on her, he didn’t ever want to stop looking. He wondered
if his father felt the same when he saw his mother.

Seeing him, she waved and made her way toward him.

Here it was, all that he wanted in life. He loved Scotland and everything it had given
him, but he didn’t want to die for it anymore. He wanted to live, and share it all
with Amelia.

He took her hands when she reached him and pulled her closer. “Stay with me, lass.
Make a life with me. Be the mother of my bairns. I’ll give ye everything I have. I’ll
do everything in my power to make ye happy. I’ll build ye yer own private garden.”