The Seduction of Miss Amelia Bell (27 page)

E
dmund watched Amelia’s tearful parting from her father and vowed silently to make
it up to her someday. Somehow he would find a way to bring them together again, whether
in Edinburgh, or on Skye. He was also gladdened by Amelia and Sarah’s joyous reunion.
He would see to it that they were never separated in the future. He smiled. It seemed
he couldn’t stop. She was his. There were no more obstacles.

Darach and Janet’s farewell wasn’t tearful, but interesting to watch just the same.

Edmund had often wondered what kind of lass could interest Darach beyond the bedchamber.
Aye, the lad had an eye for lasses. Deny it though he might, he loved music as much
as he cherished his quill. But it was fighting that fired his passion most. Janet
Buchanan fulfilled all those desires in the young poet-warrior.

He inclined his ear to their conversation. Why not? He might hear something that could
prove amusing to tease Darach about later.

“Yer cousin Malcolm asked William to oversee Ravenglade while he’s gone,” he heard
Janet say.

Hmmm. Edmund turned to Cal and winked at him. He knew it was hard for his best friend
to give in. It made the sacrifice more genuine.

“So ye’ll be livin’ there then?” Darach asked her. When she nodded, a rakish smirk
curled the upper end of his mouth. “In m’ bedchamber, nae doubt. Dreamin’ of the man
who countered yer blows and will someday return to conquer ye beneath him.”

The wind pushed her curls across her face, eclipsing her confident smile. “Nae, and
I’ll leave the dreaming of the woman who wrangled yer patience and rattled yer heart
just a bit, to ye. This is one lass ye will never win. Farewell, Grant,” she sang,
walking away from him and toward her brother, waiting to leave. “When I marry, I’ll
be certain to have my husband thank ye fer the use of yer bed, if ye ever return.”

Darach stared at her back for a moment and then aimed his clenched fists at the sky.
He caught Edmund’s grin and shook his head as he went to him.

“D’ye ever want to kill Amelia?” Darach asked innocently through his clenched teeth.
“I mean just…” His words trailed off while he wrung his hands together in front of
him, like he was strangling someone.

“Ye’re way ahead of us in that area,” Edmund assured him. “How soon d’ye think before
ye’re back?”

Darach chuckled but his eyes remained cool. “Why? If I waited ten years she still
wouldna’ have found a husband with that viperous tongue. If she does, he’ll likely
kill her after a month.”

“Darach, that’s an awful thing to say.” Amelia came up behind them. “Janet’s verra
kind, and quite lovely to look upon. And once her brother takes over Ravenglade in
Malcolm’s stead, men will find even more interest in her.”

Darach glared at her and then blinked. “Ye’re no’ much better than she is, are ye?”
He spread his green gaze over Edmund and offered him his most pitying look. “And I
thought I was in trouble. Ye dinna’ have a chance, m’ friend.” He patted Edmund on
the shoulder and strode toward his horse.

“He thought he was in trouble.” Amelia smiled, catching the meaning in his words.

“I know.” Edmund laughed, agreeing with her.

She took his hand and led him back to their horse. “He is correct,” she said softly,
looking up at him and setting his heart to ruin.

“Who?”

“My father, when he pointed out the change in my fortune. He was correct. It changed
with yer arrival.”

He took her in his arms and gazed into her eyes. “I told ye that I’d battle misfortune
fer ye.” They laughed together and he kissed her, loving her mouth, her taste, the
tight little moan he pulled from her.

“How long will it take to get to Skye?” she asked, pulling back while she could still
stand on her feet.

“Several days,” he answered, his own breath heavy in his chest. “We’ll ride east to
Rannoch and then to Glencoe. We have friends with boats and we’ll sail to Skye rather
than ride north.”

“But Rannoch and Glencoe are east,” she reminded him while they continued on their
waiting horse. “Ye told Captain Pierce to ride east when they didn’t find us at Ravenglade.”

“All the more reason he won’t go east. Why would I tell him which way to follow us?
He’ll likely go north.”

She smiled and kissed him on the mouth. “Ye’re clever, Edmund.” She remained quiet
for a few moments while they rode, then said, “How long do ye think it will be before
my uncle or Walter comes for me?”

“It doesn’t matter. He won’t find Camlochlin, and if any of them does, there will
be cannons waiting fer him and any fool behind him. Don’t fret over them, or about
misfortune any longer, Amelia.” He kissed her once and then again. “Neither will find
us.”

She heated his blood and melted his heart. He wanted to lay with her, hold her until
the sun descended and then rose again, touch her, kiss her, thank her. There would
be time for such things later. The thought of it lightened his mood and propelled
him to get moving.

“Come,” he told her, “let’s be off. We can make it to Rannoch by nightfall and then
I can tell ye what ye mean to me in the comfort of a soft bed.”

Henrietta, who opted to remain in Perth rather than travel to the Highlands, would
have scowled at the supper set down in front of Amelia and the others inside Jack
Robertson’s inn.

Amelia was happy for the warm food and even warmer lodgings. She ate to her fill,
not realizing how hungry she was until she found herself cleaning her bowl with her
bread. Edmund smiled, watching her.

“Am I being distasteful?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “I was just thinking how my kin are going to love ye.”

“Because of how I eat?”

“Because ye’re not ashamed or afraid to be who ye are.”

“Ye both live the way ye want,” Lucan agreed, smiling at Sarah. “Ye’re goin’ to be
happy at Camlochlin.”

Amelia couldn’t wait to get there, despite the still, small voice telling her he wasn’t
safe.

Thankfully sharing supper with Sarah, four rowdy Highlanders, and a moody dog helped
her forget her past. They laughed late into the night and when it came time for bed,
Edmund followed Amelia to their room.

She was exhausted. Every muscle in her body ached from the journey, but when Edmund
closed the door and took her into his arms she felt reborn.

“Do ye plan on wedding me, Mr. MacGregor, or are ye going to stick with yer barbaric
principles of claiming yer wench in bed?”

His eyes glittered smoky blue with dark intentions. “Both.” He dipped his head and
brushed his mouth over hers. “My bairns won’t be bastards.”

“Do ye plan on having many then?” She giggled against his lips, then his teeth when
he took her bottom lip between them.

“Aye, plenty.” He cupped her rump in both hands and hauled her up so that she straddled
him where they stood.

She gasped at the steel lance pushing against his breeches to have her.

“I want us to take our time and savor every moment of making them.”

His voice was husky and raw with desire. The sound of it caressed and heated her belly,
then below. She had no idea how simply looking at him, hearing the melodic lilt of
his voice, could invoke images of his naked body and of her tongue licking every inch
of him—but it did. She tunneled her fingers through his golden waves and flicked her
tongue inside his mouth.

He groaned and carried her to the bed. He laid her down gently, then stood over her
and began to undress. She watched him peel away his shirt to expose an upper body
carved from granite. Her eyes traced the corded sinew of his arms and chest, then
down, slowly, over his tight, washboard belly. She wanted to rake her teeth over the
sensitive curve of his hips, down…

A knock came at the door.

With a muffled oath, Edmund strode to it and pulled it open. A serving wench stood
on the other side carrying a tray. Atop it were two flagons of wine and some fruit
and cheese.

“Courtesy of the proprietor, sir.”

Edmund smiled and accepted the offering. “Give him our thanks.”

Amelia leaned up on one elbow when he returned and reached for a cup. She held it
up. “Let us drink to making a son or daughter tonight.”

He took his cup, sat next to her on the bed, and agreed. “And to not stopping until
we get one.”

They drank with gusto to their mission and kissed the wine from their lips. Amelia
couldn’t wait much longer to have her way with him. She’d spent many nights talking
to Sarah about different things to do to a man and she was anxious to try some of
them out on Edmund.

She sat up and pushed him down on the mattress and straddled him. They laughed when
their drinks spilled and then grew serious when she licked the droplets from his chest.
She plucked a berry from the tray and placed it carefully on his nipple. She took
another and set it on his belly button. Another she placed on his hip and the last,
she slipped down his breeches.

“Ye’re hungry tonight.” His thick voice shuddered as her mouth traversed his torso,
snatching up berries as she went.

“Sweet,” she whispered with a teasing smile, looking up at him from beneath her dark,
lush lashes.

She took another sip of her drink, needing it to boost her courage to do things to
him that “ladies” probably never did.

The wine helped, releasing her from trepidation at the idea of taking him in her mouth.
Sarah said men loved it. Amelia wanted to do it for Edmund. But first, she wanted
to play with him a little.

My, but he was so big and so hard beneath the stretched fabric of his breeches. She
ran her palm over him and watched his eyes darken. Blood stirred; she bit her bottom
lip and pulled at the laces confining him. She smiled when she found her berry nestled
in the crease of his upper thigh and dipped her head to snatch it up. He moaned and
then said something she couldn’t quite make out. She looked up only to discover that
there were two of him. She blinked. Suddenly she didn’t feel well at all. A fog was
closing in fast. Her limbs felt heavy. Her tongue, thick.

“Edmund, I…” She didn’t finish but collapsed on top of him.

Edmund used every ounce of strength he possessed to sit up. His head felt like an
anvil. The wine. The wine was drugged or poisoned. But why? The duke couldn’t possibly
have found them already. Who else would do this? He looked down at Amelia, her head
resting on his groin. Whoever did it would die. He pushed Amelia away and swung his
legs off the bed. He had to get to the others but his legs wouldn’t straighten. He
looked longingly toward the door and pushed himself up one more time.

He went down hard and quick, fading into blackness. From somewhere far beyond he heard
a dog scratching its nails against wood and whining to be let in.

Gaza.

Hell, it was fortunate that he’d kept her.

C
aptain Pierce’s boots clicked against the wooden floor of Jack Robertson’s inn while
he paced the downstairs tavern.

“We should go up and check, Captain. We’re wasting time.”

Without pausing in his gait, Pierce flicked his irritated glance at the chancellor.
“MacGregor killed one of my soldiers with his forehead,” he growled. “If you want
to rush above stairs and take him and his friends on, be my guest.” Hell, he wished
he would. He hadn’t wanted the Earl of Seafield to travel with him to Rannoch but
he’d had no choice. The duke had insisted he bring the chancellor to get his woman
back.

Pierce wasn’t entirely certain the lady belonged with Seafield, but it wasn’t his
decision to make. He knew his place and he kept it. He didn’t like the chancellor
but he had his orders—bring the duke’s niece back to Queensberry.

At least he knew where to find them, thanks to Alistair Buchanan. Seems MacGregor
took Buchanan’s hand…and his dog. The man hated the Highlander despite a peace treaty
between their clans. He wanted recompense. Buchanan had heard one of them mention
Robertson’s inn in Rannoch, and was quick to turn them in.

East. Clever.

The captain set out for Rannoch immediately with twelve of his best men and after
establishing that they were in the right place, threatened the proprietor to taint
the Highlander’s wine or turn the inn over to the throne.

Terrorizing an innkeeper didn’t trouble the captain. Wishing he had more men in his
army like MacGregor did. Outlaw or not, Edmund MacGregor was dangerous and fearless
when it came to what he wanted. Pity that everything he stood for went against Parliament.
He would have made an excellent soldier.

The one who struck him though—Pierce recalled the fiery sting of his head wound from
the Highlander who had come up behind him—that one would pay for Pierce’s constant
headache.

“I think enough time has passed, Captain,” Seafield whined and tapped his foot at
the bottom of the stairs. “I’m eager to be away from this establishment and those
who frequent here.”

He looked about to quiver in his hose, tempting Pierce to imagine what it would feel
like to backhand the sniveling little worm to the other end of the inn.

He walked up to him and swept his arm across his waist instead. “After you, my lord.”

They climbed the stairs, making little or no sound, save for the creak of the third
and fourth step. The serving wench who had delivered the drinks to the four rooms
paid for by the Highlanders waited at the top.

“Where is the lady?”

The wench pointed to the third door on the left.

Before Pierce could stop him, Seafield rushed forward and pushed open the door. He
disappeared into it, then stormed out of it an instant later, before the captain could
even look inside. He marched toward the tavern wench with tight, narrowed eyes. When
he reached her, he took her by the face, clutching her jaw.

“The woman in that room is not a lady. She’s a servant, like you!” he shouted at her.
“Where is the dark-haired
lady
? Even a waif like you can tell the difference.”

This time she pointed between sobs to a door directly to their right.

When he moved to go to it, Pierce held out his hand, stopping him. The fool would
get himself killed and the duke would blame Pierce. “Wait here. I’ll bring her out.”

The captain swung open the door with more caution in case someone hadn’t taken the
drink. He stood at the entry, sword drawn, and looked inside.

Seafield wasn’t going to be pleased.

They’d found Lady Amelia, but she wasn’t alone. Her shirtless lover lay crumpled on
the floor a few inches from the door. He’d tried to go for help. The lady lay strewn
across the bed. She’d fallen under first.

“Is she—?”

Seafield’s query came to an abrupt halt when he defied the captain and plunged inside.
The silence fell like an eerie warning to ready himself for something.

“Kill her.”

“That will not happen.” Pierce turned to look down at him. “If you attempt it, I’ll
cut off your head and toss it at the duke’s feet.”

Seafield held steady for a moment and then cracked. “Collect her then. Kill him,”
he ordered sharply, then whirled on his heel and left the room.

Pierce almost wished MacGregor would awaken. He felt cheated out of what he was certain
would be a good fight. He didn’t agree with killing men when they were helpless to
defend themselves, especially when those men were warriors. MacGregor deserved something
better.

With the duke’s niece over his shoulder, he raised his sword over his head in his
other hand and was about to bring down the final blow when he heard an unholy sound.

A dog stood blocking the doorway, ears pinned, eyes wide, fangs exposed and dripping
saliva onto the floor.

Pierce lowered his sword and held up his palm. “Easy, beast.”

The creature wasn’t soothed in the least and sprang, in fact, for the captain’s throat.
Pierce blocked the huge fangs about to close around him with his hand. Bone crunched
against the hilt he was clutching. He cried out.

The beast turned to encounter a pale-faced chancellor, summoned back by the bluster.

Without provocation, the animal clamped its fangs down on Seafield’s ankle, bringing
the chancellor to his knees before it ran off down the stairs and out of sight.

“What in blazes was it?” the chancellor wailed. “A demon?”

“Perhaps,” Pierce said. He tore a strip of fabric from the lady’s gown and wrapped
it around his bloody hand. “Can you walk?” he asked, coming to the door. When Seafield
shook his head, Pierce called below stairs for one of his men to come up and carry
him.

“Wait!” Seafield called out when the captain turned to go with the lady still dangling
over his shoulder. “What about him? I told you to kill him.”

Pierce shook his head. He didn’t want to kill MacGregor in the first place. Now he
had an excuse not to. “If he has demons doing his bidding, I want no part of putting
harm to him. That thing attacked me only when I lifted my sword to its owner. You
want MacGregor dead? You kill him.”

He didn’t wait around to see what Seafield did. He knew that leaving MacGregor alive
was probably a mistake he would come to regret later, when the Highlander woke up
and found his lady gone. MacGregor would come after them. Pierce was certain of it.
He’d heard what the couple had spoken to each other on the field. There was love between
them. He wanted MacGregor to come. Let him steal his woman back if he could. With
two hands or one, Pierce was eager to discover if his opponent was as skilled with
a sword as Pierce hoped he was. If MacGregor needed to die, then let it be in a good
fight.

He left the inn with the bold arrogance of a man with an army at his back. No one
stopped him, man, demon, or dog, nor was he questioned about where he was taking the
unconscious woman in his possession.

He would have preferred more time in silence, time to ponder his next move, but Lady
Amelia stirred when he deposited her in his saddle.

“Do yourself good and keep your mouth shut,” he warned an instant before gaining his
seat behind her.

“The slut is awake.” Upheld by two of Pierce’s men, one on either side, Seafield snarled
as he passed her. “I should beat you senseless for what I saw in that room.”

Pierce tightened his wounded limb around her waist. She remained silent.

“I did what you failed to do, Captain,” the little peacock called out shrilly over
his shoulder while he was placed into his saddle. “I killed him. I killed MacGregor.”

Nothing Pierce could do after that could stop the lady from betraying her heart. Seafield
would make her pay later. Every soldier knew of the chancellor’s preferences in bed.
Seafield enjoyed striking his women. He wanted to strike Miss Bell now. Pierce could
see in his eyes while his ears took in her hatred toward him and her adoration for
her lover.

He would ask his men later if the chancellor spoke true and he had, in fact, killed
MacGregor. He uncoiled the bloody rag around his hand and let it drop to the ground,
in case he was lying.

Amelia stared into the flames in front of her and ignored the men eating and speaking
around her. Why did she wake up that night in her uncle’s garden? Why couldn’t one
of the guests have stabbed her in the heart? Why had she agreed to go to Skye with
him? She didn’t stop her tears from falling into her lap, but she made no sound in
her sorrow.

Edmund was dead.

“You better eat something,” Walter ordered, suspended from a stocky soldier appearing
over her. When she didn’t answer him, he poked her in the side with his good booted
foot.

“Rot in hell,” she obliged.

She didn’t cry out when he grasped a handful of her hair and pulled her head back
to make her look at him. “I’ll rot there, love, with you right beside me.”

She hated him. She hated the sight of him, the smell of him, the sound of his voice.
“I would rather die than marry you.”

He drew back his hand to slap her but Captain Pierce’s voice stopped him.

“You are not her husband yet. Until you are, you will keep your hands off her while
she’s in my care. If you don’t, I will cut out your heart and tell the duke you were
killed in the fight to keep his niece safe.”

“I treated her well, Captain,” Walter argued. “I agreed to marry her when no one else
would.”

“I don’t care.” The captain shrugged and looked at his soldier. “Lewis, find the chancellor
a tree to sleep under and deposit him there.”

“Queensberry will hear of your defiance to your duties,” Walter warned while he was
carried away. “You will be stripped of your title!”

Amelia folded her knees to her chest and hugged them. “Will ye?” she asked the captain
quietly.

“That’s not your concern.”

“I’ll speak fer ye…to my uncle.” She wiped her eyes but looked away anyway. She wanted
to ask him what happened to his hand, to Walter’s leg. But she didn’t want to know
the answer. Not yet. If they fought Luke or Darach and were wounded from it, how did
her friends fare? Where was Sarah? What had these men done? She wanted to know, but
her heart, her mind, wasn’t prepared to hear it.

“How did ye find us?” she asked instead.

“Ennis Buchanan the first time and Alistair Buchanan the second.”

She cut her gaze to him again, her heart pounding against her ribs. “Alistair? When
did ye speak to him?”

“Right after you all left Ravenglade.” He stood up and stretched and looked around
for a tree. “It seems your MacGregor made a lot of Buchanan enemies over the years.”

Amelia closed her eyes and gritted her teeth not to scream. Alistair. He was Edmund’s
enemy because of his hand, because of Gaza, because of her.

She knew it would happen. Edmund was dead because of her.

She didn’t know she sobbed until the captain rested his hand on her shoulder. “Come,
lady. Get some sleep. Things might be different tomorrow.”