The Seduction of Miss Amelia Bell (8 page)

“Let me offer up a suggestion.” Malcolm bit into his apple as sinfully as Adam might
have done in the garden. “I say we build a nice fire, promise them the world, and
give them the best fu—”

“Malcolm. Watch yer damn mouth,” Luke warned.

Edmund remained silent in the middle of them, letting them fight it out the way they
usually did. He loved them both, but Malcolm was the first child he’d ever played
with when he arrived at Camlochlin so many years ago. And while he shared much more
in common with Luke, he forgave Malcolm more easily than the others did for his faults.

“Fer once, remember that they’re ladies, aye?” Without another word, Luke walked away.
He dumped the firewood on the ground a few feet from the women and then squatted to
get the fire started.

“He’s been verra’ sour lately.” Malcolm turned to give Edmund a curious look. “Have
ye noticed?”

“Aye.” Edmund nodded. “Ye know how he feels about treating lasses carelessly.” And
it would seem especially Sarah. Luke had spoken about her almost the entire night
before they left Queensberry House. Edmund hoped his cousin wasn’t beginning to fancy
her, since Malcolm was most likely going to use her for his pleasure and then leave
her alone.

“We didn’t come to Edinburgh to bed lasses or to lose our hearts to them,” Edmund
reminded his friend.

“Who the hell said anything about losin’ our hearts to them?” Malcolm asked and laughed
at the preposterous notion.

Edmund continued on. “I’m beginning to believe that taking Miss Bell was unwise. Visiting
the fairer sex in their homes or their beds is one thing, kidnapping them and then
riding to Perth and possibly farther with them is another.”

“Aye.” Malcolm sighed. “I agree with ye there. The wench is likely to fall in love
with me, especially after she sees the grandeur of m’ castle. I will be stuck with
her fer God knows how long.”

Edmund closed his eyes and said a silent prayer that Sarah didn’t fall in love with
Malcolm and that Malcolm would gain some clarity about not being the perfect delight
of every woman in the three kingdoms.

“I think ye should just leave Sarah to Lucan fer now. He’ll keep her safe and—”

“What would ye think aboot me ridin’ with yer bonny Amelia the rest of the way?”

“Malcolm—”

“’Twould benefit all of us when ye think aboot it. The gel is angry with ye, if ye’ll
recall.”

“Put it out of yer mind.”

“At least if something happened between the two of us, there would be less consequence,
seein’ how I’m no’ a MacGregor.”

“I think she fancies ye, Cal,” Darach chimed in. “I saw her lookin’ at ye twice now.”

Malcolm flashed his dimples at Edmund. “Ye see? We could—”

“Nae, we couldn’t,” Edmund cut him off. “Don’t bring it up to her. In fact, don’t
speak to her.” He walked away before he said something he might regret later, like
touch her and I’ll break yer neck.
And before he had time to ponder why he might have said it. He looked in her direction
and realized too late that his feet were leading him straight to her. He wished she
smiled when their eyes met. She didn’t; in fact, she cursed him in two different languages
when Grendel reached her first and dropped a filthy, saliva-drenched, shredded wig
into her lap and wagged his tail at her.

A
melia wanted to be afraid of the man, or rather, the small group of men watching her
and Sarah at the end of the clearing, but she was just too damned angry. She’d been
duped, and duped mightily! Now, because she’d allowed herself to be charmed by a handsome
smile and a few flowery words, the Treaty of Union might not get signed. Her uncle
would be furious! Her mother would blame her—and rightly so! Her uncle said the Union
with England Act was historic. History could be changed and it was all her fault.
Oh, if she had a pistol she would shoot Edmund MacGregor where he stood watching her.
He took her from her family to use her as a pawn. Walter’s proposal would likely be
withdrawn and she would end up a miserable spinster. How was it, she lamented, that
everything she did caused catastrophe? Was it so terrible that she was so desperate
not to think of her forced marriage to the chancellor that she trusted a stranger?
She supposed it was, when the stranger turned out to be an enemy of her uncle…or betrothed.
And what did he intend on doing to Walter, or to her uncle for that matter? She’d
heard terrible tales about the MacGregors and what they were capable of. Would he
try to harm Walter, or her family, if he didn’t get what he wanted? He’d kidnapped
her and was holding her for ransom. Dear Lord, what were his plans? She had to find
out. And what could she do to stop them? Nothing as long as she remained in captivity.
She’d tried to talk to Sarah about escaping but her friend warned her not to be so
foolish. These were MacGregors. They would surely chase her and Sarah down and kill
them where they caught them if the girls tried to make a run for it. And where would
they go? How far away were they from Edinburgh already? A few times Amelia had to
fight back tears. Tears for her father and the idea that she might never see him again.
Tears that once again, because of her, his name would be shamed, perhaps even going
down in history as the father of the fool who botched the Treaty of Union. She wanted
to rant and rage against her captors, one in particular, for deceiving her with such
ease, but when he stepped out from behind the trees donned in his Highland attire,
she could barely remember her name, let alone what she wanted to say to him. She struggled
to remember that she hated him and why.

In her father’s hall he’d looked handsome and commanding in his justacorps and hose
but out here, surrounded by thick trees and a backdrop of azure sky, he was nothing
short of glorious to behold. Draped in soft, flowing wool that fell to the tops of
his kneecaps, he stood like a bronze god holding court over lesser mortals. He spread
his crystal blue gaze on her and she stopped breathing.

But he’d deceived her. He charmed her, danced the night away with her, swept her off
her feet, and then kissed her—oh, how he’d kissed her—and it was all a ploy to get
to her uncle. She hated him for making her smile at him like a milkmaid too dimwitted
to recognize a wolf. She felt foolish for having liked him so much, for thinking so
highly of him when he was nothing but a snake, a man who could not be trusted.

“Heaven help us, Amelia,” Sarah whispered close to her ear. “Have a look at them.
We’ve been abducted by four Highlanders! Look at those swords! They’re so long and
deadly. We are goin’ to need to be strong, dearest, or they’ll have our skirts over
our heads in no time.”

Amelia was quite certain her best friend had just purred. “Sarah”—she turned to face
her fully, stunned that her friend could think about them with desire—“do ye ferget
that they kidnapped us? We’ll be fortunate if they don’t kill us! They only care about
stopping my uncle. What if my uncle won’t be stopped, not even fer me? What value
will we be to these four Highlanders?”

Satisfied by Sarah’s low whimper that she’d scared her sufficiently, Amelia returned
her gaze to the men gathered together by the trees. They certainly looked dangerous
enough to be a threat to her and Sarah’s well-being. Purposefully, she kept her eyes
off Edmund, too hurt by him to want to ever look at him again.

She shifted her gaze to Lord Huntley, Malcolm Grant, probably the most lethal one
among them. He’d smiled at her twice while they rode and Amelia went powerless against
the flash of deep dimples and sultry turquoise eyes eclipsed behind broad strokes
of chestnut and gold.

No women were safe against that one.

From him, she moved on to his cousin Darach, the bastard who let her fall off his
horse and jam her fingers. She hadn’t tried to leap from the saddle. He released her
when she bit him and let her fall without offering a hand. He possessed all the arrogance
of a prince and the guileless beauty of an angel.

Deadly indeed.

Finally, she surveyed the last one, who was trying to start the campfire. She’d heard
the others call him Lucan. The one Edmund had said mentioned Sarah. He was the tallest
of the four, with a sleek tail of dark hair tied at his nape and bare, muscular arms.
He’d seemed angry all day and hadn’t spoken a word to either her or Sarah.

“I never saw a pair of eyes that color before,” Sarah said, following her gaze across
the camp. “They are like sunsets against the dark, harsh plains of—”

“They kidnapped us. They lied to us. Aye, they’re pleasing to look at, but do we trust
a frame just because it’s sweet?”

“Hush. He’s comin’.”

Amelia turned to see who her friend meant and was greeted by a large white set of
fangs, drool, and a ball of what was once a pure white periwig. She didn’t realize
she’d spoken, or even what she’d said until Edmund leaned down to pluck the wig from
her lap where his monster of a dog had dropped it, and offered her the barest trace
of a smile.

“Grendel is a male,” he corrected her foreign oath, his potent gaze level with hers.
“I think he likes ye. He doesn’t usually share.”

“Neither do I,” Amelia retorted, pulling herself together while he straightened above
her, “but if he doesn’t stop drooling on me I might just share my last meal with the
both of ye.”

He ordered his mongrel to heel, then eyed her lap. “How is yer hand?”

“Better. Ye have my thanks fer that at least, scoundrel.”

He quirked his mouth into an infuriatingly handsome smile, then turned his attention
to Sarah. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’ve heard much about ye.”

Sarah blushed and grinned at Amelia. “Amelia is too kind.”

“Not always,” Amelia corrected her and glared at her captor. “Why do ye think my uncle
or the chancellor will do as ye command? Do ye know how long they have been preparing
fer this union of kingdoms?”

He scowled and Amelia slanted her gaze to Sarah to discover if she was the only one
breathless by the man’s anger.

“They haven’t been preparing longer than Scotland has been fighting fer her independence.”

“Ah, ye’re a patriot.” She shook her head at him. “I would think ye MacGregors had
little love left fer the country that continues to try to strike yer name from memory.”

“’Twas not the land but the men who feared us that made us outlaws. Men like the late
William of Orange. Men like the duke and the man ye’re going to wed.”

“Those men had and still have good reason to fear ye,” she argued, rising to her feet
and pulling Sarah with her. “From the moment King William claimed the throne, Highlanders
opposed and fought him. They used barbaric tactics to—”

“By the divine right of kings,” Edmund interrupted, his eyes hardening on her enough
to make her take a step back, “William held no claim to the throne.”

“A purely Catholic belief,” she managed, determined not to let the power of his gaze
unsettle her.

“One I’m certain the MacDonalds wished had been upheld when William sent the Campbells
into Glencoe to massacre them because they did not offer their allegiance to him by
the appointed deadline. Seventy-eight were killed. More than forty of them were women
and children. Do not speak to me of barbaric.”

Amelia had been a young child when the massacre was ordered, but she remembered her
father speaking with her uncle about it a few years after it happened. Her uncle had
taken the king’s part and voiced no remorse for those lost. The children, he had said,
would only have grown up as Catholic Royalists, trained to fight against the king.

It had sickened Amelia then, just as it sickened her now.

“Fergive me fer using the term so blithely. What happened at Glencoe was tragic and
I in no way condone such a thing—or any cruelty fer that matter.”

“Of course.” His expression softened, granting her absolution easily.

“Mr. MacGregor.” Sarah thankfully interrupted before Amelia had time to think about
the way his locks fell to his brows, creating shadows in the cool indigo of his eyes.
Or did they only appear with the trace of his smile? “Is Mr. Grant wed?”

He blinked his gaze to Sarah. “Nae.”

“Betrothed?”

Amelia could have kicked her. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer that her
best friend left Mr. Grant alone.

“He is not interested in becoming either of those things,” Edmund told her. “Ye’d
do well to keep a good distance from him. He’s been known to leave many broken hearts
in his wake.”

Sarah actually laughed. Amelia almost wept. “Och, I’ve been known to do the same.
I doubt he—”

“Sarah.” Amelia interrupted her. Her friend could not honestly be serious in her interest
in a man who had helped kidnap them. “I think it best if ye leave Mr. Grant to…”

She let her words fade as Sarah sauntered away to cut across the clearing and loop
her arm through Malcolm Grant’s. In the center of the clearing Lucan finally sparked
an ember. The sudden flames that rose up startled Amelia and matched his eyes while
he watched Sarah walk off behind the tree with Mr. Grant.

“Our conversation bored her.”

Amelia shook her head at Edmund’s observation and tried to think of some defense to
offer for her friend’s rudeness. “She isn’t bound to worry about the condition of
things. I envy her.”

She felt his eyes on her and looked up at him.

“What do ye worry about, Miss Bell?”

“Besides being alone in a forest with four men who seek to use me to hurt my uncle
and my soon-to-be husband?”

“Ye will come to no harm. Ye have my word.”

She laughed. “In addition to everything else ye are, ye are, first and foremost, a
liar. Ye’ve already brought harm to me, Mr. MacGregor. Think ye no one saw us dancing?
I blame myself fer my scandalous behavior, and because of it, this will be considered
my fault. Ye have no idea what my father and I will be put through. I hope my uncle
and Walter do sign the treaty, despite yer threats, because if they don’t, it will
be worse fer me when I am returned.”

He stared at her for a moment, his jaw tightening around something he wanted to say.
Something she guessed might not be kind. He looked away instead, pausing to think
on his words.

“Worse fer ye?” he asked quietly. “Do ye know what it means fer my country if they
do?” He didn’t give her time to answer. “It means that there can never be another
Catholic on the throne. The United Kingdom of Great Britain will become a Protestant
kingdom and some of us will lose our right to pray as we see fit. We will lose our
ancient independence and be swallowed up by England’s gaping jaws, just as Wales was.”

For an instant, he almost gained her sympathy. She caught herself quickly though.
“Ye waste words on me, Mr. MacGregor; no matter how passionately they fall from yer
lips, they fall on deaf ears. I am acquainted with yer silver tongue in the most hurtful
of ways.”

He had the decency, at least, to lower his eyes and avoid her gaze.

“I understand yer anger,” he told her. “Ye are entitled to it, but my cause is important
to me and unfortunately, ye are the only one who can help it presently.”

Presently, she didn’t give a damn about his cause, or any other cause where she was
used as a pawn to gain advantage. But she was curious about his passion for it.

“If the union is so bad why do Scots sign?”

“After Scotland attempted and failed to become a world-trading nation, many noblemen
lost everything. England promised them a return in coin for showing no more resistance
to the treaty.”

Amelia took it all in. Aye, it might be unwise to join with England, but it didn’t
change the fact that he’d kissed her and emblazoned the indelible memory of his mouth
forever into her heart. And then he covered her face with a rag and snatched her away.

“Ye took me from my life. Do ye think I can fergive ye fer that?”

His expression didn’t soften on her. “Nae, I don’t. But I’m not asking fer yer fergiveness.”

Oh, she hated him! “Then we have nothing more to talk about, Mr. MacGregor.”

“There is one more thing, Miss Bell,” he said. “Do ye love him?”

“If I say I do, how terrible does that make me fer kissing ye?”

“If ye say ye do,” he countered quietly, “how terrible does it make me fer wanting
to kiss ye again anyway?”

Saints help her and her traitorous body for the quiver through her belly and the breathless
fluttering of her pitiful heart. She didn’t look at him but shielded her gaze beneath
her lashes. “I don’t think Walter will go against my uncle and all of his supporters
by renouncing the union.”

“Then he is a fool.”

She lifted her eyes to his again, hoping that his meaning wasn’t threatening. She
didn’t want anyone to die because of her. Not even Walter. His solemn, sincere expression
convinced her that it wasn’t.

“If ye were mine,” he told her, “I might be tempted to give up everything to keep
ye.”

Amelia’s heart swelled with something that made her mouth go dry and her palms grow
moist. He couldn’t mean it. Hadn’t he spoken pretty words to her last eve, all to
get her away from her uncle and Walter? He deceived with the casual ease of the devil
himself. He’d stood in Queensberry’s Great Hall and boldly presented himself as a
lord from Essex when in truth he belonged to an outlawed clan.