The Seduction of Miss Amelia Bell (9 page)

She offered him a frosty smile. “As I said, Mr. MacGregor, ye waste yer words on me.
Do well fer both of us and spare me no more.”

He drew in a deep, thoughtful breath, then smiled before he left her. “As ye wish.”

E
dmund watched her from over the embers sparking above the flames. In the wavering
firelight she looked like she had stepped out of his dreams; shimmering, warm, luminescent.
She kept her fingers coiled around Sarah’s while her friend sat beside her and shared
conversation with Malcolm and Darach. Edmund thought she might be trying to keep her
friend from running off with Malcolm and doing things she might regret in the morning.
She was, he decided, a good friend. When Luke sat on the other side of her, she offered
him a practiced smile that turned more genuine in an instant when he smiled back at
her.

Edmund shifted in his spot, fighting a natural instinct to get up and go to her. She
didn’t need his protection from Lucan, and he sure as hell had no claim over her.
Part of him regretted taking her. If this brought her or her family shame, he was
truly sorry. But he couldn’t…he wouldn’t turn back now. He’d never considered giving
up his cause. He wouldn’t begin now. He would do well to remember that, no matter
how her laughter, her kiss, her last words, pricked at his thoughts.

He didn’t want her to hate him. If things went as planned they would be together in
Ravenglade for some time. No use in spending that time fighting with her. She’d made
it clear that she didn’t want to speak with him. Could he change her mind, soften
her up just a bit?

He studied her when she answered a question Luke put to her. He watched the way she
veiled her eyes beneath her lashes, avoiding contact with him the way one did when
she had secrets she feared might be revealed in her gaze—or because the sight of him
repulsed her. Before long though, Luke’s naturally charming disposition coaxed her
into what seemed to be a very enjoyable conversation. She even let go of Sarah’s hand.

Leave it to the knight in shining armor to break the stone.

Edmund could have sat where he was and watched the different nuances of her smiles
for hours, remembering how her lips felt against his…but women fell for Luke fast
and it wouldn’t do for any of them to form attachments that would only have to be
broken later.

He got up, not really knowing what to say before he covered the distance of the two
steps it would take to reach her. He’d lied to her, stolen her away from her home,
her family. She had every right to never forgive him. He would handle her anger with
the respect she deserved and he’d failed to give her. He ran his fingers through his
hair and paced before the fire. What the hell was the matter with him? She wasn’t
the first lass he’d found to his liking. So what that her winsome smile played on
his memory like a siren song beckoning him to follow her and win back her favor. Aye,
the curl of her lips, the tilt of her nose, and the depth in her gaze made him want
to take up painting to try to capture her image forever.

He stopped his pacing and almost laughed out loud at himself. What the hell was he
thinking? She was his enemy’s niece and he wasn’t some love-starved lackwit. He was
the son and grandson of two of the most fearsome warriors the three kingdoms had ever
known. He sure as hell wouldn’t grovel to a woman.

He was about to turn back to his previous place by the fire when Luke stopped him.

“Cousin, ye look perplexed and a bit agitated. What is it?”

Edmund’s gaze settled on Amelia when she finally looked up at him. What did he see
in those large sable depths? Hurt, insult, anger. He’d tricked her into liking him,
trusting him, giving a tiny piece of herself to him, and then he’d stomped on the
scant moments of happiness they shared. “Tell me the secret of making the lady smile.
I’ve tried to no avail.”

“There doesn’t seem to be a secret,” Luke told him. “The lady smiles quite easily.”

“Aye?” Edmund asked, finally sitting beside them. “The memory of it fades in its absence.”

“Ye kidnapped me, Mr. MacGregor,” she pointed out a bit tightly. “Before Lucan’s comforting
assurances that none of ye will harm Sarah or me, I sat frightened fer our lives.
Did ye expect smiles then?”

Edmund didn’t think reminding her that he’d already made the assurance would make
a difference. “Nae, of course not, Miss Bell. But now that ye’ve been properly comforted,
mayhap ye will grace me, as ye did last eve, with a smile.”

“Last eve, ye were someone else.”

Looking a bit uncomfortable that he may overhear something he didn’t need to know,
Luke leaned forward and addressed Edmund. “Let us return then to the topic that made
her smile, cousin, aye? We were speaking of Henry Purcell.”

“Ye have probably never heard of him,” Amelia said tersely. “He was an English composer
who, while including French and Italian elements in his music, became famous for his
distinctly English form of Baroque music.” She cut him a side glance accompanied by
a barely concealed smirk. “Fergive me. ’Tis careless of me to think ye know what Baroque
is. Shall I explain?”

Edmund smiled at her. “Let me think. Does it not originate from the Portuguese word
barroco
, meaning ‘malformed pearl’? Is it not also a style of composition in music that is
marked by expressive dissonance and elaborate ornamentation?”

She looked so bonny in the firelight, her lovely lips parted and her extraordinary
eyes large with stunned surprise and a wee bit of irritation. “That…that sounds correct.”

He hadn’t seen this side of her. He was pleased to find her spirited and saucy. “And
as fer Purcell,” he went on, turning his attention to the flames rather than grin
at her with the satisfaction of knowing what she thought he didn’t know. “He wrote
many musical dramas while holding royal appointments in Westminster and serving three
kings. Some of his most notable works include
King Arthur
and my personal favorite,
The Fairy-Queen
.”

“Blasphemous,” Lucan said, feigning disgust. “No drama is better than
King Arthur
.”

“Ye know my affinity fer Shakespeare, Luke.” He turned back to Amelia. “Although
The Fairy-Queen
was more a masque than an opera, the libretto, written by an unknown author, was
based on William Shakespeare’s
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
.”

She narrowed her eyes on him and sized him up with curiosity sparking her eyes. It
made his blood sizzle. “Ye think ye’re quite clever, do ye not, Mr. MacGregor.”

“Call me Edmund, please. We are not strangers and are in the company of friends.”

She ignored his most charming smile. “What else are ye keeping from me?”

He held out his arms. “Ask me what ye would know.”

He got what he wanted. She smiled at him, though it was a smile hardened by a cool
edge. “If only I could get the truth out of ye, I might be tempted.” She turned to
Lucan. “Ye tell me. Ye, I trust.”

Lucan bowed in his sitting position and did so impressively. Edmund rolled his eyes.
His cousin took honor and knightly duties a wee bit too seriously.

“He speaks four languages,” Luke began. “English, Gaelic, French, and Spanish.”

She stared agape at Luke, then turned to Edmund and asked him in French if this was
true.
“Est-ce vrai?”

“Non, il avait oublié l’italien.”

“I am corrected,” Luke acknowledged. “He speaks five.”

“I spent my days as a babe learning from my mother how to read in different languages,”
he explained. “There was little else to do.”

“Why was that?”

He smiled at her firelit face. “Why was what?” He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud.

“Why was there little else to do?”

His smile remained as he looked into the crackling flames and contemplated telling
her. He hadn’t thought of his days before Camlochlin in years. When he recalled his
childhood, he always saw himself surrounded by men, women, and children who loved
him. “I wasn’t born in Scotland, but in England.”

“So, this is not even yer country then.”

“Aye, ’tis. ’Tis my country by choice. The land of my heart because it pulled me from
a dark, dreary mire and taught me how to live. I would give my life fer Scotland,
fer my kin.”

“Do ye have brothers or sisters?”

He nodded. “I have a brother, Kyle, who is the same age as Darach, and a younger sister,
Nichola. Everything I do, I do fer them, too. I’ll not have them live their lives
afraid to proclaim their name or their faith.”

She nodded, her eyes gleaming with hues of deep chestnut and warm sable. He felt like
he had when they first met, captivated, a little distracted. He thought it a good
sign that her smile had softened at some point during his short tale. She was enjoying
his honesty and he found himself wanting to tell her more.

“And yer father?” she asked him. “What did he teach ye?”

Edmund’s smile widened, thinking of the man who raised him. “He taught me how to be
brave and compassionate and how to fish.”

Her smile softened for just an instant before it faded into something less friendly.
“Intelligence, bravery, and a good fisherman…such nice qualities. Pity honesty is
not among them.”

Sitting close by and apparently catching their conversation, Darach laughed and Edmund
remembered why so many inhabitants of Camlochlin took joy in beating the youngest
Grant senseless. “His faither taught him that particular trait, as well. Colin MacGregor
was a master at deceivin’ folks when he was a spy fer King James.”

Edmund reached for a piece of dried meat left over from supper. He called for Grendel,
then tossed the meat to Darach, close to his face. Very close. Grendel nearly snapped
off Darach’s ear when he leaped for it.

“Ye’re goin to wake up one day,” Darach warned, pale faced, “and find that mongrel
thrown into the nearest loch.”

“Ye would have to touch him to get him in the loch,” Edmund reminded him. Darach never
touched Grendel, save to push him off when Grendel tried to play with him.

“Ye’re correct. He’s even uglier than his faither, Aurelius.”

“Watch yer mouth,” Edmund warned, half serious. “Leave Aurelius out of this.”

“Who is Aurelius?” Amelia asked.

“A dog,” Darach informed her. “This mongrel’s sire.”

Grendel sat on his haunches, barked in Darach’s face, then commenced panting, his
large brown eyes never leaving the young Highlander.

Darach tried to ignore the beast but finally conceded and got up and left. Lucan also
left them and followed after Malcolm and Sarah when they would have wandered into
the shadows beyond the trees. He stopped them, pulling Malcolm to the side. Edmund
watched for a moment, making a mental note to speak to both his cousins. But not now.

“So yer father is a spy?”

He turned to Amelia and did his best to keep his thoughts off kissing her in the soft
glow of the moonlight, beneath the shadow of Michelangelo’s
David
. “Was.”

She shifted her legs beneath her and folded her arms around herself. “He must have
been exceptional at deceit in order to have served the king.”

“Are ye cold, lass?”

“Just a bit.”

He sprang to his feet and retrieved a blanket from his saddlebag. He returned to the
fire and draped the blanket around her shoulders. She thanked him, cutting her gaze
to his but offering him no more smiles.

“Did ye learn how to lie to others so easily from him?”

Edmund wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or beat Darach senseless for mentioning his
father and his prior service to the king.

“My father did what he believed was best fer the kingdom, as I do. And he didn’t lie
to me or my mother once he decided to save us.”

She turned to him now, her profile shimmering against the firelight. “What did he
save ye from?”

Would she look down her nose at him if she knew he was born a bastard? His parents
had always told him there was no shame in his heritage. They certainly never made
him feel anything but adored and accepted. Sometimes though, he did feel set apart,
an emotion he’d created himself. Mayhap it was the driving force of his passion to
offer something back to Scotland for what she did for him. He owed her and the MacGregors
something.

He smiled at himself. He wasn’t a bastard and she wouldn’t look down on him. Not this
lass, who defied her parents because her best friend was a servant.

“My mother bore me out of wedlock and as punishment her father sent her off to live
in seclusion with her cousin the Earl of Devon at the edge of the Dart estuary.”

Her eyes narrowed on him and he immediately found himself enjoying the intelligent
glint in them. Edmund wondered if her future husband appreciated his spirited soon-to-be
wife.

“The Earl of Essex’s nephew is the Earl of Devon,” she pointed out. When he nodded,
she folded her arms around herself and studied him. “So ye weren’t being completely
untruthful back in Edinburgh, then. Yer mother is the daughter of Lord Essex?”

“Aye, but I hold no title. I haven’t seen my grandfather since I was a babe of four.”
He told her of Colin MacGregor and how the man who became his father had taught him
how to fight monsters in the night and to trust that no matter how big or powerful
those monsters were, they could be vanquished with courage, determination, skill,
and an army of kin at his back.

Before he knew how, hours had passed and Amelia Bell knew more about his life than
any lass before her. Even the ones living in Camlochlin.

“Yer monster is the Treaty of Union, isn’t it?” she guessed later when his voice finally
grew quiet.

“Aye.”

“Will ye do whatever it takes to stop it?”

“Aye.”

“Even kill my uncle or the chancellor?”

He flicked his gaze to the fire. He didn’t want to lie to her again.

When she laid a trembling hand on his arm, he looked down at it. “I would ask ye to
be merciful and honorable and promise me that ye will not kill them.”

How could he promise her that? If things came to fighting, he intended on living.
He was surprised at how much she loved the chancellor that she would beg for his life.
The way they had danced, the way she held him, kissed him…she couldn’t love the chancellor
as much as she claimed. Then he realized that she hadn’t claimed anything. Her father
had.