The Stolen Mackenzie Bride

by Jennifer Ashley

  Malcolm clenched his fists on the desk. “Because it gives me an excuse to be alone with her, damn it. You’ll be helping me woo a lady at the same time I’m helping you. I’m madly in love with the woman.”

  “Mad is the word for it.” Jeremy folded the letter and handed it to Malcolm, who tucked it into his pocket. “Mary will never give up Halsey. She’s very dutiful, is Mary. If you think to make her your mistress after she’s wed, I don’t imagine that will work either. Mary is also very loyal. And proper.”

  “And unhappy,” Malcolm said. “I see the way she looks at th’ man. She’d rather marry a rotting fish, but someone’s talked her into doing it.”

  “Families.” Jeremy shook his head. “They make your life hell.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Malcolm shuddered. Families could be the very devil. Especially when they were Mackenzies.

  “Jeremy, where are we going? You’re being blasted mysterious.”

  Mary hurried along behind Jeremy, her hands full of her skirts, her feet moving quickly in her high heels.

  Jeremy didn’t answer, being too busy striding along the corridors of his family home. Mary assumed it had something to do with Audrey, and strove to keep up.

  She was out of breath by the time Jeremy paused near a door in an obscure corner of the second floor, opened it, and stood back to let her enter ahead of him. As soon as Mary crossed the threshold, Jeremy turned away, slammed the door, and retreated, shutting her in with Malcolm Mackenzie.

  Chapter 7

  She was alone with him. The door closed. Even the inadequate chaperonage of Jeremy gone.

  “Don’t run away yet,” Malcolm said. He came to her where she stood next to the door and placed his hand on the door frame. “Don’t worry, Mary. Ye won’t have to put up with me for long. Me dad’s sent for me and m’ brothers. We’re off home to Kilmorgan.”

  Mary’s protests died on her lips. “Oh.” Her spirits, which had risen considerably upon seeing him, deflated. “Because of the uprising?”

  “Aye. Me dad doesn’t want his sons anywhere near Prince Teàrlach if he tries to march this way. Afraid we’ll go mad and join him.”

  Mary’s heart beat faster. Not so much for the thought of Charles Stuart heading for Edinburgh, but from Malcolm declaring he was leaving. The encounter finished almost before it had begun.

  “When are you going?” she asked, voice faltering.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Oh,” she repeated.

  A strange emptiness filled her. But Mary should want Mal gone, shouldn’t she? Out of her life where he wouldn’t plague her? She’d return with her father to Lincolnshire, Malcolm would remove to the north of Scotland, and their paths would not cross again.

  This was wrong somehow. Their flirtation couldn’t be over this soon. Their encounter was like a sonnet whose first lines had been written, but the last couplet left unfinished. Mary would be forever waiting for the rhyme at the end of the line.

  “In light o’ that, we have much work to do,” Malcolm was saying. He didn’t move from his stance over her, his strong hand resting near her cheek. “If ye want young Audrey off with Jeremy, we must move quick.”

  Mary blinked. “How do you know I’m trying to persuade Jeremy to elope with her?”

  “Because I’ve made friends with Jeremy, and it’s clear to anyone with eyes that he won’t be happy unless he’s wed to your sister. So we must get them married and away. I have friends in France they can stay with while things are settled. Are ye prepared to help me or no?”

  “I . . .” Mary forced her thoughts in order. “Yes—I do want her gone. My father will be taking us back to Lincolnshire in the next week, so it must be soon.”

  “Good.” Malcolm reached into his pocket for a folded paper. He leaned close to Mary and touched it to her nose. “This will tell Audrey Jeremy’s feelings for her. I have a few more things to put into place, and then the pair of young lovers can be together without restraint.”

  Mary stared at him in surprise. “This is madness. Why should you help us?”

  Mal shrugged. “Why shouldn’t I? I see unhappiness, I want to fix it. I’m a youngest son, buffeted around by the wills of older brothers and my father—me life isn’t me own most of the time. But maybe I can help another youngest son have the life he deserves.”

  Mary hesitated. Though she was practical enough to seize an opportunity when it was thrust at her, she was also practical enough to be wary. “Are you certain you’re not a spy for my father? Ready to rush to him and declare you’ve caught Audrey in the act of betraying him? Perhaps you also want to discredit Jeremy, and his entire family?”

  Malcolm looked at her in such amazement Mary realized she was completely wrong. “Ye have a wild imagination, ye do, lass. Me, work for a bloody English aristo?” He pressed his hand to his chest. “What kind of man do ye take me for?”

  Mal’s indignation was real. As was his hurt. He expected her to trust him implicitly, was surprised when she didn’t. He certainly had plenty of arrogance.

  “My apologies,” Mary said. “I’m surrounded by intrigue more than anyone should be. It’s made me think everyone a spy, or at least out for themselves.”

  “A wise way to look at the world.” Mal brushed her cheek with the letter. “But that’s not how I want ye to think of me. Not that my family isn’t busy spying on each other, but I’ll keep ye well out of that.”

  Hope rose in her. If Malcolm could help Audrey be free—and she knew from her father that the Duke of Kilmorgan’s family were wealthy enough to do anything they pleased—Mary would have one worry off her mind.

  She snatched the letter and shoved it into her pocket. “Thank you, Mr. . . . Lord Malcolm. This is splendid of you, but they must not be caught. It isn’t a game. It’s Audrey’s life.”

  He flashed her another offended look. “I suppose ye can’t know how expert I am at smuggling people to and fro, entirely undetected by anyone. Usually I’m smuggling meself, but take my word—I’m very good at it. I can move like a ghost, me, and anyone I move with me, is unseen as well.”

  According to Mary’s father, all Scotsmen were duplicitous creatures who lived to outsmart the law and the excise men. The smuggling up and down the coast and even through the middle of Scotland was notorious. But perhaps duplicity was what Mary needed just now.

  Mary let out a quick breath. “Once Audrey is married to Jeremy, I will certainly thank you then. Her happiness is what I long for most of all.”

  “What about you, Mary?” Mal caught her hand, trapped it. His fingers were much larger than hers, warm, and callused. He worked with these hands, the skin rough and broken. So unlike the soft, well-manicured fingers of Lord Halsey. “What will ye do after? Go tamely back to Lincolnshire? Or run away with me? I can take ye far from here, give ye anything ye want.”

  Mary wished he wouldn’t say things like that, wouldn’t stir her longing. The thought of duty today was somehow not the comfort it had been yesterday.

  “Never mind about me,” she said quickly. “As long as Audrey is happy, that will be enough.”

  Malcolm stepped closer, shaking his head. “Never let it be enough, lass. People like us, we have to snatch up our happiness as soon as we find it. And not let go.”

  He lifted her hand to his mouth, his breath burning the skin on the inside of her wrist as he took a tiny bite.

  Mary’s heart nearly stopped beating. She’d never felt anything like it, the scrape of teeth on sensitive skin, the fire that plunged straight from there to the join of her legs.

  Malcolm looked at her, his mouth still at her wrist, the wickedness in his eyes stealing what was left of her breath. He took another little bite, then another. He worked his way up her arm until stopped by the lace at her elbow.

  Malcolm lifted his head. He transferred his fingertips to her cheek, caressing there before he skimmed down her throat to the tops of her breasts. He stood so close now that the rise of his chest touched hers.

 
; Just when Mary thought he would stop, finished, Malcolm leaned to take his lips along the path his fingers had—cheek, throat, breasts. Mary’s head went back, her body rising to his mouth, whether she willed it or no.

  “You’ll ruin me,” she whispered.

  Malcolm studied her, his amber-colored gaze intense. “Marry me, lass, and I’ll ruin ye every day.”

  Mary’s senses came back in a dizzying rush. “What?”

  “Why not? Crazed though I might be, I’ll make ye a far better husband than that bastard Halsey.”

  Mary should want to spring to Halsey’s defense, as she had last night. Even if she felt no passion for the man, she should at least have loyalty.

  Yesterday, she had. She’d been proud of being useful to her father, ready to be the steadfast wife. Today, her reason had flown to the winds.

  Was this who she truly was? Easily turned from her path by a man with strong hands and unusual eyes?

  You’ve already ruined me, she wanted to say. You’re stripping away the masks I hide behind, even from myself.

  Malcolm drew the edge of his palm from her stomacher to her breasts. “Ye have such fire in ye, Mary. I want to hold it in my hands.”

  His warmth was intoxicating. She wanted to imbibe it and everything about him. Make memories with him to hold in the chill of the long nights to come.

  She didn’t resist at all when Malcolm tilted her head back, bringing her against him at the same time, and kissed her on the mouth.

  Every thought in Mal’s head stilled at the touch of Mary’s lips. Her mouth was a place of softness, her every breath honey and spice.

  She didn’t know how to kiss, he realized after a heartbeat. She’d never done this before.

  The thought spiked a mad ferocity through him. Malcolm was her first—Halsey hadn’t gotten to her yet.

  He slid his hand behind her back and eased Mary up to him, gentling his lips to show her how it was done. Her soft pressure in response sent another ache through Malcolm, one that made him harder than he had time to be right now.

  He slipped his other hand behind her back, completing the embrace, and dipped his tongue between her lips.

  Mary’s gasp warmed his mouth. She resisted for a brief moment, then Malcolm felt her relax in his arms, and she tentatively flicked her tongue against his.

  Teaching her would be the most wonderful joy of his life. Malcolm pressed her harder up into him, tasting her, opening her. Mary’s hands fluttered against his arms, then her grip strengthened, pressing tight as she gave herself over to the kiss.

  He opened her mouth, licked inside. His blood heated as she moved her lips in response, eager to learn. Malcolm caught her tongue between his teeth and lightly bit.

  The noise in her throat as he did so completed his arousal. He was as hard as he’d ever been, but release would be a joy he’d have to put off. As much as Mal wanted to lay Mary back over the heavy desk and shove her skirts to her hips, she wasn’t ready for that.

  It would kill him to wait, but he had to. In the meantime, Malcolm could think of plenty of other things to do.

  He released her tongue to nibble her lips, then pressed her up to him for another kiss. Mal slid his hands to her stomacher, imagining releasing her from its confines. Up to her breasts, cupping them, thumbs brushing the flesh that swelled over the lace at her neckline. Prim Mary, her chest rising, clutched his coat as she tasted what was forbidden.

  She didn’t want to stop. Malcolm made that decision. He knew if he kept on kissing her, he would lay her down on the surface of the desk and show her they didn’t have to be entirely bare to take deep pleasure with each other.

  Mary dragged in a long breath as the kiss eased to an end, but she wouldn’t look at him. Her cheeks were red, her eyes downcast.

  Mal put his hand under her chin, gently tilting her head up. “Don’t feel shame, love. There’s nothing shameful about kissing a man because you enjoy it.”

  The look in her eyes when she finally met his gaze wasn’t shame. It was defiance, and fear.

  But not of Mal, he understood. If he’d frightened her, Mary wouldn’t shrink away—she’d gather up her skirts and kick him in the balls, then tell him what she thought of him as he doubled over in pain.

  “You tempt me to what I know I cannot have,” Mary said, her voice shaking. “I can’t let you. You’re kind to help Audrey and Jeremy. But I won’t pay you like this.”

  “Pay?” The Mackenzies were famous for their swift tempers, and Mal lost his quickly. “What the devil do ye take me for, woman? Ye’ve been in thrall to those who use you too long if ye think that.”

  Mary looked at him in surprise. But then, hadn’t Mal told himself all along that he was helping Mary’s sister so Mary would smile at him, kiss him? As she was doing?

  But he didn’t want this. Not Mary giving him kisses because she thought it favors for favors returned.

  “I’m trying to tell ye, lass.” Malcolm gentled his voice. “Ye owe me nothing. If I kiss ye, it’s because you’re sweet in the sunshine, and I want to enjoy you. I’m following my heart. I learned at an early age it’s better to do that, or I’ll end up sour and rigid, like me dad.”

  “Following your heart.” Mary’s look turned wistful. “I don’t think it’s possible. Not in these times. Not for most.”

  “Now, Mary, that’s a sad thing to hear ye say. And you so young. If ye don’t follow your heart, what else is there?”

  “Honor. Integrity. What of those?”

  Mal shook his head. “Those are nothing if you have no passion. Without passion you’re living only for how others see you, while inside you’re dying.”

  Mary gave him a stricken look. She said nothing, but Malcolm knew he’d hit upon the truth. She was slowly growing numb inside, thinking honor and duty would prop her up. Mal was giving her a glimpse of something else, another choice, and it was frightening her to death.

  Malcolm closed both hands around hers and pulled her to him. “Ye hold on to me, Mary, and you’ll be all right. I’ll never let ye fall.”

  Mary’s eyes shone with sudden tears. And hope.

  Malcolm loved how she could flash from mood to mood, much like he could. If she ever seemed cool, it was because she’d built a wall between herself and the world, so that the world could not hurt her. Malcolm was putting his hand to that wall and doggedly tearing down the bricks.

  Mary rose on her tiptoes and closed her eyes over tears as she kissed him.

  Warm, desperate woman filled Mal’s arms, a woman hungry for the small taste of passion he offered her in this room.

  A wretched shame that Jeremy had to choose that moment to fling open the door and charge inside.

  “They’ve come,” he said as Mary sprang away from Mal. “Mary, your aunt is going mad looking for you. I can’t put her off any longer.”

  “Slow down, lad,” Malcolm said. “Who’s come?”

  “The Jacobites, you slow-top,” Jeremy answered, agitation and excitement in his every move. “Charles Stuart and his followers. They marched straight past Stirling and have come to take Edinburgh.”

  Chapter 8

  “There you are, Mary,” Aunt Danae said in relief when Mary hurried down the stairs. “We must be off.” Aunt Danae was in the Bancrofts’ lofty lower hall, her skirts dancing as she swung from the maid with her wrap to a passing footman. “Is our carriage here yet, man? Well, hurry and fetch it, then!”

  “Off?” Mary’s heart thumped as she stepped from the last stair and took her cloak from the worried maid. “To Lincolnshire?”

  This was a disaster. Malcolm’s last words to Mary, before he’d ushered her out the door with Jeremy, were to wait for his instructions. He’d assess what was going on and when they could proceed with their plans for the elopement. Several hundred Highlanders and Charles Stuart making camp in the King’s Park might put a damper on things, Mal said, but he promised it would be only temporary.

  Mary was torn between thinking him mad and agreeing t
hey shouldn’t panic. She was determined not to let a mere uprising come between her and her sister’s happiness.

  “Not Lincolnshire,” Aunt Danae answered. “Your father has no intention of leaving now, not when he can be in the thick of things. He wants us back at the house in Edinburgh. I told him I should take you and Audrey to England, but he’s adamant. They can only win if we all flee, he said.”

  At any other time, Mary would rush to her father, imploring him to let them spirit Audrey to safety. Today, however, she held her tongue. If Malcolm could get Audrey and Jeremy away to France, Audrey would be safer there.

  Mary wasn’t afraid for herself—they’d taken a large house in Edinburgh and the earl kept plenty of guards around his family. Wilfort was prideful but not reckless.

  Home then. To Edinburgh. For now.

  Malcolm stepped off the road into the thick grasses on the side of it as a column of Highlanders wrapped in plaids—swords, dirks, and muskets in place—came marching along. Not a lot of them—this was not the bulk of the army, which had already set up outside the walls.

  Malcolm was surprised they’d gotten this far. Johnny Cope was to have taken care of the rebellion before Charles and his followers ever reached Perth, but he’d been caught napping.

  That was the English for you, Mal thought. Having to take orders and get money from afar, Cope had waited too long. He’d finally marched north to intercept the Jacobites, but hadn’t wanted to engage where the sons of Scotland would have all the advantage. Cope’s army had skimmed past the Jacobites to Inverness, and they were who knew where now.

  So Will, who had his finger on the pulse of both sides of the affair, had told Mal last night. Malcolm was following the conflict as well—though Will was an artist at it—but Mal couldn’t take that deep an interest in it. The succession question had been decided long ago, and a few Campbells and Macdonalds whipped into a frenzy in the last weeks wasn’t going to change things.