The Highlander's Excellent Adventure (Survivors, #8)

by Galen, Shana

  “What’s that?”

  “In the morning”—please, God, let it be morning soon—“we plan to ask farmers if we can ride in their carts,” Emmeline said.

  He snorted. “I suppose that seems romantic to you. Never mind the manure and chicken feathers.”

  She tossed her head, even though she knew it was childish. “Then we buy a cart.”

  “Oh, you have blunt, have you?”

  She didn’t answer. He knew she’d lost her money on that first day in the dog/baby swindle.

  “I spent almost the last of mine to hire the last coach and driver,” he said. “You know, the one we have now left back at the inn.”

  How she mourned leaving that coach behind now. “Is your point that this is not the wisest decision I have ever made?” she asked. “Because I know that already.”

  “Then why are you doing this? I understand you feel obligated to help Miss Neves, but Draven will catch up to her sooner or later. Sooner if he has already located Lord Jasper.”

  She continued walking, her back stiff, despite how heavy her shoulders felt.

  “But why won’t you see reason and go home? You have always been the cleverest and most rational female of my acquaintance. I don’t understand what you are thinking.”

  Her gaze stared straight ahead, anger fueled by weariness bubbling inside her. “Why do you pretend not to know? You are the most intelligent and logical man I know. Please stop pretending you don’t see what’s in front of you.”

  He jogged until he was in front of her and turned to face her, walking backward. “I always see what’s right in front of me. I have always seen you, Emmeline.”

  “Then you see what a disappointment I am to my mother.”

  He shook his head, but she saw in his expression that he knew exactly what she was talking about. Just as she knew how little Stratford’s father valued him. Of all the people who might question what she was doing, she had always thought Stratford would understand.

  “She loves you,” he said.

  “She does, in her way,” Emmeline agreed. “But all my life she has tried to change me, to make me thinner, prettier, more like the daughter she wishes I had been. I do not want to live the rest of my life trying to change myself to make someone else happy.” She’d never actually put her feelings into words before, but as she did, it all became so clear. She wanted to be loved for who she was. She’d always been told, in one way or another, she had to change. Emmeline didn’t want to change. Just because she was not what a few thousand wealthy and titled people deemed to be fashionable, did not mean she should remake herself to please them.

  Before she had run away, she had taken a hard look in the mirror. She liked who she saw looking back at her. She liked her contrary opinions, her curvy body, and even her unruly hair. “I just thought that if I could get away for a few years, until I was firmly on the shelf, then I could live as I want. My sisters could marry and have children, and my mother would be able to focus on tasks other than making me into someone I will never be.”

  Stratford stopped and held his hands out, locking them around her upper arms. “I had no idea you felt that way.”

  “No one does. I’ve never told anyone.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why I am telling you. Except I thought you might understand.”

  “Do ye need a rest?” Murray called back.

  “Yes!” Stratford answered. “Give me ten minutes or so.”

  It was she, not he, who needed the respite, but she appreciated that Stratford kept up the ruse that she was not struggling.

  “Just wait until we reach the Highlands!” Murray said. “Ye will wish for roads like this.”

  Stratford moved off the road, still holding Emmeline’s arm. “Just wait until he passes out,” Stratford muttered. “I’ll make him eat his words.”

  “Such a good friend,” Emmeline said.

  Pausing under the gently swaying leaves of a tree, Stratford removed his hat. “I am a good friend. Why didn’t you ever tell me how you felt? I wouldn’t have dragged you to all those balls.”

  She smiled. “I never blamed you. Neither of us had a choice.”

  “I had a choice. I just like to keep my mother happy, considering she’s the only parent who can stand the look of me.”

  Emmeline sank to the ground under the tree, the weight of the day and her sympathy for him becoming too heavy. “I’m sure your father and mother love you in their own way, but I hope coming after me is not a means to earn their favor.”

  He crouched down before her. “Is that what you think?”

  She looked away, saw Ines help Murray to sit under another tree on the opposite side of the road.

  “No. I think you are here because you wanted to come, but you should go home. I am perfectly safe with Mr. Murray and am in the company of Miss Neves. You can leave me and go back to your own life.”

  “What if I don’t want to leave you?” he asked.

  She shook her head and blew out an exasperated breath. “I have told you countless times, I am not going home.”

  “And I have told you that I go where you go.”

  “Why?” She lifted her arms in frustration. “So you can lecture me at every turn?”

  “No. So I can do this.”

  He reached for her, and though she could have easily moved away, she let him take her into his arms. That was where she wanted to be anyway. And then because she liked the feel of being pressed against him, she pulled him closer. Of course, that caused him to lose his balance and topple forward, toppling them both, she under him as they fell onto the grass under the tree. He pushed himself up on his elbows and looked down at her for a long moment. She knew his eyes would be that beautiful blue she loved. Her own eyes were probably huge because she could feel his weight on her, and it was more satisfying than she could have imagined to have a man splayed on top of her.

  “I must stand up,” he said.

  She wrapped her hands around his neck. “No.”

  “Duncan—”

  “Can’t see us behind this tree and wouldn’t care if he could.” She tugged his mouth closer to hers. “What were you saying before? About why you want to stay?”

  “I really should show you,” he said.

  “Show me.”

  Anticipating him, she lifted her lips to his, but this was no gentle kiss. Stratford kissed her hard and thoroughly, effectively robbing her of any semblance of rational thought. She wanted more of his mouth, more of his touch, more of everything.

  “Not here,” he said, pulling away, his breath as short as hers. “What am I saying?” He rolled off her, leaving her cold and lonely. “Not anywhere. We cannot do this.”

  “Because we are friends,” she said.

  “Exactly.”

  She rolled her head to look at him. “We could be better friends.”

  She saw his throat move as he swallowed. Then he looked away determinedly. “That’s not the only reason. You are an unmarried lady. I cannot—”

  “Then why don’t you marry me?”

  She didn’t know why she said it. She wished with all her heart she could take it back as soon as the words left her mouth. His expression said it all. He looked shocked and horrified and, well, disgusted at the idea. Emmeline scrambled up. “Forget what I said. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Emmeline.” He was reaching for her, and she jumped to her feet and started away.

  “I was not being serious. It was a joke that went too far.” She held out a hand to ward him away. “I need a moment alone.”

  “We need to talk about this.”

  “There is nothing to talk about. I told you I will never marry, and I especially wouldn’t marry you. Now give me a moment alone to attend to my personal needs.”

  At her cutting words, he slowed and finally paused.

  “Thank you. A lady needs a few moments alone sometimes.” She pushed her way through some low brush then slid behind a tree and leaned back against the trunk for support. She pres
sed her hand to her mouth to keep her cries silent as tears ran down her cheeks.

  What was wrong with her? Why would she say such a thing? Of course, Stratford did not want to marry her. He didn’t love her any more than she loved him. He just wanted what all men wanted, though he had more honor than most. And she knew what that honor would lead to. He would tell her that he was flattered by her proposal but could not accept. He would explain, oh so gently, that he didn’t love her.

  And that was fine. She would never marry any man because what would be the point of escaping a controlling mother only to wed a man and fall under his control? Then she’d be forced to change to become the woman he wanted for a wife. There was only one way she could ever be her true self—and that was to be alone.

  And that was why she had left Odham Abbey. And that was why she hated Stratford coming after her.

  Because he made her believe she didn’t have to be alone to be loved for who she was. And because he was making her fall in love with him.

  DUNCAN

  Duncan watched Stratford chase after Miss Wellesley and wondered when the man would admit he cared for the lass. It was as plain as the day was long that he had feelings for the woman. Duncan had known it even before he had seen them together. Stratford was always quick to defend his cousin, though from what Duncan could see of her, the criticism she received was generally fair.

  Ines had held off sitting beside him at the base of the tree, but now she gave in and sat daintily with her legs under her. For such a small creature, she was a lot of trouble.

  “Are you still angry with me?” she asked.

  “Aye,” he said.

  “I would have thought you glad to be rid of me. I have caused you problems.”

  It was as though she’d heard his thoughts. “I should be, aye,” he said.

  “But you are not glad to be rid of me?” she asked, turning her body toward his. Duncan had to resist pulling her onto his lap. Considering how he was feeling, it was probably best to avoid the question.

  “I want ye tae be safe, lass.”

  She exhaled with a loud. “Safe! Safe! Safe! Caramba! I am so tired of this talk of safe.” From the way her arms were slicing the air and her voice rose, he could see that.

  “Ye’ve a taste for adventure, I ken.” He liked that about her. He liked it very much, though it made his head ache at the moment.

  “Yes! And I did not seek this adventure. It found me. I was only trying to avoid Mr. Podmore.”

  “Who is this Podmore?”

  She explained, and Duncan felt his collar grow warm as she discussed her sister’s attempts to find a suitor for her. He didn’t like thinking of her with another man, especially a man like the Podmore she described.

  “I cannae blame ye for wanting tae escape a man like that. Ye’ll want a man who kens yer need for adventure and excitement.”

  She looked at him, and even in the darkness, he could feel her gaze boring into his.

  He looked for an escape. “What I mean is—”

  “If only I knew of such a man,” she said, tapping her chin in a show of thoughtfulness, her eyes still on him. Duncan tried to scoot away, but the tree was at his back.

  “Lass, dinnae look tae me.” He shook his head and held his hands up.

  “What is it they call you, senhor? The Lunatic?” She moved closer, trapping him. “Why is that, I wonder. And you are in search of a wife, não?”

  He grasped her arms and held her at bay before she could crawl into his lap, which was exactly where he wanted her but beside the point. “I was in search of a wife. Now I’m for home.”

  She was no good at hiding her emotions. He saw the disappointment written across her face.

  “Lass, did ye nae tell me ye were hiding in my coach tae avoid a suitor and running away because ye dinnae want tae be trapped in a marriage?”

  She tilted her head, her gaze seeming to see him clearly through the shadows of the night. “Marriage to you would be no trap, senhor.”

  He felt a lump rise in his throat, and his lungs seemed to push all the air out so he could not breathe.

  “But I am not proposing we marry,” she said. Duncan didn’t know whether to breathe a sigh of relief or hold his breath in preparation for what she might say next. “It is an excuse for me to travel with you. And if you bring me home, then your mother cannot say you did not find a bride, não?”

  “Nae.” He shook his head. He could see her plan now. It was the sort of haphazard, half-baked idea he would have. He had to admire her. She wanted an adventure and a real or pretend engagement gave her presence with him legitimacy. She probably thought he could benefit too.

  But she did not know Lady Charlotte.

  “Then you do not want me with you,” she said, shrinking back from him. He pulled her back where she’d been.

  “I dinnae say that. But nor do I want ye tae reach Kirkmoray and believe ye’ll receive a warm welcome from my mother. She willnae accept ye for my wife.”

  She tensed. He could feel her body go rigid, though he only held her arms. Without thinking, he slid his hands down her arms and back up again, comforting her. He also enjoyed the feel of the soft, bare skin of her forearms under his fingers. “It’s nothing tae do with ye, lass,” he said. “She wants me to marry an Englishwoman. Nae, not just an Englishwoman but the daughter of a peer.” He pulled her closer yet when she tried to jerk away. He didn’t want to bruise her arms, so he lowered his hands to her waist. His hands were already firmly about that slim waist when he realized his mistake. Her waist was too close to her hips, which was too close to her bottom, which he desperately wanted to plant two hands on and squeeze. She was a slender lass who looked as though she might blow away in a strong wind, but he’d paid enough attention to see that under the loose folds of her dress, she had a shapely bottom. He wondered just how shapely.

  Keeping his hands firmly on her waist, he continued. “Ye dinnae ken the history of England. The English have hated the Scottish for years. They’ve done all they can tae do away with us. Whole villages struggle with finding enough food tae feed their children. Clans are scattered tae the four winds.”

  “Not your clan,” she said, seeming to relax now under his touch.

  “Nae, not mine. And one reason for that, it cannae be denied, is my mother. Lady Charlotte is an Englishwoman and the daughter of an earl. She married a Scot, which lowered her in the Crown’s esteem, but she is still esteemed, ye ken?”

  “And what about you? You are a war hero, não?”

  “I’m nae hero, lass.” And he wasn’t. She wasn’t the only one who’d wanted adventure or an escape. The guilt of his father’s death—well, Duncan had thought fighting with the English would make him forget it. When it hadn’t, he’d accepted a dangerous commission, thinking that perhaps in death he could forget. “But I will admit that my service is another protection for the clan.”

  “But not enough for your mother. I am not good enough.” She looked away. Duncan had to wonder how his mother, a woman Ines had never met, was able to extend the long arm of disapproval all the way into England and Ines’s heart. Duncan began to wonder if perhaps all the years of living with his mother’s disapproval meant he carried it with him and spread it like pollen. Only what grew were not flowers but weeds and thorns.

  “Nae lass is good enough for her,” he said. “But then she never did ken what tae look for.”

  She slowly turned back to him. The sky behind her had lightened to a steel gray, pearling her olive skin and making her brown eyes look even darker. Duncan lifted one hand to touch her soft cheek. “She doesnae appreciate the desire for adventure or escape.”

  “Não?” she whispered, leaning her cheek into his touch. Duncan seemed to have always known Ines would respond to his touch this way. He hadn’t been surprised at her response to his kiss. She was a sensual creature, one who craved connection, touch, passion. He recognized that part of himself in her. “What else does she not appreciate, senhor?”

/>   “Duncan. Nae senhor.”

  She smiled, probably at his poor accent on the term.

  “What else does she not appreciate, Duncan?”

  He liked the way she said his name. It sounded exotic and foreign. The English always seemed to make it flat and squish it together. He preferred the lilt of the Scots brogue for his name, but if he had a second choice it would be Ines’s soft way of breathing it.

  “She is a woman who is always skeptical. She doesnae trust anyone. Ye, ye trust easily. Perhaps tae easily.” His hand slid from her waist to the small of her back, pulling her closer to him.

  “I can trust you. Benedict trusts you.”

  “Aye, ye can trust me. But only so far, lass.”

  “Can I trust you here?” she asked, gesturing at the space between them.

  “Aye.”

  She scooted closer. “Here?”

  “Aye.” But his voice had grown gruffer and deeper.

  She moved onto his lap. “Here?

  All but gritting his teeth, he said, “Aye.”

  “What else does Lady Charlotte not appreciate?”

  “Passion,” he said above the pounding of his heart. He wanted to pull her the last few inches until she was pressed against him, her mouth on his. “She says tae much passion makes a man—or woman—unpredictable and...dangerous.”

  Ines’s mouth curved slowly into a smile. “Dangerous. Do you think I am dangerous?”

  “Oh, aye. Ye are a hazard, lass.”

  “Oh? Am I?” she whispered, wriggling closer. That made his cock sit up and take notice. Just a little further and she’d be warm and cozy over it.

  “A hazard tae my good intentions.”

  “I detest good intentions, Duncan.”

  “So do I.” His hand slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, where he grasped a fistful of her disheveled hair and drew her mouth to his. He hadn’t intended to plunder her, but as soon as their lips touched, the craving he felt for more of her, all of her, gripped him and would not let go. She opened to him without protest, and her tongue met his with a fervor that nearly drove him over the edge. He yanked her against him so she straddled him, that warm place between her legs resting over his hard cock, which strained at his trousers. He resisted the urge to lift his hips and press his erection into that warm spot, but he could not resist allowing his hand to trail down over the swell of her bottom. He’d pulled her forward, and she was lifted just enough that he could run a hand over its roundness and firmness. It was high and tight, a good bottom for a playful slap or where a man could grab a handful and hold on.