by Amy Jarecki
Again he shoved the cur away.
“Come, men. We ride!”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Akira opened her eyes to an eerie mist shrouding the clearing. Curled in a ball, she’d done her best to stay warm throughout the night, but her efforts had been futile and sleep fleeting. Now, her stomach roiled, and an uneasy prickling of her scalp hinted at impending danger. Was someone watching her? She glanced at the muted outlines of the sleeping dragoons, still snoring as if they hadn’t a care. Even the captain’s chest rose and fell with his steady breathing.
The remains of the fire smoldered.
Something snapped.
Akira gasped, her gaze darting through the fog, squinting as she tried to make out figures in the shadowy brush. Everything looked alive. Everything rustled and moved with the wind. Her heart pounded in her ears like the steady beat of a distant drum. The breeze swept a strand of hair across her face. Brushing it aside, she saw movement.
She clapped her hand over her mouth, stifling an urge to scream.
The mist hadn’t played a trick on her this time. An enormous man crouched but ten feet away.
Gooseflesh rippled across Akira’s skin. Had her prayers been answered? Or was this a band of outlaws come to finish her off for the murder of their kin?
A gust of wind caused the mist to lift a bit.
Dear God! Her heart fluttering, Akira rose to her elbow.
Geordie held his finger to his lips, then panned his hand across the perimeter of the camp.
Holy Moses, the Gordon guard had them surrounded. Highlanders dressed in dark plaid with navy bonnets pulled low over their brows crouched among the trees like ghosts, ready for battle.
Nodding her understanding, Akira curled into a tighter ball.
Geordie sliced his hand through the air.
A deafening war cry boomed through the clearing and Clan Gordon burst through the mist, brandishing their weapons.
Jolted from slumber, the dragoons hastened to their feet, grabbing for their swords.
High-pitched screams shrieked.
The wind picked up, while the clearing erupted in a frenzy of fighting. Steel scraped, and muskets fired with blinding flashes of light.
The captain ran for the horses, disappearing into the fog.
Bellowing like a madman, Geordie barreled after him. “You’ll not slink away like a coward!”
Akira scrambled to her feet, hugging her shackled wrists against her chest, as a gust swept the mist away.
Ahead, two men circled, crouching low, swords drawn and ready to strike.
The captain lunged, stabbing with his saber.
Akira screamed.
Fast as lightning, Geordie dodged the blade and countered with a kick.
The captain’s arms sprawled out as he stumbled straight toward her.
Before she could run, he snatched her arm and spun her into his body, pressing the sharp point of his sword to her neck.
She twisted against his powerful hold, but the tip of the sword sliced into her flesh. With a hiss, she bared her teeth, leaning back, her head stopped by an unyielding shoulder.
The blackguard tugged her backward toward the horses. “Stop struggling,” he growled. “Unless you want your throat cut.”
Geordie followed, his eyes blacker than coal. “You’re far outnumbered. Let the lass go and I’ll spare you.”
“Not on your life,” the captain hissed. “This filly is my ticket to lands and riches, and now that you’ve attacked me, I have proof that you were the bastard who lost the flask at Hoord Moor.”
His lips curling, Geordie stepped nearer. “You can prove nothing.”
Akira flexed her fingers, waiting for her chance to break free.
Roderick’s body shook against her back as he cackled. “I can, and the Marquis of Atholl will see to it the queen grants me title and lands.”
Geordie’s gaze turned deadly. “Miserable, bleating gold-digger.”
A click sounded.
Akira glanced up, shifting only her eyes lest her throat be sliced open.
Oliver held a pistol to the captain’s head. “Take one more step and it will be your last.”
With a sideways strike, Geordie snatched the saber’s hilt from the officer’s grasp, shoving it away from Akira’s throat.
Gasping, Akira dashed to Geordie’s side, and clung to his arm.
Not taking his eyes off his quarry, the duke inclined his head toward her. “Are you all right, lass?”
“Aye,” she said, trembling and only able to utter a single word.
With a low growl, Geordie pressed his lips against her forehead, then nudged her behind him. He moved to within a hand’s breadth of the officer, towering over him.
“I don’t give a shite if you are a duke, you’re a rutting Jacobite.”
Springing forward, the duke slammed his fist into the captain’s jaw. “Someone tie up this bastard afore I lose my temper and carve out his tongue.”
One of the Highlanders bound the captain’s wrists, patted him down, and removed his weapons. All around the clearing, Gordon clansmen held the dragoons at bay by the points of their swords and bayonets.
“How does it feel to ken I hold your life in my hand?” Geordie paced around his quarry, whipping the saber through the air. “You’ll swear never to plague me or my kin ever again.”
The man spat. “You’re a disgrace to the gentry.”
Snarling, Geordie grabbed the back of the captain’s neck and shoved the saber against the side of his mouth. “Swear it, or I’ll string you up by your neck and make you watch as your men die!”
Gasping, Akira clapped her hands to her cheeks. She’d never heard Geordie sound so utterly terrifying.
Captain Roderick Weaver bared his teeth. “Spare my men.”
“Swear to me now, you cur. Unless you want to witness each of your men’s butchering, you will sign a proclamation stating that I was visiting my lands in Inverness during the time of the Hoord Moor rising and that you are satisfied with my testimony and the witnesses’ account of my whereabouts.”
The man hesitated.
Geordie pointed to one of his Highlanders. “Dirk the first!”
Akira’s stomach turned over. Geordie, no!
“Jesus Christ, captain. Sign the bloody note!” shouted a dragoon as a Highland dirk leveled at his throat.
“Stop!” The captain held up his bound wrists. “I’ll sign your daft proclamation.”
Geordie pushed the blade until blood streamed down the man’s chin. “And swear on your mother’s life you will never again set foot on Gordon lands.”
“I swear, goddammit. Tell your bloody men to stand down.” The man’s eyes shifted. Akira trusted him no more than she’d trust a mouse not to swipe a morsel of cheese.
Lowering the sword, Geordie shook his head. “Clan Gordon will remain as they are until I secure your signature on a bit of parchment.”
Akira watched while Geordie pulled writing materials from his saddle bags and used his horse’s rump as a makeshift table. All the while, Oliver held his pistol to Captain Weaver’s head. The duke carried out the signing with expert efficiency—like a man born to lead—forcing the captain to sign with his wrists bound.
After the proclamation was signed and sealed, Geordie demanded the key to Akira’s manacles. He allowed the dragoons to mount their horses and ride away without so much as a wee knife to spear their food. The duke even kept the pack mule with the soldiers’ supplies.
It wasn’t until the sound of hoofbeats disappeared that Geordie turned his attention to Akira.
He focused on her with the intensity of a man who knew what he wanted and would fight heaven and hell to achieve it. His eyes were dark, the hard line to his mouth set, and a tic twitched in his stubbled jaw. Watching him while he released her shackles, she’d seen him angry, but she’d never seen him this determined, his posture taking on unquestioned command.
A shudder coursed through her soul when he g
rasped her hand and pulled her into the wood, his limp hardly noticeable. Her mind raced. What would he do? Would he unleash his anger upon her? Her heart hammered a rapid rhythm. Oh, for the love of everything holy, she wanted to wrap him in her arms and tell him how much she loved him. But too many warring thoughts muddled her mind. She must hold fast to the reason she fled. She must hold fast to her values, no matter how much his rugged allure disarmed her.
His grip on her remained firm until they reached a trickling burn.
When he stopped, the intensity of his gaze grew even darker.
She absolutely had to make him understand. “I—”
He pulled her into a powerful, consuming embrace. “My God, Akira, I never want to be so worried as long as I live.”
Filled with a surge of relief, she flung her arms around him. His warm, solid presence infused her with strength. “I-I-I wasn’t thinking when I left.”
“You could have been killed.”
“I ken that now.” Tears welled in her eyes as she clung to him for dear life. “The captain was taking me to Inverness to try to force me to betray you.” She shook her head against his chest. “But I would not. I could never ruin you. I would have marched up the gallows steps afore I told them anything.”
His fingers kneaded her back, a wee tremor in his strong hands. “Och, you are such a brave lass. I believe you would take a shot to the heart to save any poor soul.”
She rested her head against his chest, the thrum of his heart so soothing. If only she could listen to that reassuring beat for the rest of her days. “But I was so afraid.”
He smoothed his big hand over her hair. “Of course you were. Anyone would have feared for their life with that festering maggot threatening them.”
Squeezing her hands tighter around his sturdy form, Akira drew him even closer. “How did you find me?”
“I will always find you. You are in my soul.” He cupped her cheek with his palm and lowered his lips to hers. Filled with urgency, his kiss grew demanding and greedy. Akira’s body came alive. Her breasts pressing against his hard chest ached to feel his warmth, to remain forever cradled in his protective arms. Heat spread through her center, and she moved her hips forward, craving more touch, craving more of him.
His body responded in kind as his hardness bored through layers of wool. “I want you more than I want the air I breathe.”
She sighed deeply, closing her eyes and savoring him. “I wish it could be true.”
“’Tis more truthful than anything that has ever slipped past my lips.” He grasped her shoulders and gazed into her eyes. “Why did you leave me, lass?”
She blinked in rapid succession—she hated to utter it, but she must reveal the truth. She must lay her feelings before him and endure the consequences. “The duchess said you didn’t love me—that you’ve had many mistresses and always tire of them.”
He bared his teeth with a hissing grumble. “God’s teeth, that woman has caused me a lifetime of consternation. You needn’t worry, she will not bother you again.”
“No?”
“She’s under arrest in Aberdeen, and when she sails for Flanders, I pray she never returns to Scotland again.” He wrapped Akira in his arms, his embrace protective and loving. “Come back to Huntly with me. I need you. And there could be no other. Ever.”
Akira closed her eyes, her heart breaking. She needed Geordie as well, more than the food she ate and the water she drank. But first she must ask one more question—one she dreaded. “Return as your mistress?” she whispered, praying there was another way.
He sucked in a breath. “Och, ye ken I cannot remarry.”
A hollow bubble spread throughout her chest. Did he not love her enough to seek out some other course of action, another possibility? He was a duke. Could he not have word with a priest or the queen? Or was their love truly not important enough to him? The words formed on her lips, though Akira closed her eyes and bolstered her courage before she spoke. “Lady Elizabeth called me a whore and she was right. If I agree to be your mistress, I would be your whore.”
Despair filled his hazel eyes. “Nay. You would be the love of my life. And you would want for nothing.”
With a shake of her head, Akira cast her gaze downward. “I’d be a woman you could cast aside at any moment when a younger, prettier face struck your fancy.” Dear God, her heart tore with every word.
“What the devil?” His voice took on a tremor. “That blasted woman spoke to you for all of five minutes and managed to completely turn you against me?”
“Please try to understand. I ken you have a good heart, but you’ve admitted yourself that you’ve had mistresses.” She released her trembling hands and took a step back. “What will happen to me and my family when you tire of me like you did the others?”
* * *
Geordie dropped his arms in disbelief. For the love of God, there he stood, a duke, offering a better life to a woman who lived in a one-room cottage with a dirt floor. Albeit he loved this woman, it was beyond him how she could stand her ground and refuse his generous offer.
Christ, he wanted to score his hands with his dirk, plunge into an icy loch, anything to prove the depth of his love. “This is different.” He slammed his fist against his chest. “What I feel in my heart is different. How can I prove it to you?”
She crossed her arms, looking quite flummoxed—and far more kissable than she deserved to be at this moment. “You want me to move into the dower house with my family? How will that appear to your children?”
“Jane and Alexander already love you—especially Jane.”
She tapped her foot. “That is not my point. Will we not be setting a poor example for them?”
“Bloody hell, you do not understand the ways of the gentry.” How could she possibly?
“Oh? I think I am growing to understand you more and more.” Akira squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. “What is marriage without love? No wonder Lady Elizabeth is a bitter shrew. How humiliating is it to endure a husband who is unfaithful? I would go mad given such circumstances.”
Geordie blinked, his cheeks burning as if he’d been slapped.
Dropping her arms, Akira softened her gaze. “Take me home, and think on what I’ve said. If you can come up with a solution to ease my doubts, then we can talk again.”
He gulped. Christ, I should have had this woman behind Edinburgh Castle walls during the negotiations. She would have had every noble utterly confounded.
She shook her finger under his nose, looking like a determined badger. “Do not misunderstand. I love you with my entire being, but I will not be played for a harlot.”
Stunned, Geordie watched Akira march back to the camp holding her head high like a queen. Had he just been outdone by a slip of a lass?
And why couldn’t she accept that it would take an act of God—or at least an application to the pope and another to wretched Queen Anne—for him to marry again? For Christ’s sake, the queen would withhold her approval just to be an arse. Och, if Geordie were to announce he’d fallen in love with a horse-faced daughter of a baronet, the queen might be delighted—perhaps be influenced by the lass’s father—but a Gypsy goddess who lived in a hovel?
No bloody chance.
He paced back and forth along the burn.
Why is marriage so important? Isn’t it enough that I love her more deeply than I’ve ever loved anything or anyone in my life?
I would recognize any bastard children for my own.
She would want for nothing.
“Your Grace.” Oliver hastened toward him. “The lass said we are riding to Dunkeld.”
“Aye.” Geordie threw up his hands. “No use wasting any more time lingering in these parts. With my luck, the captain will meet up with a full battalion of grenadiers and return to murder us.”
“We should have killed him when we had the chance.”
Geordie started back toward the camp. “Mayhap, but I reckon humiliating the bastard will be bit
ter enough. He’s hungry for power, that one.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The delicious smell of roasting venison wafted through the campsite. Some of the men had hunted a deer. Geordie had sent Oliver and one of his sentinels to follow Captain Weaver to make sure there wouldn’t be an ambush. After scouting a mile out from the perimeter of the campsite, Geordie was satisfied they were ready to settle in for the eve. And after having ridden through the previous night to intercept the dragoons, he was swaying on his feet. Nonetheless, no one could rest until the camp was secure.
He’d even ordered a pair of men to erect a makeshift tent for Akira from the canvas covering the pack mule’s supplies. At least something finally went his way: Geordie found a cask of whisky in the bundle—nothing like a wee bit of liquid gold to raise his spirits and ensure a good night’s sleep.
He’d also found a medicine kit, which appeared to please Akira more than Geordie’s heroic rescue. She happily took the leather satchel, spreading salve and tying bandages on any Gordon clansman who showed her a wee cut. Finlay carried on about an injury he’d sustained sparring in the courtyard two weeks prior. The miserable sop hadn’t complained a lick about it when he’d been cut, but now a bonnie lassie was issuing salve with a gentle hand, he bemoaned the pain like a wet-eared lad.
After filling his flask with whisky, Geordie reclined against his saddle across the fire from Akira’s temporary hospital. Watching her grace, her friendly banter with the men, the glow in her cheeks, he sipped. The fiery liquid burned a path all the way down his gullet and sloshed in his empty stomach.
“When will the meat be ready?” he asked, his eyes continuing to watch her. Who wouldn’t be enchanted by such a lass?
Patrick stopped turning the spit for a moment. “I reckon we can slice a few strips off the flank, Your Grace.”
“Is there enough cooked for the lot of us?”
“Not yet. But soon.”
Akira tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and examined one of Finlay’s old battle wounds. Thank God it was on his elbow. The man was insufferable.
Geordie raised the flask to his lips again and drank. “Then we shall wait.”