How to Blackmail a Highlander (The MacGregor Lairds)

by McLean, Michelle

  “Ye’re welcome, my lady.”

  Her happiness was somewhat eclipsed by the feel of his strong arms about her, and she took him in fully. His coat, vest, and breeches were tasteful enough, if a bit out of fashion and threadbare. And with that accent, she’d half expected to see a kilt swirling about his legs rather than the tightly fitting breeches. Though a kilt would have stood out among her parents’ guests and judging from the way he hid behind the potted plants on the terrace, being noticed wasn’t what he was after.

  Probably a wise choice, because there would be no escaping notice, no matter what he wore. His broad arms and chest suggested a man who was more used to physical labor than gracing soirees and tea parties, but his face… The strong, chiseled features framed by dark, nearly black hair, were handsome on their own merit. Disturbingly so. But his startlingly blue eyes sent a fine tremor through her that had nothing to do with fear. She could gaze at his face forever.

  Her hands tightened slightly on his arms, and she tried to mask the trouble she seemed to have breathing. She’d always believed in following her impulses, savoring every moment life offered. Doing so seemed more important now than ever with her uncertain future looming before her. Still, she couldn’t help the voice in her head that urged caution. The man who still held her, whose presence sent her heart racing, might be a complete scoundrel. A criminal. He’d ridden at John’s side, after all. His righthand man and most trusted cohort. A highwayman, though he’d never been convicted. While John was an honorable man, Philip might be a sadistic, cruel bastard of the worst kind. Though she highly doubted that was true.

  And inner voice or not, she had trouble caring. She’d never been so utterly captivated by a man before. The urge to wrap herself about him was astonishingly strong, even for her impulsive nature. Were it not for the fact that they stood on her parents’ terrace—and the fact that the man in question might protest—she would throw her arms about his neck and express more than her gratefulness at his delivery of Elizabet’s letter.

  Elizabet!

  She jerked away from him, glancing down at the letter.

  “Dinna let anyone see that,” he warned. “There are still those who wish them harm.”

  “Of course,” she said, trying to keep her tone civil. What did he take her for? “I’d never put Elizabet in harm’s way.” She carefully tucked the letter down the front of her gown. “There. All safe and snug.”

  Philip glanced at her chest and then met her gaze. The heat in his eyes made her swallow hard against her suddenly dry mouth.

  She cleared her throat. “May I send a response?”

  He nodded, his gaze boring into hers. “I’ll be waiting in yer stables tomorrow at sunrise. Most of the house will likely still be abed then. I’ll no’ wait long, so dinna tarry.”

  “I’ll be there.” She hesitated for a moment, and then gave in to temptation. She rose on her toes and pressed another quick kiss to his lips. “Thank you, Philip. Truly.”

  Though his eyes widened slightly in surprise, he took her hand and pressed a lingering kiss to it. “’Tis my pleasure, my lady.” He took a few steps back, melting into the shadows. “Until tomorrow.”

  Alice waited until she knew he was gone, one hand hovering at her lips, which still tingled from his touch. The other pressed to her bodice and the precious letter inside. Waiting until she could excuse herself to read it would be torture.

  Unfortunately, she had to wait much longer than she’d anticipated.

  Mary had been right. Mother’s fury surpassed anything Alice had suffered before. The party guests had gone, and the clock had long since struck midnight. Alice shifted, longing to escape the confines of her boned bodice and heeled slippers. She had already endured a thirty-minute harangue for her behavior. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take.

  “It’s a good thing Lord Woolsmere is a forgiving man,” her mother said for the tenth time. “What he thought of his fiancée throwing herself at every man on the dance floor, I have no idea. And then coming in from the terrace, flushed and disheveled. One can only begin to guess at what you were doing out there.”

  “Mother, I told you, I needed a bit of air. And I wasn’t disheveled. A branch from the tree by the door caught in my hair. That is all. And I danced only once with each man who asked! That is perfectly acceptable.”

  “Oh yes. You danced. With hardly a breath of space between you while you whispered nonsense to each and every one!”

  “That’s not true!”

  “It is true! I’ve a good mind to send formal complaints to quite a few of those so-called gentlemen!”

  “Mother, you can’t do that! I know you are cross with me, but you can’t taint anyone’s reputation for some imagined infraction.”

  Lady Morely paused for a moment, and the fight seemed to drain out of her. “No. I wouldn’t. Though I don’t believe for a moment that your ‘infraction,’ as you put it, was imagined. And I’ll refrain only because it would be your reputation that would end up the worse for it, and it’s already damaged enough after tonight’s debacle.” She walked over and slumped onto the sofa, leaning back against the cushions with a tired sigh.

  “Come sit by me,” she said, patting the cushion next to her.

  Alice hesitated, not sure if she trusted this calmer version of her mother. She went to the sofa and perched on the edge. Lady Morely sat up and took her hands.

  “Alice, my dear child. Whatever you may think of me, I have your best interest at heart. I know Woolsmere is old and not particularly attractive. But his fortune and good name will enable you to live in luxury all your life. There is little enough I can do for you in this world. Ensuring you marry well is the best way I can secure your future. It may not seem so now, but you are a very lucky girl. Don’t throw your life away over some fantasized notion of love. It doesn’t exist. Comfort and security are far more important.”

  Alice weighed her words carefully. She knew her mother had her best interests at heart, and most would consider that her parents had done very well for her. But she couldn’t shake the niggling fears at the back of her mind. There had been too much gossip, too many unanswered questions. And Woolsmere himself seemed to confirm all her fears. She could be honest enough to admit that if it weren’t her own life hanging in the balance, she might even be watching this new betrothal unfold with interest. But if the gossips weren’t wrong, she wouldn’t be able to shake her head sadly and murmur about the strangeness of yet another Woolsmere bride dying.

  Her mother waited, her eyes searching Alice’s face. Alice cast her gaze downward, not trusting her expression. “I know you’ve made the best match for me that you could. And I’m grateful. Truly. But…the stories…”

  Lady Morely held up a hand. “I’ll not entertain any such nonsense. You’ve allowed salacious gossip to color your opinions. Yes, it’s true that the earl has been married before.”

  “Three times,” Alice started, but her mother held up her hand again.

  “Yes, and isn’t it horrible for him that’s he’s had to bury three wives? The scandalmongers want to make much more of it than is there. Accidents and illnesses are commonplace. There is nothing suspicious about any of it. You can’t possibly believe that I’d willingly send you into danger, do you?”

  Alice frowned at that. It was the one aspect of it all that she struggled with the most. She truly didn’t believe her parents would knowingly put her in harm’s way. But that didn’t mean her parents weren’t wrong, nor did it alleviate her fears about Woolsmere.

  Her mother waited for an answer, her face pained. Alice sighed. “Of course not, Mother. But—”

  “That’s my good girl,” Lady Morely said, deftly putting an end to whatever else Alice had been meaning to say. She pulled her close to bestow a rare kiss on her brow. “Now, hurry up to bed.”

  Alice bit her lip to keep from snapping back in frustration. She finally managed to say, “Yes, Mother,” and flounced off to her room, the sound of her mother�
�s long-suffering sigh ringing in her head.

  Alice’s feet dragged up the stairs, every step taking her closer to the life she dreaded.

  She missed Elizabet. She would understand.

  But she wasn’t here anymore. She’d had the courage to run away with her love. To start a new life far from those who would dictate how she’d live. She’d promised to write, but Alice hadn’t heard a word from her since the night she’d jumped on a ship with her exiled highwayman and disappeared from England forever. If Alice knew where she was, perhaps she could run away as well. Surely Elizabet would offer her shelter.

  She reached her room and immediately kicked off her slippers. Her maid, Rose, rushed over to help her remove the heavy ball gown. Elizabet’s letter fell to the ground and Rose quickly retrieved it.

  “My lady,” she said, handing it to her.

  “Thank you.” She took it and dismissed Rose for the night. Then she jumped into her warm bed and settled back against the pillows so she could devour every word.

  Once she’d read it, she read it again. And again. She could hear her friend’s voice in her head as she read the words, and it brought a smile to her face. Elizabet was safe. And happy. So very happy.

  Alice finally lay back against her pillows with a sigh. She wished Elizabet was here. Or, more accurately, she wished she were with Elizabet. As that didn’t seem to be possible, she was at least grateful Philip had taken the risk to bring her word. She needed to write a response before he arrived at dawn the next morning.

  Philip.

  Friend and cousin to Elizabet’s love John MacGregor. She would be safe with such a man as Philip by her side. Elizabet had told her tales of John’s men and her adventures with them when she’d spent time under John’s care. Philip was surely an honorable man. A highwayman once, yes. But he and the Highland Highwayman’s gang had never harmed anyone. On the whole, they had divested a few querulous noblemen of their ill-gotten gains and had returned the money or jewels to their rightful owners. Or those who desperately needed the money gained from them.

  No, Philip was strong, brave, and dependable. A man she could rely on, she was sure of it. One she’d never have to fear. One who made her blood run hot with spine-tingling possibilities, rather than making it run cold with revulsion.

  As much as she hated it, she needed a man to get by in the world in which she lived. But she’d be damned if she would let someone else choose that man for her. Her fate would be in her own hands.

  A daring plan began to form in Alice’s mind. She wouldn’t sleep a wink waiting for the dawn and Philip’s return.

  Chapter Three

  Philip MacGregor clasped his hands behind him and stared at the clearly mad young woman in front of him, unable to muster more of a response than a slow blink.

  “Well,” Lady Alice said. “What is your answer?”

  He gave a little shake of his head. “I’m sorry. I didna realize that ridiculous notion ye uttered was a serious question that required a response.”

  She drew herself up, jutting that haughty chin in the air. “And why, may I ask, is my request ridiculous?”

  “Ye canna be serious.”

  “I’m deadly serious.”

  His response to that was a derisive snort.

  “So, you’re refusing to help me?”

  “Of course I’m refusing, ye daft madwoman. If ye want to run away from yer home and kin, ye’ll have to do it on yer own. Helping ye would make me little better than a kidnapper, and I’ve enough trouble with the law as it is.”

  “You helped Lady Elizabet. You did more than help her. You came to fetch her. Put the idea in her head. All but led her to the ship and tossed her aboard,” she said, crossing her arms across her tantalizingly rosy bosom. Her pale skin flushed the more agitated she became. And it wasn’t solely her cheeks that were affected. Every ounce of skin that showed, and there was a considerable amount in her fashionable, low-cut gown, was tinged a becoming pink that complemented the auburn hue of her ringleted hair.

  Philip snapped himself out of it. He’d always found the Lady Alice visually appealing, since he’d first seen her when he’d helped John and the Lady Elizabet. But the woman was too spoiled and headstrong for his tastes. Not that he liked his women docile. Quite the opposite. But the lady before him was pampered and too used to getting her own way. Which meant getting her to accept his refusal would be damn near impossible.

  “The Lady Elizabet’s situation was far different than this,” he said, exerting considerable effort to keep his emotions under control and not shout. He really wanted to shake some sense into the lass.

  “Elizabet was being forced to wed someone she didn’t love, and you helped her escape it.”

  “I helped her escape the murderous criminal her father was going to shackle her to. That’s a far sight different than yer situation, and ye ken it well. She wasna planning on running off into the wild with no one to keep her safe because she didna particularly like the gentleman her parents had chosen. The man her father had chosen would have gladly killed her on their wedding night. Can ye say the same?”

  Alice stuck her chin in the air. “Actually—”

  He gave a sharp nod of his head, not needing to hear the rest. “Ye may not like yer intended, but he’s no danger to ye, and a fair sight better than many men would be, I’d wager.”

  “But that’s not tr—”

  “Ye’ll probably be coddled and pampered all yer days. The best thing for ye is to stay put. Living rough is no life for a lady.”

  “But Elizabet—”

  “Had my laird to protect her and no other choice, if she wanted to live.”

  “Neither do I, if I want a shred of happiness in my life. The tales of how Woolsmere treated his previous wives would be reason enough for me to want to escape. But their mysterious fates…”

  “Are naught but gossip and hearsay.”

  “You’ve never spoken to the man! He all but admitted it to me and implied it would be my fate as well, should I fail him. And I’d rather not marry him and find out that the tales were true. I’d be too dead to enjoy proving you wrong!”

  That stopped him for a moment. She had a point. He certainly wouldn’t want to marry a woman who’d buried multiple husbands within a few years of marriage. He also had no doubt a man with Woolsmere’s money and connections could make even the worst crimes evaporate. But surely the lady’s parents wouldn’t have arranged the marriage if they’d feared for their daughter. It still wasn’t any of his concern. He’d simply have to ignore the pit of unease growing in his stomach and go on about his life. Before the distracting lady who stood before him used up what little luck he had left and got him locked up for good. Or worse.

  “You may not believe me, but I don’t have any more choice than Elizabet did if I want to live. And I’d have you to protect me.”

  Philip scowled. “No. Ye don’t.”

  She opened her mouth to argue some more, but he’d heard enough. He held up his hand and clapped his cap back on his head. “Since ye have no direct message for my lady, other than yer desire to join her in exile, I’ll be takin’ my leave.”

  He gave her a stiff bow and turned to march out. “Good day,” he said, departing before she could say another word.

  His kinsman Will waited outside the stables with his horse. He handed Philip the reins and mounted his own horse, eyebrow raised in question. Philip scowled again.

  “Dinna ask,” Philip said.

  Will raised the other eyebrow. Philip let out a huge, exasperated breath. “These English women are all mad as barn cats. First, the Lady Sorcha and what she put Malcolm through when they wed. Then Lady Elizabet with John, and now Lady Alice and her daft ideas. Her High and Mightiness demanding that I help her run away. From what? A pampered life in London’s finest palaces? So she can go live like a crofter in some Scottish backwoods? She wouldna last the trip, let alone once she got there. All because they listen to idle gossip and get romantic foolishness in
their heads and canna think of anything else. As if marrying a man who is willing to support them in luxury for the rest of their days is the most terrible thing to happen to a lass. The notion! There’s more to marriage than love, and I reckon it’s time she learned that.”

  “Aye,” Will said, his tone both agreeing and confused. “Though, doesna the Lion and his lady love each other now? And my laird John and the Lady Elizabet?”

  Philip waved that off. “My reasoning stands. Malcolm may have the fortune of having found happiness with his wife, but it didna start that way. They had to wed at the command of their king, and so they did because that is what reasonable folk do.”

  “So ye’d marry a lass who’d been chosen for ye? Without argument or complaint?”

  Philip grimaced. “That’s a different matter. I’ve never been one for marriage, and I doubt any lassie would have me. But aye, if my laird commanded it of me, I’d do my duty and keep my mouth shut about it. Not like this flighty English lass who’s taking it into her head to challenge the very men who are responsible for her comfort and well-being.”

  Will nodded in agreement. “I prefer a quiet, obedient lass. The Lion and Laird John may be happy with their spirited wives, but I wouldna want such a woman.”

  “Ha!” Philip said, clapping Will on the back. “’Tis only because Lady Elizabet bested ye when ye first rode with us and were supposed to be guarding our backs. Slipping past ye when ye were takin’ a piss, and then busting that pretty nose on yer face when ye tried to stop her.”

  Will glared at him, which made Philip laugh harder. Will was a good lad but still had much growing to do. Including taking responsibility for his mistakes. Between Lady Sorcha turning Castle Glenlyon upside down when she’d first arrived and Lady Elizabet physically besting him and making a fool of him in the process, Will had decided that the only good woman was a docile lass who wouldna give him a lick of trouble.

  He might have to deal with less aggravation with a woman like that. But he’d also miss out on the passion that drove that kind of behavior.