Highland Rogue

by Mallory, Tess

  “You Scots are a stubborn, hardheaded lot, aren’t you?” she said.

  “Aye,” he said, his temper flaring, “and if ye want to stay behind with that lot, just say the word, woman, and I will take ye back!”

  “No,” she said, her soft hair caressing the edge of his taut jaw as she leaned back against him. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

  “Now, there’s a smile to light up the mornin’. Come here, missy, and give me a kiss.”

  Maggie’s rigid smile grew more taut as she deftly avoided the groping hand and puckered lips of another one of the duke’s male guests. For the last week and a half she’d been the serving maid for Montrose and his aristocraticfriends, promoted after the duke saw her on her hands and knees scrubbing the hall.

  She’d made the mistake of thinking he was Lavery, the upstairs butler, and had smiled up at him. Montrose had immediately ordered that she be moved from the back-breakingtasks she’d been assigned to the more prestigious position of serving maid.

  And all because she had good teeth.

  Well, maybe that was being a little too modest. The truth was, the women in this age led such hard lives that their faces, as well as their bodies, began to sag and wrinkleall too early. Maggie didn’t believe she was a beauty by any means, but when matched against some of the leather-skinnedgirls working in the manor, she knew she was Miss Universe in comparison.

  While the other girls envied her, and some groused about her being promoted when she’d been there for so short a time, Maggie wished she could be back scrubbing the floors. Dodging the hands of the aristocrats had made her a nervous wreck. Most of the men were likely just out for a squeeze or a quick grab, but there was one who truly frightened her—Phillip Pembroke, captain of the guards.

  The man dogged her steps it seemed, was always where she was working, never actually touching her, but making such innuendoes that her face stayed scarlet in his presence.Once he had backed her into a corner, his hands behindhis back, bringing his face nearer and nearer to hers. Maggie hadn’t known what to do. To scream or hit him would be to lose her position and perhaps be thrown into the gaol with Ian. Finally, Pembroke had laughed and moved away from her without a second glance, making his way back to his quarters.

  She truly hated him.

  But she was there for a purpose, and so, as she put bowl after bowl of soup in front of the bewigged gentlemen sitting at the duke’s long table in the formal dining room, and put up with their pinches and crude remarks, she listened for news about Ian. Despite her new position, she still cared for the wounded man, late at night when Pembroke had retired for the evening. Ever since James had learned Ian was a MacGregor, he’d helped Maggie in any way he could.

  Luckily, Ian was a natural-born actor and had managed to feign near death any time Pembroke visited him, which wasn’t often. The stench of the dungeon offended the captain’s sensibilities, James had told her.

  She placed another bowl of soup on the table and glanced around.

  She and Jenny had done a beautiful job of decorating the room for this dinner party. The long table that seated twenty people was covered in heavy white linen, with fine china at each setting and silverware set atop heavy cream-coloredcloth napkins. Down the center of the table, every few feet, were elaborate golden candlesticks.

  The Duke of Montrose, James Graham, sat at the end of the table in a large, thronelike chair, while the others sat on either side in smaller versions of his carved monstrosity. He had probably once been a handsome man, but now his face had become craggy and thin, his bushy gray eyebrows dominating his face.

  He insisted on wearing elaborate white wigs that reached almost to his waist and was purported to be quite vain about his footwear, which was said to come quarterly from Italy. Tonight the coat he wore was a dark burgundy brocade, and his cravat and shirt were of the finest silk.

  “I say, Montrose,” said a stout Englishman as Maggie moved to set his soup in front of him, “I hear the Lady Covington will be attending your soirée at week’s end?”

  The man was an earl, Jenny had told her, and rich as, well, a lord. He, like most of the other men—and tonight’s party was all men—wore clothing similar to the duke’s. Only one man stood out tonight in his choice of clothing, and Maggie tried not to look at him.

  “Aye,” Montrose said. “She should be arriving at sunset on Friday, no doubt in her usual traveling clothes—a silken gown and her best diamonds.” The men laughed at his jest, and Maggie slowed in her serving of soup. Jenny served as well, tonight, on the opposite side of the table. She had the misfortune to have to serve Pembroke.

  Normally a mere captain of the guards wouldn’t be invitedto sup with the gentry, but he was also the duke’s sister’s nephew, or so Jenny had told Maggie. Tonight he wore a coat of deep rose pink velvet. His shirt, cravat, and all the frothy lace down his front and at his wrists were also pale pink. He reminded Maggie of a grown-up Little Lord Fauntleroy—until she looked into his hard, evil eyes.

  “’Tis said,” Pembroke said, lifting his crystal wine glass to let it sparkle in the light of the candles ringing the dining hall, “that once Lady Covington took a lover, and when he unclothed her, he found that her undergarments were studded with gems.”

  His languid gaze slid to Maggie’s as he brought the glass to his lips. She quickly lowered her eyes and went about her duties.

  “Her mother is from Rome,” said another foppish young man.

  “Well, then, that explains it,” said another. “No Englishwomanwould be so outlandish.”

  “No Englishwoman would take off her clothes in front of her lover!” another chimed in, and all the men laughed again.

  Maggie continued around the table, serving and noddingand evading hands and avoiding Pembroke’s side.

  “What about that scalawag highwayman ye were having trouble with?” asked the man at the duke’s left hand. “Have ye caught him yet?”

  “Aye, we caught him,” Montrose said.

  “But I heard ye had another attack not long ago,” the same man said. “And that yer rents were stolen from Killearn.”

  Maggie didn’t know anything about the tall, older man speaking, except that she’d never seen him at one of the Duke’s dinners before. He was the most conservatively dressed of the lot, though his wig was just as white and just as long as the one Montrose sported. “That was of no consequence,” Montrose said. “Killearn exaggerates. A drunken encounter, no more.”

  “So he came away with his wallet intact?” the same man asked.

  Montrose glared at the man. “Do I put my nose into yer business, Argyll?” he said sharply. “Keep yer comments to yerself and eat yer soup.”

  Argyll. Maggie refilled a water glass. Of course, Camp-belland Graham, bitter enemies in this time period. Argyll bowed his head in the duke’s direction and then turned with satisfaction to his soup.

  “They called him the Piper, did they not?” asked another.

  “Aye, the Piper,” Pembroke put in, sliding a look toward the duke. “I caught him personally, and the bastard is now rotting in my gaol.” He bowed toward Montrose. “Beg pardon,in His Grace’s gaol.”

  Surely the magistrate will have something to say about it,” Argyll said. “Will the outlaw not be bound in the Tolboothin Glasgow?”

  “That is between myself and the magistrate,” the duke said loudly.

  “I heard he was shot,” Argyll said.

  “Aye,” Pembroke agreed. “A nasty wound. I daresay he may not last the week.”

  “Is he being treated by a doctor?” Argyll asked.

  “Here, girl!” Montrose waved at Maggie, and she hurriedto his side. “Take this slop away and tell the cook to send out some real food.”

  Maggie dropped him a curtsey and almost ran from the room, anxious to be back before he revealed anything about Ian’s fate. When she got back with a platter of roast beef, the men were laughing again. She would ask Jenny later if she had missed anything important.

/>   “So, will ye send a guard for Lady Covington?” Argyll asked, after the laughter died down.

  Montrose shrugged as he dug into the plate of roast beef Maggie had deposited in front of him. “Aye, to be on the safe side, I suppose I’ll send a few of my lads to meet her when she reaches Glasgow.”

  “If the highwayman is well and truly captured in yer gaol, why go to the expense?” Argyll insisted, cutting into his meat delicately with knife and fork.

  The duke glared at him, but his mouth was full. Pembrokepicked up the question smoothly, his icy gaze leveled at Argyll.

  “Because there are more outlaws in the hills than the one I have in my custody, my lord.” He lifted his wineglass toward Maggie. “But soon that will not be the case.”

  As Maggie hurried to refill Pembroke’s glass, her heart began to pound. Quinn would want to know about this Lady Covington. Even if she told him that there would be guards with the carriage, she knew it wouldn’t stop him from robbing a rich English lady wearing a fortune in jewels.

  Well then, she thought, I just can’t tell him. She lifted her chin, dodged another grasping hand, and headed back to the kitchen for more gravy.

  eleven

  Quinn picked up his mug of ale and took a drink. Bittie slugged down his second since they’d entered the pub in the village of Drymen, as silent as his friend except for the smack of his lips as he lifted a roasted turkey leg from his plate and took a big bite.

  The stone building was an oddity in a village made up largely of small houses topped by thatched roofs and a kirk on a nearby hillside. The Clachan Inn, as it was called, with its high ceiling and large fireplace, had a large common room and was the gathering place for Scottish men from all walks of life. As a result, it was a noisy, boisterous place, where it was as likely for a song to break out as a fight.

  Quinn was in no mood for either, and he’d been glad to see that a table in a far corner of the pub was empty when he and Bittie entered. He wanted to speak privately with his friend and enjoy a drink without any trouble.

  He’d been enjoying a drink a little too often lately, he realized. Ever since Maggie had told him that she loved him and then promptly began avoiding him. What had the lass been thinking, to bare her heart to him after only knowing him for mere days?

  She didn’t love him. That had become evident when she started sleeping with Jenny instead of him! After the wonderfulnight they had spent together at the cottage, he’d thought t’was only the beginning of a beautiful love affair. But the next day she had told him she was going to stay at the manor and share Jenny’s bed. It was enough to drive any man to drink. He lifted his ale and took another swallow,just to prove his point.

  “So how did ye come by this information about Lady Covington?” Quinn asked Bittie as the man devoured a large turkey leg. “I thought the servants in the house wouldna have anything to do with ye.”

  “Aye,” he said around the bite of meat, “ever since Cook found out I was lovin’ both her and the laundry woman, she willna let any of the household servants speak to me.” He didn’t seem to disturbed by his banishment, and Quinn pressed his point.

  “Then how did ye find out?”

  Bittie looked uncomfortable for a moment.

  “Out with it, lad,” Quinn said mildly.

  “My niece, Jenny, works in the kitchen, but I dinna tell ye because I dinna want her involved in this. Her mother gave her into my care.”

  “Ye could have told me. I wouldn’t have put a lass in danger.” Quinn frowned, knowing he was doing exactly that in letting Maggie work in the manor.

  Bittie looked vastly relieved. “Thank ye. She usually keeps to herself, but today, Jenny let it slip,” he said, “about Lady Covington. She overheard it during the duke’s dinner party last night.”

  Quinn shook his head. “I dinna understand then, how Maggie failed to hear the same news. She must have known.”

  Bittie tore off another piece of meat, and Quinn looked away. Dining with Bittie was enough to make him lose his appetite. He was glad he had decided just to drink his supper.

  “Oh, aye, she knew,” the man said. “The duke announced the matter loudly, and Maggie was serving. Jenny told me.”

  Quinn shot him a sharp look. “Why would Maggie not send me word?”

  Bittie shook his head. “Och, who can say, laddie? She’s a woman, and there’s no knowing the mind of one. Ye should know that by now.”

  “Aye,” Quinn said shortly, “but I think I understand this one. She doesna want me taking the risk again, and so thinks to circumvent me by holding back the information.”

  He stopped the serving maid and ordered a whiskey beforedraining the ale in his mug as the anger burned through him.

  First she had removed herself from his bed, and now she thought to muddle about in his business. Ian’s life dependedon his ability to get enough shillings together to hire a small army, and the only way that would be possible was by turning highwayman again. Her interference could cost Ian’s life.

  His drink came, and he and Bittie sat in silence again, both lost in thought. Quinn resisted the urge to throw the full shot of liquor to the back of his throat. He would need his wits about him in order to pull off a one-man robbery. Bittie had warned him that Montrose was sending guards, but even that news had not disuaded him.

  Maggie was staying at the manor house again that night, which was fortunate, for now he wouldn’t have to make up a story about why he wouldn’t be at the cottage. He stared down into his whiskey. Though her absence from his bed made his own plans simpler to carry out, he was still frustrated by her decision. Surely the lass missed the soft mattress at the cottage. Jenny’s bed was hard and narrow, Maggie had said. Surely she remembered the late-night supper they had together before she left; rememberedfeeding one another trifles of bread and meat, licking the juices from each other’s fingers. Surely she missed his arms around her at night, missed the warmth, the passion, the—

  Quinn stopped himself, aghast. Had he really been about to say “the love”?

  He sipped his drink and considered his situation. He didn’t love the lass. He cared about her, aye, he wasn’t a knave. But love—that was something that had died inside of him long ago.

  But he did miss Maggie. Missed her warm, soft body, her lush, sweet lips, her bonny blue eyes, her laughter, her quick wit, her—nay, nay, he backtracked, panicking a little—he only cared about her body.

  He took a deep, ragged breath. How her eyes had flashed with a bit of fire when Rob Roy had denied them his help. Aye, she would make a fine Scottish wife.

  Quinn set his whiskey glass down and straightened. No, she wouldn’t.

  But there wasn’t a reason in the world the lass should be lying on a cold stone floor instead of in his arms. Quinn picked up his glass again and took a long swallow. After tonight, that was definitely going to change.

  “So, how are ye today, laddie?” Maggie spooned another bit of broth into Ian’s mouth as she asked the question.

  She suspected he was perfectly able to feed himself, but liked the attention. And in truth, he was still quite weak, in spite of his improvement.

  “I am doin’ much better, thanks to ye,” he said softly, watching her from beneath his lashes, his blue eyes almost cobalt in the dim light of the cell. His wound was still healingnicely thanks to the antibiotics and antibiotic ointment.

  “I’m glad.” Maggie stirred the soup, distracted by her own thoughts. Today was the day Lady Covington was due to arrive. She could hardly do her work for worry of the coming night. That very morning she learned that Jenny had told Bittie the news of the countess a few days before, and that Bittie had told Quinn.

  Quinn had stayed away from the manor last night, so she had no idea if he planned to rob the woman or not. She had grilled Bittie, trying to find out, but the taciturn man had played dumb. But knowing Quinn, there was little doubt as to what he would do.

  “Just the new hay alone is enough to raise a man’s spiritsin
this dreadful place,” Ian said, “not to mention the absenceof the shackles.” Maggie turned back to him, once again smiling at one of the handsomest men she’d ever met. But he wasn’t Quinn. She bit back a sigh. Her nights just hadn’t been the same since she started staying at the manor, and when he hadn’t shown up the night before as he usually did, she’d realized, once again, that although Quinn cared about her, he obviously wasn’t in love with her.

  “You can thank James. He’s taking a big risk,” she murmured.

  “Aye, but t’was at your bidding,” Ian said, his gaze warm. “Ever since he told Pembroke I might have the pox, the captain hasna been to my cell to gloat.”

  Maggie frowned. She hoped Ian wasn’t mistaking her kindness for something more. The first week she’d given him sponge baths until she realized that he was enjoying them way too much. Now she just provided a cloth and a basin of water.

  “I can never repay yer kindness, Maggie,” he said, “but I’d like to try. Perhaps when all of this is over, ye and I could share a loaf of bread, a jug of wine—”

  “ ‘And thou beside me, singing in the wilderness’?” Maggie interrupted, and then laughed at the shocked look on his face. “I didn’t know the Scots read the works of an obscure Persian poet,” she added.

  He looked at her, startled. “The poetry of Omar Khayyam is filled with music and wonder. My father presentedme with a book of his quatrains a few months before he disinherited me. But how in the world do ye know of such things?”

  Maggie laughed. “Why are you so surprised that I’ve read the Rubaiyat?” she teased.

  He shook his head, his voice incredulous. “I’m surprisedye can read at all!” he said. “To think, a woman reading.”

  Maggie widened her eyes and then just as quickly narrowedthem. Of course, in this day and age, women didn’t read. It was silly to want to “educate” the man as to what women were capable of, but she still wanted to with all of her heart.

  “Imagine,” she said dryly, “that a woman could actually have the intelligence required for such a thing!”

  Ian nodded, oblivious to her sarcasm. “Aye, ’tis strange to say the least. But ye dinna answer me.” He tilted his handsome face to one side. He reminded her of Brad Pitt in Legends of the Fall, with his long blond hair, sky blue eyes, and pretty boy looks. Cute. Not Quinn, but still, very cute.