She frowned. “Answer what?”
“About the wine and supper, after I’m out of this wretched place.”
“I don’t think Quinn would like that,” she said as she lifted another spoonful of broth to his mouth. “At least, I hope he wouldn’t.”
“Oh, ho! I thought so!” Ian cried, jostling her hand. The soup splattered all over Maggie’s face and the front of her blouse.
“Hey!”
“Sorry, lass. Ye and Quinn are lovers, aren’t ye?” He grinned at her and then lifted one hand to his head and fell back against the hay.
She rushed to his side. “Are you all right?”
“Aye,” he said, a little breathless. “And that glad to know that the lad has finally succumbed to a woman’s charms.”
Maggie blushed. “Well, I doubt it was the first time.”
Ian shook his head. “Nay, but ye are exactly the kind of lass he’s been needin’.”
“And what kind of lass is that?” she asked, genuinely interested, and determined to get more food into him. She helped him sit up again and fed him more soup, then handed him a piece of bread.
He took it and bit off a small piece, chewing thoughtfullyas he answered her. “A lass who will make him realizethere is more to life than revenge. A gentle lass who will make a home for him, where he can, at last, lay down his sword and rest.”
Maggie looked at Ian with new respect. “And you think I’m that lass?”
He nodded. “Aye. No doubt about it. So do me a favor and name yer firstborn after me.” He swallowed the small piece of bread, and she saw the light fade from his eyes. “Even though he will be a MacIntyre, I’ll still feel that a littlepart of me has lived on.”
“Ian,” Maggie said softly, as she covered his hand with hers, “Quinn is going to get you out of here. You believe that, don’t you?”
She saw the dart of anguish in his eyes before he quickly looked away. “Oh, aye, lass,” he said, the jester back again. “Quinn will come ridin’ to my rescue any day now, I have no doubt aboot it. With bells in his stallion’s mane and a feather in his cap.”
He turned his gaze back to her, and the levity left his voice. “That is what I fear. I meant what I said before, lass. I dinna want Quinn making some grand, heroic sacrifice to save me. I knew there was risk in what we were doing, and I was willin’ to take it. Will ye tell Quinn that for me?” His tawny brows knit together as he watched for her response.
“Yes,” she said softly. “I’ll tell him. But you know as well as I do that it won’t make a bit of difference. Quinn is determined to get you out of here. No matter what the cost.”
“Aye, lass,” he said, “but bear in mind, when dealing with a hardheaded lad like Quinn, sometimes ye must fight fire with fire.”
Maggie stared at him for a moment and then grinned. “Ian MacGregor, you are brilliant.”
The handsome man nodded. “Well, of course I am,” he said.
She gave him a quick hug and then hurried out of the cell, determined to light a torch that would stop Quinn MacIntyre from getting himself killed.
The elements were against him.
Quinn stood beside Saint, the two hidden behind a clusterof gigantic stones thrusting out of the stark Scottish hillside. On any given day in the Highlands there would be a goodly amount of rain, but this day there had been only a fine mist in the morning. The sun was still beaming down, for the nights of summer were growing shorter. There was neither cover of storm, nor cover of night to hide him this time.
Bittie had given him the route the carriage would travel, and now Quinn lay in wait on a hillside not too far from the village of Drymen. Sitting loosely in Saint’s saddle, he dragged one hand through his ragged hair, scraping it back from his face before tying a black kerchief over his head. He checked the load in his pistol, put it back in the holster at his side, and squinted at the setting sun.
Though the evening was clear, it brought to mind anothertime he had waited like this, readying himself, makingsoft jests with Ian. The night he met Maggie.
Ah, sweet Maggie. It had been only a short time since she stumbled into his path, but she had changed his life dramatically. Over the last year or so, he had grown used to being alone, just as he had grown used to the need for revenge.Maggie had changed that. Now, when the darkness inside his soul came roaring to the surface, there she was, her innocent face shining up at him like an angel’s, chasing away the shadows.
Her admission of love had truly come as no surprise. After their first day together—no, in truth, after their first night of lovemaking—her gaze had been filled with adoration.Lord knew he had not treated her well in the beginning,but somehow, it was as though she had seen through the darkness inside of him and found there was still a spark of something better. Somehow, she had reached past the careful wall he had built around his emotions and touched a heart he’d thought long dead.
Saint moved restlessly beneath him. Now, as Quinn sat breathing the soft Highland air, he knew his anger over Maggie’s decision to sleep at the manor had been but a ruse of his own mind. He was not angry—he was lonely. Every minute of every day that they were apart was painful. And now there was no doubt about it—Maggie was not just anotherwoman to be bedded and enjoyed and then bid good-bye.She was important to his life.
Quinn ran one hand over the stubble on his face and pondered that for a moment. How had the lass come to mean so much to him? A feeling stirred inside him, one he feared very much might be some emotion deeper than mere affection. And with that feeling came a revelation.
He was changing. Now he felt, just a little bit, like the Quinn who had once planned to be a piper, the Quinn who had laughed and enjoyed his life. The Quinn he’d thought dead and buried after Montrose murdered his family. Where once revenge against Montrose had been his only concern, now he thought more and more of what it would be like to settle down, to have a family, to return to the joys of his music.
Every time he thought of such a future, Maggie was at the center of those fanciful dreams. The lass had brought him back to life with her laughter and her fire, with her looks of adoration and her cutting wit. He loved her. There, it was as simple as that. He loved her.
His heart leapt up for a brief moment, and then quickly crashed down. There was no way to have a peaceful life with Maggie. It was mere fancy to think it could happen. Life in the Highlands was hard, the Scottish clans always at war with England and one another. There was no peace. And he had his own war to fight, his own score to settle, against Montrose.
Saint threw back his head and whinnied softly. Quinn jerked back to attention at the sound of carriage wheels approaching. From an inside pocket of his cloak he took his mask and pulled it on. As the carriage came into sight, Quinn put his heels to Saint’s side and sent his horse down the steep hillside as he had so many times before, with Ian by his side. Only this time, when Quinn rode across the flatland below, directly into the path of the oncoming carriage,and the driver pulled back on the reins to stop the four charging horses, four armed guards immediately surroundedhim.
“Throw down your pistol and sword!” the leader of the guards shouted.
His accent was not Scottish. He wore a long, dark blue coat and knee breeches, cut simply enough, but with a froth of lace at his throat and his wrists, he was anything but the usual captain of the guards—and yet, he was obviously in charge. A golden blond wig curled halfway to his waist beneath a dark blue tricornered hat, which sported several feathers and a sprig of heather.
The man wore expensive leather gloves and even more expensive boots that came to his knees. Quinn ran a calculatingeye over his foe and was not encouraged. His face was dissipated, the face of a man who has seen too much, done too much, but doesn’t regret a moment of his debauchery.“Throw your weapon to the ground!” the captain cried. “Or I will cut you down where you stand!”
Quinn struggled for a moment with the order, wanting to pull his pistol and fire, draw his sword and fight, but commonsens
e prevailed, and he dropped both to the ground.
“Get off your horse,” the man commanded. Quinn beganto dismount, but before he even got one foot out of the stirrup, all hell broke loose.
The sound of bagpipes seemed to fly over their heads, and then something crashed in front of the horses yoked to the carriage, panicking them and making them rear up on their hind legs. It was a small object that looked like some kind of animal—apparently in pain—but it was also the impossible source of the pipe music! Two of the guards moved to calm the horses, while another ran to see what was making the racket. The leader kept his pistol on Quinn.
“What the hell is it, Malcolm?” he cried.
“I dinna know, Captain Pembroke!” the man shouted back, keeping a wide berth as he walked around the small, flailing creature that lay on its side, its legs moving back and forth as the sound of bagpipes—and drums—echoed loudly around them. “Ye had best come and take a look!”
Pembroke. Maggie had told him of the cold-hearted captain of the guards and he had been worried until she assured him that the man never bothered her.
The captain turned his head, and Quinn saw his chance. He dug his heels into Saint and charged toward his captor. The captain threw himself sideways to the ground, his pistolflying in the opposite direction. Quinn was about to make his getaway when he drew his horse up short at the sight of a masked figure on horseback directly in front of him.
The rider was short and slight, dressed all in black, his coat thigh length. He had a pistol in each hand. He aimed one of the guns at the guards and the other at Pembroke on the ground.
“Throw down!” the mysterious rider growled. He rode his horse around Quinn and Saint so that he had a clear shot at the captain of the guard. As they passed him, Quinn blinked.
The horse wore a mask. A black mask with two eyeholestied around its face just like the one the rider wore.
A smile curved Quinn’s mouth as the rider’s slight stature suddenly made sense.
Damn the spunk of the lass! What did she think she was doing?
The captain of the guard cursed and stumbled to his feet. His gun was already several feet away from him, and he drew his sword and tossed it aside, too, motioning to his men to do the same.
Quinn dismounted, never taking his gaze from Pembroke. Maggie had told him the man was some distant relative of Montrose, and was known for his absolute ruthlessness. As the dark, furious eyes of the other man followed him, Quinn knew the rumors were true. Aye, those were the eyes of a serpent. He wouldn’t be turning his back on this one. A chill rushed over him at the thought of Maggie being anywhereclose to such a man.
Quinn retrieved his weapons and kicked the guards’ into a pile, and then turned his pistol toward Pembroke.
“Now, my friend, ’tis our show,” Quinn said. “I want the four of ye to lie facedown on the ground, and not a word out of any of ye.”
With a muttered oath, Pembroke motioned to the other three guards, and soon the four lay prostate on the ground, even as the strange object nearby continued to whirl and whine. As soon as Quinn had the four tied, he would see exactly what in the world was making the commotion.
But what to tie them with?
“Here!” The rider threw something toward him. He looked down. A bundle lay at his feet.
Quinn picked it up and saw it was a dozen or more short, twisted lengths of rope. “Thank ye,” he said. “’Tis lucky for me ye showed up when ye did, since ye came so well prepared.”
The rider didn’t answer, and Quinn knelt down beside Pembroke and tied his hands and feet, making sure the bonds were very tight before moving on to the next man. When he finished, all four guards were trussed up like suckling pigs, with their faces in the dirt. But before Quinn could rise, he felt the barrel of a gun in his back.
“Now ye,” the rider growled from behind him. “On yer knees.”
Quinn smiled and turned. “I thought we were on the same side,” he said, obeying her command.
A strand of auburn hair had escaped the confines of the black kerchief on her head, and the wind blew it against her face. Maggie tucked it back and scowled.
“I have plans for ye,” she said roughly.
“What kind of plans?”
She leaned down and whispered in his ear, “Naked plans.” Maggie straightened and glared at the four men watching her, her voice deepening again. “But aye, I did agree to help ye with this venture, so get up, laddie.”
Pembroke stared at Maggie, his dark eyes narrowed, his gaze calculating. Quinn stood and moved quickly in front of her. If the man managed to recognize Maggie, it would make her employment at the manor too dangerous to continue.She had to keep taking care of Ian until Quinn could expedite his friend’s escape. Maggie should have realized this could happen, that not only was she risking herself, but Ian, in what she no doubt considered a grand lark.
With a glance at Pembroke to make sure he was secure, Quinn grabbed the pint-sized thief by the arm and half dragged her a good twenty feet from the trussed-up men on the ground before releasing her and glaring down into defiantblue eyes.
“What the bloody hell do ye think ye’re doin’?” he demanded,his voice hushed and stern. “Are ye out of yer mind?”
twelve
Maggie shrugged. “Must be, I’m in love with you, aren’t I?” she whispered back.
“Get back on yer horse, and go to the cottage,” he orderedunder his breath. “This is rank foolishness.”
“Oh, it’s foolish if I do it, but bold and brave if you do?” she said, her chin lifted, hands on her hips.
“Aye.” Quinn said, his anger rising. “A woman has no place in such things. Go to the cottage.” He folded his arms over his chest and waited for her answer. She was generally a sensible lass. She would do as he said.
“Oh, bite me,” Maggie said, and walked toward the carriage.
He followed her, prepared to throw her on the back of her horse and tie her there if need be. She stopped in her stride and bent down to pick something up from the ground. The strange object she had thrown as a diversion had finally stopped its racket and movement, and Quinn moved quickly to her side to see what had distracted everyone and allowed one man—woman—to take control of a group of armed men. It might be something to keep in mind for his future raids upon the duke.
“What the hell is that?” he murmured, as she smoothed her hand over what appeared to be some kind of animal, green and furry, about the size of a small fox.
She held the object up, patted its smooth head, and smiled. “It’s Nessie.”
“Nessie?”
“You know. Loch Ness, all that stuff.”
Quinn shook his head. “Ye mean, the monster of Loch Ness?” The legend of the Loch Ness creature was one that his own mother had told him about when he was a lad. He cocked his head and examined the object.
It did look like the beast of the stories his mother had told him—it had a long, curved neck, a long tail, and short, heavy legs. He didn’t remember his mother ever saying the monster had green fur, but in every other way it was a miniature version of the legendary beast. He shook his head. Where had she gotten such a thing?
“It’s a replica,” she said, as she saw his obvious confusion.“You know, a smaller image of the real thing. A toy, actually. Watch what it can do.” She pressed a button hiddenin its green side and the four stout legs started moving, even as the loud wail of a bagpipe began once again.
“That’s bagpipe music,” Quinn said, unable to believe what he was hearing.
“Yep.”
“That’s impossible.” He took the creature out of her hands and turned it over and over. “’Tis not a bagpipe. There is no mouthpiece, no bladder, no—”
“It’s not a bagpipe. It’s a toy.” She shoved it into the bag at her waist, muffling the sounds somewhat, and glanced behind him. “I’ll explain later. Right now, I think we’d betterget back to the business at hand.”
Before he could stop her, she strode
toward the carriage and jerked the door open, speaking in a deep, harsh voice. “Out of the carriage!” There was silence from inside the vehicle. “I said—” She stuck her head into the interior and then turned toward Quinn, her face pale. “There’s no one inside.”
Quinn moved immediately to her side. " ’Tis a trap,” he said. “There may be more guards coming.”
“You can count on that, my good man,” Pembroke said from his prone position. “A dozen or so.” Quinn and Maggieturned toward him, and his dark eyes were liquid with promised retribution. “They will catch the two of you, and then you and your friend, Ian MacGregor, will all dance at the end of a rope.”
“Get on yer horse,” Quinn told Maggie, and without question she spun around and ran to the little mare. He followed her and held the horse’s bridle as she mounted awkwardly with the pistol still in her hand.
Quinn stood at the head of the mare, staring at the mask the animal wore. He pointed to the mask and raised both brows at Maggie.
Maggie shrugged. “Bittie lent her to me and she needed a disguise, too.” She turned toward the tied men and gave them a salute with one black-gloved hand. “Okay, boys,” she said in a loud, gruff voice. “It’s been fun, but we must away.”
Quinn frowned at her. “We must away?” She shrugged again, tossing him a brilliant smile that rocked him for a moment. He shook his head to refocus his mind and hurried over to his own horse. “Just stay close to me.”
Thunder echoed in the distance, and Maggie turned in the direction it came from and sighed. “Oh, great. I cannottell you how sick and tired I am of getting soaking wet.”
Quinn’s dark brows pressed together as Saint danced to one side. “That isn’t thunder,” he said, whirling his horse and heading into the hills. “Come on, lass!”
As Saint began to climb, Quinn looked to make sure Maggie was behind him. Aye, she was crouched over her mare’s neck, a full length behind. Her long red hair had come undone beneath the black kerchief on her head and flew behind her like a ruddy piece of the wind.
Highland Rogue Page 17