Highland Temptation

by Jennifer Haymore

  “Was the family aware of his plans? Of his affiliation to Pinfield?”

  “Nay. Adams has questioned all the men’s families extensively. It seems none of them knew aught of their patriarchs’ actions.”

  Colin and Emilia both nodded. Emilia’s own father had attempted to hide it from her—she’d only discovered his treason out of pure curiosity and sneakiness, and because she hadn’t trusted him to begin with. She knew all of the men she’d accused, and while she didn’t know what they were like in private, she’d thought most of them kinder and more gentlemanly than her father.

  “So,” Colin mused, “if the arrest today goes as planned, then there are only two suspects at large.”

  “Aye. One of them being the ringleader of the enterprise. Capturing Pinfield is paramount if we want to ensure he isna continuing with his plans for the assassination.” McLeod turned to Emilia. “Do you ken where he might’ve gone?”

  “Perhaps our country house in Nottinghamshire?”

  “We have sent word to the authorities in that area to be on alert in the event he appears there. Anywhere else?”

  “I can’t think of anywhere, except the various homes of his accomplices. Those men were his friends—his only friends, and they would have hidden him if he’d asked.”

  “But they’re all enjoying the fine accommodations of the Tower of London at the moment,” Colin said dryly.

  “Three of them are in the Tower,” McLeod corrected, “to be joined later today by Chalmsworth. The other six are being held at Newgate.”

  “My father wouldn’t just go to one of their homes, I don’t think,” she said. “Not if they weren’t in residence.”

  “Does he own land elsewhere?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “We’ll discuss it in more detail when the others arrive.” McLeod gazed at them, his blue eyes hard with determination. “By now half the country is on the hunt for Pinfield. We’ll find him.”

  Chapter 22

  Late that night, everyone had gone to bed but Emilia, Colin, and Major Campbell. Emilia was tired but she had no interest in retiring without Colin.

  That afternoon, the Highland Knights had successfully apprehended Lord Chalmsworth. They’d spent the evening in intense conversation, discussing the arrest, Emilia and Colin’s journey north and their encounter with Pinfield, and the Knights’ plans for finding Pinfield and Kingsman.

  It had been decided that a group of Knights—Ross, Mackenzie, and the new Highland Knights, Laurent Dupré and Max White—would head north using the same path taken by Pinfield in his pursuit of Emilia. They’d question villagers and farmers along the way, hopefully discovering where Pinfield went after encountering Colin and Emilia. The other Knights—Colin, the major, and McLeod—would stay at home along with the women, continuing the search for evidence and for any leads on Kingsman’s whereabouts.

  Now the major and Colin were relaxing, taking sips of whisky and discussing their plan. Emilia watched the two men carefully, observing how easy they were with each other. She suspected this wasn’t the first time the two had stayed up together drinking whisky when everyone else had retired.

  After a moment of companionable silence, Colin glanced at her, gave her a soft smile, then turned back to the major, clearing his throat. “There’s something I wished to ask of you, sir.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I ken we’ll be busy in the next few days, but…” He reached over, grasping her hand and squeezing tight. “Emilia and I…we wish to marry.”

  That got the major’s full attention. He carefully set his glass of whisky aside. “Do you now?” he said softly.

  “We wish to do so as soon as possible. Within the next few days.”

  “You’ll require a license.”

  “Aye, I ken.”

  The major’s blue eyes turned to her. “Is this what you want, too, lass?” he asked her in a kindly voice.

  “It is.” Her own voice was confident and clear.

  Sadness lurked at the edges of the major’s eyes. “Your fiancé has been through hell, but he has come through it.”

  “I know,” she said softly.

  “Hell still reaches out for him sometimes,” the major continued.

  “I know that, too.”

  “Do you?”

  “She kens,” Colin said in a broken voice. “Since the first night after we left London.”

  The major blew out a breath, but his expression remained kind.

  “Colin’s demons chase after him,” she said, “but they will not defeat him.”

  “Sometimes that’s not so certain,” the major said.

  She stiffened. “It is to me. I won’t let them hurt him. I’ll fight to the death.”

  “Ah,” the major said, visibly relaxing. “A fierce wee warrior, are you?”

  “Dinna underestimate her,” Colin said quietly, squeezing her hand. “She has brought me back. More than once.”

  The major nodded. “Aye. Good.”

  “I won’t bend,” Emilia said. “I’ll fight them for as long as I must.”

  “That might be a verra long time,” the major said.

  “I know,” she said. “If that’s the case, then I’m prepared for it. But that potential doesn’t even begin to make me want to change my mind about this.”

  The major looked at Colin with a raised brow, and Colin shrugged. “You said it, sir. She’s a fierce wee warrior.”

  For the first time, the major smiled. “I think that’s just what you need. Tell me how I can help.”

  “Would you be our witness?” Emilia asked.

  The major turned the full force of his smile on her. “I’d be honored,” he said.

  —

  A week later, Emilia stood in Lady Claire’s dressing room, her heart pounding. She hadn’t been able to sleep much last night, and her nerves hadn’t calmed since the moment she’d awakened, two hours earlier.

  Today was her wedding day.

  “Oh dear Lord,” Claire exclaimed, stepping back and looking her up and down, her hands clasped under her chin. “You’re utterly beautiful.”

  “Lovely,” Lady Grace agreed from behind Claire.

  “I daresay Colin will lose his wits when he sees you,” said Esme, who was standing beside Grace, her feet planted wide on the floor to accommodate her large belly.

  “Bonny as an angel,” Aila said from her perch on the bed.

  Emilia gave the other women a shaky smile, then turned to gaze in the looking glass.

  The dress that Claire had miraculously managed to procure for her in extremely short order was made of ivory satin and had a silver lace overdress. It was the most beautiful gown Emilia had ever seen.

  She stared at herself. She looked like an ethereal princess. Almost unreal, with her miraculously tamed blond curls floating around her head. She traced a finger over the angry red scar slicing over her cheek—it didn’t seem so ugly now that she was surrounded by such loveliness. The dress was tight around her middle, showing the curve of her waist to full effect. Real diamonds, borrowed from Esme, adorned her ears and throat. The skirt billowed out like a heavenly cloud.

  She heard the crinkling sound of paper, then Aila came up behind her and set a crown of tiny pale purple flowers upon her head.

  “Heather?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Aye. I found a bunch at the flower market.”

  “Wearing heather is good luck,” Emilia said. “At least, that’s what Colin told me.”

  “Aye, and he’s right. I made this for you so you’d have good luck on your wedding day and in your marriage for years to come.”

  Staring into the looking glass once more, Emilia put her hand to her throat. “I don’t…” She took a deep breath. “I don’t even look like myself.”

  “You do, too,” Claire said crossly. “You look like yourself. Beautiful—or as our husbands and Aila might say, bonny—Lady Emilia, dressed for the occasion of her wedding.”

  “We sho
uld hurry,” Esme said. “We’re five minutes late, and I’m sure the men are already at the church, waiting for us.”

  Colin, the major, and McLeod had left the house early—goodness knew to where, but the ladies suspected to a pub for a fortifying mutchkin of whisky before the wedding.

  Impulsively, Emilia turned back to the ladies, catching Claire’s hand and smiling at all of them. “Thank you. All four of you. You have been so kind to me. You have given me so much, and I already think of you as my sisters.”

  Lady Grace kissed her on the cheek. “We think of you as our sister as well.”

  “I’m so glad you will be staying with us,” Esme said.

  “Now, let’s go to the church and make it legal,” Claire said.

  Emilia squeezed their hands one last time. “Thank you.”

  They went downstairs, Emilia thinking of her father, still being hunted by every authority in Britain, and how he would react to her marrying Sir Colin Stirling. Oddly, he’d never spoken to Emilia of her marrying. Or maybe it wasn’t so odd—since she was such an embarrassment to him, perhaps he’d never believed a man would consider her worthy of marriage.

  She pushed the thought of him out of her mind. Today wasn’t for her father—it was for her and Colin. The Knights remaining in London had decided to set aside the ongoing search just for today in order to celebrate the joining, and she must do the same. No melancholy. No sadness or fear. Today was a day to rejoice.

  The five ladies bundled into the carriage that awaited them on the street, leaving the house empty except for the servants. The wedding was to be held at St. George’s in Hanover Square, which was Emilia’s parish church. She had known the rector, Mr. Hodgson, since she’d moved to London after her mother’s death, and the church had been one of the few places she’d found solace.

  St. George’s was a busy place for weddings, so busy in fact that weddings usually needed to be scheduled months in advance, but a last-minute cancellation had opened up a spot this morning for her and Colin, and she was pleased they would be able to marry at one of her favorite places in London.

  The ride to St. George’s from Westminster wasn’t long, but the streets were dense with horses and vehicles this time of day, and when they reached Piccadilly, the carriage came to a dead stop. Aila opened the carriage’s door to reveal John the coachman, an older, kindly man with a thick thatch of gray hair. Colin had told Emilia that John had held this position with the Knights for almost a year and had proven himself an extremely loyal employee.

  “I’m so sorry, ladies,” John said, “but there’s an overturned coal cart ahead, and it’ll be some minutes before they’re able to shovel it all up.”

  “Oh, dear,” Grace murmured.

  “There’s an alternate route that might be faster.”

  “Oh, please do take that route, John,” Claire said.

  “Aye, my lady. I’ll try.”

  It took a few minutes, but the coachman managed to turn them around in the direction from which they’d come, and a minute after that Emilia felt a jolt, and she peeked out the window to see that they’d turned down the mews of a residential street.

  “Oh good,” Claire said. “We’re moving again.”

  “But we’re going to be quite late now,” Emilia fretted.

  “D’you think Colin might worry you’ve jilted him?” Aila asked, her green eyes sparkling.

  “No, I don’t think so.” By now, Colin surely knew how steadfast she was in her commitment to him.

  “What about you? Are you nervous?” Aila asked her.

  Emilia grinned at her. Of all the Highland Knights’ wives, Aila was the one with whom she was least acquainted. Aila and White had been away on their honeymoon when Emilia had first come to the Knights’ house. Aila was very different from the other ladies—the only Scottish woman among them, and a commoner, though Emilia had heard she was a descendent of a Scottish laird. But none of the other women seemed to care about her lowborn status, and though the rules of society had been pounded into Emilia throughout her life, she found that once she stopped her ingrained habit of ordering people according to their rank, she didn’t care, either. Aila was kind and fun-loving, whip smart and with a way about her that made people feel at ease.

  “I’m not too nervous,” Emilia said. “I’m…happy and excited.” She’d known for some time that she was Colin’s and he was hers; their handfasting had simply cemented their commitment. But this was solemnizing before God and witnesses the promise they’d made, and that made this the most special day of her life.

  “Aye, well that’s just how I felt when I married Max.”

  “You weren’t nervous, either?”

  “Not at all. I was…” Aila hesitated then laughed softly. “I was impatient. The vicar was late to the wedding—we married in the Westminster house, you ken—and I gave him a firm talking to when he arrived, let me tell you.”

  “I must say,” Grace said. “I could almost see smoke curling out from your ears, you were so furious.”

  “It was hilarious,” Claire added. “You were bright red throughout the recitation of vows. I honestly considered fetching a bucket of water in case you burst into flame.”

  Aila scowled. “Honestly, that man was rude beyond measure. I think he didna like us.”

  “Oh, don’t pay any attention to Mr. Bennington,” Esme said in her quiet, low-pitched voice. “I have known him all my life, and he’s never been on time to anything I can remember. He’s also an incessant grouch.”

  Just then, the carriage jolted to a stop so abruptly that Claire and Grace, who were sitting in the rear-facing seat, went flying into Emilia, Aila, and Esme. There was a flurry of skirts and exclamations as everyone got their bearings and found their seats again.

  “Good heavens!”

  “Are you all right, Claire?”

  “Ouch!”

  “Oh, dear, did you hurt yourself?”

  “I’m quite all right.”

  “Why are we stopped?”

  “What happened?”

  Emilia didn’t participate in these exclamations, because her chest had gone so tight, she couldn’t have spoken if she’d tried. The panic that roiled through her was instant—a response to the danger she’d been in so many times before.

  He’s here. He’s here. The two words drummed in her head over and over again. She wanted to curl into a ball, disappear, become someone else. Anything to not face the horror she was certain was outside.

  The door to the carriage banged open, and the ladies’ heads all whipped around to see the source of the dramatic movement…except Emilia’s. She turned slowly, her neck moving as sluggishly as an old, rusty hinge that required oiling.

  It was him.

  Of course it was.

  Chapter 23

  Her father stood there, disheveled and dirty. His haggard face was livid with rage. He pointed a pistol at all of them, but his gaze homed in on Emilia. She cowered back, unable to help this instinctual response at the sight of her father with that murderous look on his face.

  “Come with me now, Emilia,” he growled, “and no one will get hurt.”

  She stared at him, unable to move, paralyzed with fear.

  “Nay, I think not! Emilia’ll be remaining right here with us,” Aila said in a clear, stentorian voice.

  Her father’s eyes—gray-blue like her own—narrowed on Aila, who happened to be sitting closest to the door. Before Emilia could blink, she heard a loud thwack! and suddenly Aila was on the carriage floor, gasping in pain, water streaming from her eyes even as they sparkled with a fiery temper. The other ladies gasped, and Grace reached down to Aila, helping her up.

  “This is none of your concern,” her father spat out. “Lady Emilia is my daughter and she belongs to me. You should be thankful I haven’t had you all arrested for kidnapping.” He returned his gaze to Emilia and waved the gun at her. “Come, girl. Now.”

  Emilia glanced at the other ladies. Aila was trembling visibly—Emilia c
ouldn’t tell if it was from anger or fear, but she worried that Aila might do something that would get her shot. Claire’s and Grace’s blue eyes were wide with terror, and Esme looked resigned. When Emilia glanced at her, the other woman gave her a small, encouraging nod as if to say, You have no choice but to go…but don’t worry, we’ll find you later.

  Emilia wasn’t sure there would be a later. But she was sure of one thing, her father was so desperate, he wouldn’t hesitate to use that gun on her friends. She couldn’t allow that.

  “I’ll come,” she managed to say, though the words sounded like a frog had croaked them out. “Just…please, don’t hurt anyone.”

  Her father glanced to the left and the right, then waved the gun again. “Hurry.”

  She stood, and ignoring the soft murmurs of the other women, she stepped toward the carriage door. Grace grabbed her hand, and she turned to see the other woman looking imploringly at her. “No,” Grace whispered. “Don’t.”

  “I must.”

  She extricated her hand from Grace’s and stepped out of the carriage. Her father grabbed her arm but he waved the gun toward the inside of the carriage once more.

  “If you hurt her, you bastard, I swear, I’ll—” Aila’s words were cut off as her father slammed the carriage door.

  “Come. Hurry.” He tugged Emilia to a shabby, worn, and crudely painted carriage that was parked behind the one she and the other women had been in.

  Two other men appeared from the front of the Knights’ carriage, one of them holding a gun to John the coachman’s head as he pushed him along.

  One of the men jumped onto the second carriage’s perch. Emilia’s father shoved her into the carriage, then stepped in behind her, John and the other man following closely. The inside was just as shabby as the outside, the leather seat torn and jagged, the windows cracked, and everything covered in a thick layer of dust. It was like the thing had been stowed away for fifty years and had just been plucked out of the scrap pile this morning.

  “Go, go!” her father called, closing the door then banging the carriage ceiling with the butt of the pistol. She moved across the seat, as far from her father as she could, as John and the other man took their seats on the rear-facing bench. John sat across from her, blinking hard, his bleary eyes watering heavily. He looked confused, as if he was trying to hold on to consciousness.