Tamed by a Highlander

by Paula Quinn

  “We believe ’twas a robbery,” his father said, coming to stand at her side. “Fer his boots. He…” He paused as if the words were too unbearable to utter. They were. “… was left to die in the filth and debris behind the tavern.”

  Mairi closed her eyes at the fury scalding her veins. “Then whoever took his boots will be wearing them.” If she saw them, she would take them back, and the robber’s legs along with them.

  She’d spent so many years angry with him, but now her reasons seemed trivial. Och, why had it taken the possibility of losing him forever to make her open her eyes to the truth? She still cared for him. Had she been a fool for pushing him away for so long, too blinded by the ache in her heart to give him a chance to repair it? Could he repair it? Could she ever trust his promises again? What if he no longer wanted to promise her anything? What if he cared for Lady Elizabeth? Och, Dear God, she would worry about that later. Now, she only wanted him to open his eyes and cast her one of his casual smiles. Saints help her, but she could not live in a world void of his smiles, even the ones that infuriated her.

  “Connor”—she leaned down close to his ear—“ye will recover. Ye are a Highlander, dinna’ ferget. Ye are strong and fit. Ye will not allow some meager dagger to end yer life. D’ye hear? Ye must come back to me, Connor.”

  “Come, sweeting.” Claire took her by the hand. “Sit and pray with me. Together, we will fight the death angel that stalks him.”

  Their vigil continued long into the night, with both Mairi and Claire taking turns applying cool compresses to his head. The queen sat with them for a time, promising to use every man available in their search for the robber. Thankfully, she kept all talk of marriage out of the conversation. For the most part, she remained quiet with the rest, praying for Connor’s swift recovery and watching Mairi with a knowing smile while she tended to him.

  Sometime during the night, after the queen left them, Mairi closed her eyes to sleep for a bit. She’d refused her bed when Claire, and even the queen, suggested she retire to her room and get some rest. Not until he opened his eyes. Not until he spoke to her and promised to live. She didn’t know if what they had before could ever be reclaimed, but she wanted him in her life. He was more than her first love. He was her friend, and she missed him.

  She slept for a bit before a sound pulled at her dreams of Connor’s passionate gaze, his full, inviting lips telling her every day how bonnie she was to him. She opened her eyes, not knowing how long she had slept, and looked at him. He remained still, his body covered by a thin blanket from the waist down. Above that, he was bare. She took her leisure appraising the hard, lean muscles rippling his abdomen, the width of his shoulders. His body had changed. The boy was gone.

  He moved. More precisely, his body twitched slightly and then his lips parted as if a word sought to escape him before being burned by his fever.

  Mairi sprang from her chair and took his hand in hers. “Connor?” she whispered, waiting, hoping he would answer. “Wake up. I have cried a hundred oceans fer ye, Connor Grant, and ye know how I hate to weep, so wake up.”

  He didn’t move. She didn’t know how long she watched him, or when she fell back to sleep in the bed beside him.

  Connor opened his eyes just before dawn and looked up at the ceiling in his parents’ room. He had no recollection of how he’d arrived there. He felt like hell, but he wasn’t dead—and he was thankful. He tried to move, but something atop his arm stopped him. He looked down at a head of dark, glossy waves, the ends of which were spread across his chest. His mind told him it was Mairi, but he could still be dreaming. He kept his arm still, becoming aware as the seconds passed that it was completely numb. If she was real, he didn’t want to wake her. If she wasn’t, he didn’t want to wake himself. She shifted, cuddling deeper into his side, and lifted her face just enough for him to catch his breath at the sight of it so close, so peaceful.

  Mairi. What was she doing here in bed with him? He had to be dreaming. Either way, he had to touch her. Lifting his free hand, he traced his fingers down the silken tendrils curling at her temple, softly across her cheek. She opened her eyes and he smiled looking into them.

  “I dreamed of ye,” he whispered, stroking the sweet curve of her jaw.

  She didn’t move away. She didn’t move at all. She simply stared into his eyes the way one might look at their beloved childhood home after years of being away. Then she smiled at him and his heart came undone.

  “Ye are alive.”

  “Why, Miss MacGregor,” he whispered, cautious against speaking any louder, lest he awaken. “Is that relief I see on yer bonnie face?”

  “Aye. ’Tis relief ye see.”

  He watched her lashes dip as he bent his head to kiss her, ignoring the pain of his wound. She would not deny him, nor would he be denied.

  “I couldna’ let ye die without telling ye what I thought of ye, Connor Grant.”

  He laughed softly against her lips, but he would hear his faults later. Now, he wanted to taste her and welcome her back.

  “Connor”—she moved her head away and covered his mouth with her fingers—“ye were breathing in garbage fer quite a few hours.”

  When he blinked at her, not quite getting what she was hinting at, and not sure if he cared, she avoided his gaze and clarified. “Ye are less than fresh.”

  Of course. The most important kiss of his life and his breath was foul. He had to laugh, and resting his head back on his pillow, he did.

  “Welcome back, my son.” When he heard his mother’s voice, he turned to her and smiled as Mairi fled from his arm, and his bed. “It pleases me that you were greeted by someone so dear to you.”

  He watched Mairi take the seat beside her, flushed, but suddenly curious for his reply. “Had I known what awaited me, I would have gotten myself stabbed long ago.”

  Both women offered him the same pained smile.

  “Do ye recall what happened?”

  Connor turned to the other side of the bed just as his father was leaving the chair he’d been sleeping in. He rested his hand on Connor’s shoulder and gave him a loving pat. “We will celebrate yer recovery later. Tell us what ye remember while ’tis still fresh in yer mind. Ye went searching for Mairi in St. James’s Park. How did ye end up behind The Troubadour?”

  “Is that where ye found me?” Connor asked him as the attack returned to his thoughts. He told them about finding Mairi with Oxford and watching from a hidden position to see if Oxford was honorable. He had been about to go to her when his assailant came upon him.

  “Ye were stabbed in the park then?” his mother asked.

  “I don’t know. I was struck in the head first and blacked out. I didn’t see his face,” Connor told them, knowing their next question. “But I’m certain ’twas a man. A woman reaching up could not have hit me as hard.”

  “And it had to have been a man,” Mairi added, “to have moved yer body to the tavern.”

  “Someone must have seen such a sight,” his father said, “whether ye were on his back or on yer horse.” He went for the door. “I’ll have Captain Sedley send the men out to question everyone.”

  “Father,” Connor called, stopping him, “have Lieutenant Drummond see to it instead.”

  His father nodded and left the room.

  “What is it, Connor?” Mairi asked, reading him like one of her late uncle’s beloved books. Looking at her, he marveled at how easily she could make him forget, if only for a moment, the worst part of all this: that his friend could be behind trying to kill him.

  “My mother and her brother were betrayed by their dearest friend. No one can be trusted.”

  “But what reason would Sedley have to cause ye harm?” his mother asked him. “What would he gain by killing ye?”

  “He is William of Orange’s man. He lied to me about Admiral Gilles. I’m certain of it, and he questioned me about Colin going to Edinburgh with the king.”

  “How does he know my brother travels with the king?”


  “I don’t know.”

  The door opened and two physicians entered the room and went directly to the bed. “Lord Huntley informed us that you have awakened.” They each took turns poking and prodding him and when he yawned they insisted his visitors leave so that he could sleep.

  “Is there anything you need?” his mother asked him when she kissed his bandaged forehead, readying to leave.

  “Aye, a sprig of mint.” He winked at Mairi, then yawned again when his mother promised to return later. She left before Mairi did, giving them a moment to themselves.

  “Have I told ye already today that ye look bonnie in that dress? England suits ye well, Mairi MacGregor.”

  He didn’t know why her smile faded. He would have commented on it, but his eyes were already closing. Hell, he didn’t want to sleep. He wanted to stand from this bed and drag her into his arms.

  He heard her say something but he wasn’t sure what it was, and then he thought he heard the door close. Was she gone, or had she been a dream after all?

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Mairi walked slowly across the long Shield Gallery, unsure of which direction she should take. Should she go to supper, alone at her kin’s table, or to Connor’s room, where he would no doubt beam with joy that she was fitting in so nicely here in England? She wished she had not let the queen take her earasaid and boots for cleaning. Now she had nothing to wear but whatever the queen supplied. Today it was a brocade gown of cobalt blue, shot through with emerald lace. It was extraordinarily beautiful, but England would never suit her. It broke her heart that Connor thought it did. She remembered his letters asking her to join him here. He had to have known she would never leave Scotland. The very idea of it seemed traitorous to her. This was not the life she’d wanted with him and being here only proved it to her more. She didn’t fit in with the capricious noble lords and ladies who powdered their faces and smiled while they pricked a knife into each other’s backs—who saw her as nothing more than a barbarian because of her name and her religion. Theaters and iced cream were lovely, but they meant nothing to her compared to fiery sunsets over a vast expanse of mountain peaks, and cool, heather-scented wind in her face, and kin who loved her.

  She could never be happy anywhere else. England was Connor’s home, but it could never be hers. Mayhap, she thought, swatting a blasted tear from her eye, it was not Connor that she wanted back as much as the dreams he had taken from her.

  “Miss MacGregor.”

  She turned to watch Lord Oxford hurrying to catch up with her. She was going to have to speak with him sooner or later about her feelings. It might as well be now. She smiled when he reached her.

  “I missed you last evening,” he said, taking her hand. “I do hope you are not going to spend the entire day at Captain Grant’s bedside.”

  It irritated her that he did not query about Connor’s condition. Then again, Henry cared for her and having such a striking captain always at their heels would be enough to drive any man mad, especially one who believed himself to be so homely. Henry was likely relieved to be getting rid of Connor for a few days. “My lord, he was stabbed and left—”

  “Yes, I know. Everyone in the palace knows. My poor sister is beside herself.”

  Mairi frowned at him. Och, she didn’t want to hear how Connor’s lover wept over him. They had to be lovers. Why else would Elizabeth practically hiss at her every time they passed each other in the halls? Thinking of it angered her. How could Connor care for such an overindulged brat? She was beautiful, Mairi answered herself. And English.

  “I was hoping that you might break fast with me.”

  Mairi looked at Henry, and then at the stairs leading to Connor. Despite whatever feelings he had for Elizabeth, she really should go check on him.

  “Have you heard of Tomas Marshall?”

  She shook her head no. “Should I have?”

  “Probably not, but I recently discovered some interesting information about him.”

  Good Lord, not another hour-long lesson on some dead English patriot. Thanks to Henry, she already knew more useless tidbits about England than she would ever need to know.

  “I really should—”

  “He has taken up Richard Cameron’s cause in the Lowlands. Do you know about the Cameronians, Miss MacGregor?”

  She nodded, taking the arm he offered her. “I have heard of them.” Her heart beat wildly in her chest. Finally, he had some information she wanted to hear. And it couldn’t get any better. Marshall, the new leader of the Cameronians! Wait until her militia brothers heard this!

  “Come,” he said softly, beckoning her away from the stairs. “I will tell you what I know, though you may stop me if I bore you. I know I tend to blather on about things others find inconsequential.”

  “Och, my lord,” Mairi said, giving one last look toward the stairs. Connor would be fine for a few hours. This information was too valuable to let slip by. “Ye never bore me. Ye are a man of high intelligence. Anyone who doesna’ see that is a fool.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, smiling at her and patting her hand as they made their way to the Banqueting Hall. “I agree.”

  • • •

  When Mairi reached the door to the Grant’s bedchamber two hours later, she smoothed her long waves over her shoulders, checked the pins in her hair holding strands away from her face on either side of her head, and knocked.

  “Come.” Claire’s voice ushered her in.

  Upon entering the bedroom, Mairi’s eyes settled on Connor first. She was relieved to see him looking much better. In fact, he looked so good her knees went a wee bit soft.

  Propped up against a mountain of pillows, his hands resting comfortably on his covered hips, he turned to spare her a brief, somewhat irritated glance.

  Mairi paused on her way to him but not because she felt badly about not visiting him sooner, or because she had been doing something he disapproved of, gaining information that would aid her in her battle against the Cameronians.

  It was the bounce of a golden curl against the firelight that stopped her in her tracks.

  “Miss MacGregor.” Lady Elizabeth looked equally stunned to see her standing at the door. “You are supposed to be spending the afternoon with my brother.”

  Mairi set her hands in front of her and quirked her brow. “Since when do ye know what I am supposed to be doing, Lady Elizabeth?”

  How the hell did she know? Had she set her brother to the task of keeping Mairi away from Connor so she could tend to him? Sly bastards, both of them. Damn Henry for doing his sister’s bidding like a sheep at the end of a stick, and for doing his part in trying to bolster his sister’s relationship with Connor.

  “Did he take ye on another romp to St. James’s Park?” Connor practically growled at her from the bed.

  She shot him a look of surprise at his tone, then blinked as the truth settled on her. That’s what he was angry about? That she had been with Henry? Her belly flipped and made her clutch the folds of her gown. Her anger toward him had blinded her to what had been right in front of her since the first time she had danced with Henry. Connor was jealous. Aye, she may have suspected it when he informed her that he’d gone to the queen about her wedding Oxford or Sedley; she was not a lackwit, after all. But she’d discounted it as nothing more than a false sense of possessiveness on his part.

  He certainly had kissed her as though he had a right to. Hell, but this room was hot. Quickly, she chased the memory of his mouth on hers away. It would do her no good to lose her wits with Lady Elizabeth in the room.

  But it was more than possessiveness. Connor had nearly lost his life looking for her at the park. Did it mean he still cared for her? And what would she do if he did?

  “Lord Oxford wished to speak with me about something,” she told him truthfully. “We have spoken, and now we are finished.”

  “What was so important then?” he tossed at her. “Did he speak to ye about the queen’s wishes?”

  Marriage. Och,
he was fuming. She almost smiled at him, but Claire stood from her seat and interrupted them.

  “Connor, there is something I wish to tell you. In private,” she added, glancing at Henry’s sister.

  “Later.” He held up his palm to stop her. Then, without taking his eyes off Mairi, asked his mother to leave and take Lady Elizabeth with her.

  If anyone else had tried to remove Elizabeth from the room, it would have required moving her bodily, but Claire Stuart had but to cast her one warning look to get the trollop moving.

  When they were alone, Mairi walked around the bed, pulled the nearest chair closer, and sat in it. “We didna’ speak of marriage.”

  “Why not?”

  She shrugged and folded her hands in her lap. “Mayhap he doesna’ wish to marry me?”

  His jaw, shadowed by a few days’ worth of dark golden whiskers, tightened, defining that blasted right dimple. “Ye’re being evasive. Why didn’t ye tell him—”

  “What? That I willna’ marry him because I love ye?”

  She smiled when he looked away and cleared his throat. “I didn’t say that.”

  “Wise.”

  He looked at her from under his brows, but said nothing.

  “Why did ye not tell Lady Elizabeth to leave this room and never return?”

  “Because,” he said, aiming another cool stare at her, “I was too interested in hearing about the afternoon ye’d be spending with her brother. ’Tis pitiful, I know,” he drawled when her smile widened. “Don’t gloat about it.”

  “Fergive me.” She lowered her eyes but her smile remained. Damnation, she was the pitiful one taking such enjoyment in his discomfort. Was he truly so interested in what she was doing that he would suffer Elizabeth’s company?

  “I was stabbed, Mairi.”

  She looked up. He looked too damned healthy to have almost perished. The thought of it made her close her eyes and take a deep breath.

  “Aye, Connor, I know.”