Tamed by a Highlander

by Paula Quinn

  “Ye’re a clever lass, Mairi MacGregor.”

  She smiled, feeling even better than she felt two winters ago when she and Colin figured out that Kevin Menzie of Rannoch was a Cameronian.

  “I wasna’ sure if we should tell the queen, or wait until the king returns,” Mairi said. “If her demeanor changes toward the prince, he may suspect she knows and act upon it.”

  “We will wait then,” he agreed, moving his fingers over hers and shaking her to her core. “Ye’ll tell me later what else ye know about William of Orange and how ye know it. Fer now, let us speak of us.”

  “What about us?” she asked, feeling her blasted breath stall and her face go warm.

  “I miss ye, Mairi. I’ve missed ye fer a long time.”

  She closed her eyes and tried to recall all the times she had wished to hear those words from him. But how could he have missed her and still stayed away? “Ye didna’ fight fer me.”

  He laughed but for once, there was no humor in it. “Fer four years, I did. How long would ye have me try to win ye back?”

  “Fer as long as it takes.”

  His slow sensual smile made his eyes gleam with heat and made her excruciatingly aware of his closeness. “Then I shall begin again.”

  The morning of the fourth day of the storm had started out quite nicely, though not due to anything Connor had intentionally done. At least, Mairi did not think he intended to look so ridiculously appealing simply by sitting up in his bed, his sheet cast carelessly aside, and his legs, encased in nothing but snug-fitting cotton breeches, tossed over the edge. He could not have known she was about to enter the bedchamber when he decided he had spent enough days abed and began flexing and stretching his unused muscles.

  He looked up from his bandaged wound and grinned at her when she opened the door. The sight of him scattered every thought in her head, save one. How the bloody hell did he manage to look so virile and revived so soon after being stabbed in his guts?

  “ ’Tis too soon!” She went to him, meaning to convince him to lie back down, but he captured her hands in his and used her weight to lift himself to his feet. The heat from his body almost touching hers thrilled the breath right out of her. His height, when she tilted her face to look into his eyes, and the breadth of his shoulders made her feel small and so much like a woman she nearly groaned with an ache she had not felt in seven years.

  “I’ve much to do to prove to ye that ’tis not too late.”

  His fresh, minty breath washed over her while the husky timbre of his voice made her own mouth go dry.

  “Then ye had best start walking.” She smiled and stepped away, letting go of his hands. She watched him take his first tentative steps away from the bed, admiring his strength and the shapely curve of his buttocks so well defined in his breeches—breeches that left little to the imagination when he turned to her again.

  It occurred to her, when his lips curled at the direction of her gaze, that her first assessment may have been incorrect, and that he had planned every movement for her pleasure.

  “It feels good to be on my feet again.”

  Likely not as good as he looked on them, Mairi thought, then chastised herself for her wanton thoughts. God help her, but she wanted to run her tongue down the rippled contour of his belly. “I should have yer clothes returned to ye.”

  He laughed behind a few silken strands of gold that fell over his eyes, knowing full well what the sight of his half-naked body was doing to her and enjoying it.

  “If ye wish, Mairi.”

  The way her name rolled off his tongue produced tiny droplets of perspiration along her brow. How could one man do this to her, and so quickly? And one whom she had convinced herself she hated? The only man to ever break her heart. He deserved the challenge she wanted to give him in trying to win her back. She didn’t want to make it easy for him, but she was failing miserably.

  “I was going to request them since I’ll be joining ye fer supper tonight and I’d hate to see ye claw out Lady Hollingsworth’s eyes if I attended like this.”

  She scoffed at him, determined to prove to him that she was not jealous. “Wear whatever ye like. I will be too busy with Lord Oxford to notice all yer lady friends falling at yer feet.”

  He grew serious instantly. “Are ye going to start spending yer time with him again?”

  “Nae, but I am curious as to what he thinks he knows about me and I havena’ had the chance to speak with him about it.”

  “I don’t want ye to speak with him about it.”

  Och, hell, why did he have to go and ruin a perfectly nice morning by ordering her about? “What d’ye mean ye dinna’ want me to speak to him about it?”

  “ ’Tis too dangerous. If he does know something…”

  “… then I wish to know what it is. And I also wish that ye would quit insulting me. Ye, more than anyone, know how I detest being thought of as weak because I am a lass.”

  “I didn’t say ye were weak, Mairi.”

  “Good, because I can wield a blade as well as any man.”

  He smiled as if she amused him and she had the urge to slap him. He moved closer to her until she could feel the heat of his bare chest. “I cannot help wanting to protect ye.” His voice fell in a husky whisper across her temple. “If anything were to befall ye—” His fingers lifted to capture her face and tilt it toward his.

  She wanted to tell him that nothing would befall her. She was not the one who was stabbed in the park with dozens of people nearby! But she couldn’t speak. She closed her eyes instead, waiting for his kiss and bracing herself against the crashing of her heart against her breast.

  The door opened and the queen entered the room with Claire behind her. A moment of stunned silence passed before Connor moved away from her and Mary of Modena blushed to her roots.

  Mairi was not sure if the queen was embarrassed from barging in on them and interrupting what was clearly a very intimate moment, or if her cheeks flushed at the sight of Connor in his breeches.

  Mairi did not stay long enough to find out.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Connor stood at the entrance of the Banqueting Hall alone and without the aid of the walking stick the queen had insisted he use. The white-hot pain of his wound had lessened into a dull ache over the last pair of days and he actually felt quite fit as he set his gaze over the inhabitants of the hall. He found Mairi sitting at her table with none other than Lord Oxford at her side, blathering on in her ear. She looked immensely bored and Connor smiled, despite being angry with her for not staying away from Oxford as he’d asked. Well, perhaps he’d ordered rather than asked.

  He swiped the raindrops from the shoulders of his justacorps as he stepped inside. Besides his military coat, this was the finest coat he owned. Made of deep blue brocade with a silk silver lining and buttons to match, it was cut to fit close and hung to his knees. The intricate loops of wide blue ribbon at his throat felt a wee bit suffocating, but the queen had nearly squeaked with delight while his mother tied them around his neck. He hadn’t minded their aid in choosing what he should wear after he’d requested his own room back and a private bath to go along with it. He was trying to win Mairi back and they were both more than happy to help him look his best while at his task. He flatly refused to wear a wig, hose, or heels though. He might reside in England, but he was still, and always would be, a Highlander.

  “Aw, hell, is this what love does to man then?”

  Connor smiled when his lieutenant appeared beside him with a drink and gave him a pitiful looking over. “ ’Tis what two meddlesome women do to a man, Drummond.”

  “ ’Tis worse than I feared if ye’re letting women dress ye.” The lieutenant looked around Connor’s chest and took a sip from his cup. “Where are ye sitting?”

  “There.” Connor pointed to Mairi’s table. “Why? Do ye want to join me? There are empty chairs and there will be one more before the hour passes.”

  “I’ll sit with ye.” Drummond pushed him f
orward. “But ye’d best get moving. Lady Elizabeth approaches with a determined look in her eye and some extra sway in her skinny hips.”

  Connor caught the flash of yellow curls as he and his lieutenant cut through the crowd and escaped, though just narrowly.

  When he reached his family’s table, he greeted Mairi first and then his parents.

  “Oxford,” he said last, turning to the English nobleman, “yer sister was looking fer ye. I assured her that ye would be returning to yer own table momentarily.”

  Oxford studied him for a moment with an arched look, then smiled. “Perhaps Lizzy can dine here with us.”

  “Another time, perhaps. I’ve already invited my men to sit with us—to celebrate my return—ye understand. I’m afraid there won’t be room here fer even ye.”

  Mayhap it was Oxford who had tried to have him killed. The blatant fury on his face as he looked at Connor’s parents and then at Mairi was telling enough.

  “Of course, Captain. I’m pleased to see you well again,” he lied, and rose from his seat. “Miss MacGregor,” he said, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips, “I hope to see you later.”

  Not if Connor had anything to say about it. He watched Oxford leave the table, then turned his most vibrant smile on Mairi, ignoring her stony gaze. He didn’t care if she was angry or not. He didn’t like Oxford and now he had a reason to mistrust him.

  “Ye look bonnie this eve, Mairi,” he told her, taking the seat opposite hers. And hell, but she did. She wore a pale yellow gown, spun it appeared, from the finest silk, with deep golden lace peaking up from her low-cut neckline. The pearls around her throat and woven through her hair added to her creamy complexion, but she needed no adornment to accentuate her beauty. He wanted to pluck each clip from her hair and watch while her tresses spilled over her breasts. He wanted to kiss her and taste the fire of her tongue. She was his and he wanted her to know it. If she wanted to be won, he was more than happy to oblige. And win, he would.

  “Yer treatment of Lord Oxford was quite rude,” she said, veiling her gaze beneath her black lashes after appraising him in his justacorps.

  “He will survive it, though I wonder if I will.”

  Mairi gave him a curious look and then turned to eye Oxford making his way to his own table. “Ye dinna’ think he…”

  Connor shrugged, setting his cup down. “I’m in his way.”

  “Of what?”

  Hell, why couldn’t he stop smiling at her like some besotted fool? How could she be so clever when it came to her enemies and still so innocent about her effect on men? “Of ye.”

  She smiled at him like he was the one missing something. “I agree that he might care fer me, but I doubt he would try to kill ye over it.”

  Beside her, his mother waited for the servers, who had just arrived to place the first course in front of them, to finish and leave before she spoke. “There’s no telling what a man would do to gain what he desires, sweeting.”

  “I will do a bit of checking on him,” his father said, looking over his wife’s shoulder at the Oxfords’ table. “I don’t like him anyway.”

  “I’ll help,” Drummond offered.

  Mairi sighed, dipping her spoon into her soup. “Truly, I believe he is utterly harmless, lacking a bit of spine, especially when it comes to his sister, but harmless, nonetheless.”

  “There’s Sedley and Edward.”

  Before Connor could stop him, Drummond beckoned the other men over. He hated the thoughts eating away at him that one of his oldest friends might be behind the attack on him. He would have to inform his men of his suspicions regarding Sedley soon. He didn’t know why he hadn’t done so already. He wasn’t certain if he was correct in his suspicions, and, worse, it pained him that a friend would betray him. But if there was a chance that Sedley conspired against the king, his men needed to know.

  He understood now why James did not move against Prince William without proof that he should. It also gave him another reason to wish he were back in Glencoe. Loyalties did not exist in the courts of kings, save for self-gain.

  No one here can be trusted.

  “You’re looking rather English tonight,” Sedley said, sizing Connor up with one of his famously urbane grins while he slipped into the chair previously occupied by Oxford.

  “Don’t insult me on my first night back.”

  Drummond snickered beside him and clapped him on the back. Connor winked at Edward as the young cornet sat. Edward was English and Connor’s playful barb was not aimed toward him.

  “Captain Sedley?” Mairi’s dulcet voice across the table drew his attention back to her. She met his gaze and held it for a moment before she slipped it, along with her smile, back to Sedley. “Where is it ye call home?”

  “Kent,” the captain told her, eyeing the pretty server setting a plate in front of him. “My father is the Baronet of Aylesford.”

  The slight arch of her raven brow revealed more to Connor than idle curiosity. She was one of only three at the table who knew Connor doubted him. What was she up to?

  “What does yer father think of yer libertine lifestyle?” she asked as softly as a kitten purring for its milk.

  Sedley laughed and three passing ladies stopped to admire him. “Libertines are completely devoid of morals, Miss MacGregor. Surely,” he said, plucking a mote of lint from his military coat, “you don’t believe me so depraved.”

  Mairi quirked her lip at him from behind her cup. “Depravity is often distorted by the depraved, Captain Sedley. But since I know nothing of ye save fer what I was told by Captain Grant and a handmaiden or two, I am unable to form any fair judgments about ye.”

  “His reputation is well deserved,” said Drummond, digging into his food.

  “Most reputations usually are,” Mairi pointed out with a brief glance at Connor.

  Sedley’s grin widened. “Ah, but we are all enslaved to the service of sin.”

  “Aye,” Mairi said, returning a rather resplendent smile of her own to the rake. “And only some are chosen by God to receive His mercy. Or so the doctrine of Calvin asserts, does it not?”

  Sedley shifted subtly in his seat and glanced at the men around him before he opened his mouth to speak.

  Mairi stopped him before he did. “I am not certain I understand yer faith completely, Captain, so please do fergive my ignorance, but is it not true that Calvinists believe that man is not saved through faith or virtue, but by God’s mercy alone? ”

  “I wouldn’t know, dear lady,” Nick told her, his tone a bit less amicable now. “I am not a Calvinist.”

  “Och, my err then.” Mairi softened her smile, rendering Connor, at least, immobile by her delicate feminine beauty. “I would think though that such a belief would serve a devilish rake as yerself.”

  “Oh?”

  She nodded, taking another sip from her cup. “Ye could live the life ye chose, be as debased as ye like, knowing that if ye are one of God’s elect, He will simply change ye.”

  “He’d have much to change in this one,” Drummond said as he chewed his food.

  “I am not so terrible,” Sedley corrected dryly. “I have not turned my depraved charms on you, lady.” He ignored Connor’s warning stare and forged onward. “Not that I would try to steal you from my good friend here. Captain Grant has already warned me that you are his and whatever I believe about God, I do not yet wish to meet Him in the afterlife.”

  “I never claimed that she was mine, Sedley.” Connor laughed, trying desperately to salvage whatever dignity he had left when it came to Mairi MacGregor.

  “In truth, Captain Grant,” interjected Edward, who had, until that moment, remained blissfully quiet, “you did. It was right after you told Captain Sedley not to concern himself with the color of her eyes. He asked you if she was yours and you said—”

  “Edward,” Connor silenced him in his best I’m-going-to-kill-ye-later voice. “Miss MacGregor already believes me an ogre who cannot take a step without falling over my k
nuckles, let’s not try to convince her of it further, aye?”

  He turned to offer Mairi a jaunty grin he hoped would convince her of the triviality of the topic. At least it was to him. But she looked right through him from across the table and she saw the way his heart beat for her. Her eyes on him softened and her lips curled slightly at the corners. It was enough to still his breath and fire his blood. She was his. And he would kill any man who thought to take her from him. He wanted her back, back in his arms. Back in his life. If she wanted him to fight for her, he would do that, and more.

  Seeming to have concluded her subtle interrogation on Nicholas Sedley, Mairi turned the topic of conversation to one the rest at the table, including Claire, preferred. Their battles and the wounds they suffered through them. Their laughter was loud and their banter intimate. Connor’s friends listened in stunned silence while his parents recounted their encounter with General George Lambert when they rescued Claire’s brother from his clutches. They were equally astonished though a bit more doubtful when Claire boasted of Mairi’s skill with the sword.

  “Four of the scars I bear,” Connor told them, “were inflicted by Miss MacGregor’s blade.” He pulled at the bows around his neck, spread his collar, and unlaced his waistcoat beneath. “She struck me here in practice.” Yanking at his shirt, he revealed a small scar on his collarbone. “She was angry with me about something.”

  “Ye told me that ye would prefer me with sewing needles in my hands rather than daggers,” Mairi reminded him.

  He still did, but he wasn’t about to tell her that again. He was trying to win her, after all, not find one of her hidden knives at his throat.

  “Pardon the intrusion.”

  Connor looked up and thought about smashing Henry de Vere’s face into the nearest wall for the hundredth time. When he saw Lady Elizabeth linked to her brother’s arm he expelled a sigh of annoyance, but managed a brief smile. She beamed back.

  “Captain Grant.” It was her brother who spoke. “I would like to offer you my sister’s hand for the first dance.”