Malcolm was silent for a few moments as he tried to stem the flow of anger. “That’s the biggest load of havers I’ve ever heard. Serena, those things are just trappings. Charm is misleading. Popularity wanes. And even yer beauty will one day fade. What remains is what is the true prize. Ye. Just ye. And that ought to be enough for any man.” He placed his hand on her face. “And if that peacock of a suitor of yers can’t see that, then … yer Archer missed the mark.”
She chuckled halfheartedly at his offhand quip. “One thing I do know. Archer and his words, they’re … invisible. But your presence here with me, now, when I needed someone the most … this is very real.” She placed a gloved hand on top of his.
Mrs. Walker’s advice came floating back to him. If ye want to get on the right side of Miss Marsh, ye’ve got to show her how ye feel. Not in a way that any man can do, and certainly not in words. Did Serena understand the depth of his feelings for her?
“Ye’ve got yer besom ways about ye, Serena Marsh. But I care for ye. Just the way ye are.”
Sunlight sparkled on the tiny droplets forming in her moist eyes. “You do?”
He smiled. “Aye.” He bowed his head, touching his lips to hers. So soft, so open. He swept in for another kiss, this one longer, deeper. He closed his eyes to savor the sensation of her lips caressing his. God, what heaven this was, to be kissed by such a woman. It fed something deep within him, as the first drops of rain on parched soil. Serena responded by caressing the hair at the back of his head, which invoked a thread of pleasure that wended all the way down to the area between his legs.
He let his mouth trail down to her alabaster neck. Her skin smelled of rose, jasmine, and lavender, and he inhaled deeply the soft, feminine scent. He kissed the V at the base of her throat, and his lips sensed her heart beat faster. She made a sound, a pleading mewl. She had slipped a hand from its glove and threaded her fingers through his hair. The sensation of her nails on his scalp sparked a powerful hunger for her.
Suddenly the carriage lurched, and he and Serena were shaken from their embrace. The carriage stopped dead.
“What was that?” asked Serena, straightening in the seat.
He didn’t know. He looked around for the reins, which he’d let slip from his hand. Finally, he spotted them on the floor of the carriage. But just as he reached down to pick them up, the carriage tilted sideways.
Serena shrieked, and so did one of the horses. One of the wheels had rolled onto loose ground that now began to collapse. Malcolm looked beyond Serena seated beside him and was chilled at the sickening sight.
The carriage was tipping down a deep ravine.
And below, the steep rocky slope crumbled into the churning water.
Instinctively, Malcolm latched onto Serena. Fear was in her eyes as she looked over the edge down at the dangerous outcropping. The team pawed at the ground, fighting the anchoring weight.
“Serena, don’t look down. Step across me.” But the instant he said it, there was a terrifying crunch as the wheel snapped off, sliding the rear-heavy carriage farther down the embankment.
The horses neighed in panic as they were dragged down with the carriage. Serena lost her foothold and screamed as she dangled precariously over the edge of the dashboard. Malcolm held on to the seat rail above him, holding Serena against his chest.
“Climb over me!” he shouted as he lifted his knee to support her. Every muscle in his body ached with the strain of holding on while hauling Serena up over the side of the overturning vehicle. With all the strength she could muster, Serena lifted herself up along his body, and scrambled onto the edge of the disappearing ground.
He felt an immense relief at seeing her to safety. But now he had to rescue himself. If he fell, he would become part of the Highland scenery forever. His arms and shoulders were drained from the effort of hanging on to the seat rail, and his sweaty palms were making the bar too slippery to hold on to much longer.
He brought both hands together and pulled. He lifted his body closer to the edge of the carriage. The horses’ rear legs were tearing up the loose rocks, kicking stones and dirt into Malcolm’s face as he tried to lift himself over the edge.
Suddenly, one after the other, the shafts snapped, jackknifing the carriage and jarring Malcolm’s hold. The team and crippled carriage slid farther down the gully. Vainly, the harnessed horses tried to claw their way out, but the immobilized carriage could not roll up the steep incline.
Malcolm braced for the shattering impact on the rocks below. Only one vision filled his thoughts—Serena.
And then he saw her. The carriage had slowed, caught on a fallen tree trunk. Serena was climbing down the brae, hanging on to bushes and tree branches.
“Serena, no!” he screamed. At worst, she’d fall into the ravine with him, and at best she’d watch him die. But she was driven by pure instinct. She gripped the horse’s harness and unbuckled the trace that strapped its harness to the carriage.
“The reins, Malcolm!” she shouted. “Grab hold of the reins!”
He saw one dangling by his side, but if he let go of the rail to take it, he didn’t think he could hold on.
“Hurry!” she shouted as she went to release the other trace.
Malcolm’s life depended on whether he could reach the reins. His muscles screamed in pain as he used his leg to bring the leather strap closer. Finally, it was close enough for him to reach.
“Now, Malcolm!”
With supreme force of will, he let one hand go of the carriage and gripped the rein. Once the horses were freed from the weight, they were able to climb. The carriage skated out from beneath him down the rock face just as he was being dragged up the cliff.
Stones and loose debris raked his skin, but he would not let go. The horses continued to climb higher up the brae. A sickening crash on the riverbed below filled his ears. When they were finally on level ground, he let go the reins and let the pair run on.
He lay panting on the ground, grimacing at the sharp pain firing throughout his body. But Serena—he had to find out if she was all right.
He clambered to his feet and staggered toward the edge. Below, the carriage had splintered on the rocks. “Serena!”
There was no answer. A feeling of dread drained him. Not since he witnessed the lifeless bodies of his parents and brothers had he felt so much loss. If anything happened to Serena, he’d go mad. “Serena!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.
A voice came from far below. “I’m here!”
Then he saw her, a tiny form leaning on a sapling that angled upward from the slope. So far away. “Are ye hurt?”
“No. Are you?”
The relief of seeing her brought him to his knees. But as the tension and dread wore off, the pain escalated. He took stock of his injuries. He was bleeding from abrasions all along his left side, there was a nasty goose egg developing somewhere on his grit-dusted head, and his arms were killing him. “I’ll live.”
“I love you.” The words floated up through the trees. Malcolm never thought to hear that from the mouth of any woman, let alone Miss Serena Marsh. It filled his body with warmth, and made his heart lighter than the ether. She’d saved his life. And now she’d saved his soul.
“I love ye, too.” He wished she were right there beside him, to be able to take her in his arms and show her what those words meant to him. To see her smile and read her eyes, and prove to her that her vulnerability was safe with him. Damned if the thought of it didn’t take every last bit of pain away!
But now there was the problem of how to get Serena out of the gully. He had no rope and no tools, only a battered body. There was no way of telling how far it was until the road connected with the river once more.
“Stay put,” he called down to her. “I’ll think of a way to get ye up.”
“No, Malcolm,” she responded, her voice nearly muffled over the rushing water. “I have to climb down.”
“What?”
“My father’s medicine is in the wr
eckage below. I have to retrieve it before the river washes it away.”
“Ye’ll do no such damn thing!” He wasn’t about to let her risk her life … again. Beyond the small figure in the blue dress the terrain was rocky, gnarled, and difficult to negotiate. Any false step would result in a death slide.
“I must!”
He held up both hands. “All right. I’ll get the medicine. Just stay where ye are.”
There was no way Malcolm could get Serena out of the gully. He would have to find a way to go in.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Earlington had spent the better part of the day shivering with cold. The stone walls gave off a bitter chill, and though his nightdress had dried, it gave him no protection against the damp, fetid air. The cot smelled of sweat and fear multiplied over the course of decades. Never had he imagined an existence so tortured.
The injury to the back of his head had stopped bleeding, but it left a thick ache in its place. Added to that, worry about Serena plagued him. What if she had been captured? It made him miserable to think of her in a place such as this. But what if they had done unconscionable acts against her? What if they had raped her, or worse—what if they carried out their threat and mutilated her face? Pain pierced his chest and he clutched his heart. Both the pain, and the fear of the pain, locked upon his heart like a steel trap. Many anxious minutes passed while he held a hand to his heart. He grimaced, breathing through the constricting ache. Finally, the pain abated.
He tried to clear his head of the awful thoughts. But awful thoughts were like the foul smell that clung to these ancient stones … there was nothing to take their place.
Perhaps Malcolm had been able to protect her. Perhaps it was not Serena they were after. Maybe the threatening letter had been only a ruse to distract him. Perhaps he had been the real target after all.
But to what end? He could not envision His Royal Highness bowing to the will of his captors just to get an ambassador returned. Parliament would not negotiate with revolutionaries, and the Crown would not be coerced by rebels. Otherwise, the government would be at the mercy of every radical who abducted an official. If he were in London and someone else was in this cell, he would advise the Prime Minister to call the rebels’ bluff.
Of course, that did nothing to console him. But it did clarify his thinking: It was completely up to him to get himself out of this predicament.
Though faint, he heard a sound beyond the thick stone wall. He wasn’t tall enough to see out of the window, so he overturned the waste bucket and placed it below the narrow opening to stand upon.
The window was still too high, but he managed to steal a glance. In the courtyard above, hundreds of men, maybe even a thousand, gathered. Someone, he couldn’t see who, was giving them instructions. He couldn’t make out any of the words, but the speech was punctuated with cheers from the assemblage, which, he noted, was armed with both swords and firearms.
Earlington sat back down. It was a soldiers’ parade, except that these weren’t soldiers. They were militia and mercenaries, just like the one who had abducted him. This group was organizing for its defense.
The turning of the lock reverberated across his chamber. The old man with the white beard appeared in the doorway, flanked by two armed guards.
“Ye’ll put this on,” he said, handing Earlington a shirt and a black woolen kilt. He was secretly grateful for the warm garments. But he would not be manipulated into thanking his captors for giving him the barest of essentials.
“It is an outrage for you to keep me here. I demand that you release me at once.”
“Keep yer breath. Put on the clothes and then follow me. The McCullough will see ye now.”
The frightened horses had galloped over the broken road and into a field. They would have easily run for miles had not an ancient stone dyke cut short their panicked dash.
They seemed miles away as Malcolm hobbled toward them. The grays were still harnessed together, with reins and straps dragging behind them. On one side, they were still dragging a broken shaft that remained wedged in the tug loop. He had to get to them, if for no other reason than for the humane purpose of removing their bindings.
When he finally reached them, the horses were still wide-eyed and their ears were tipped back. He cooed softly as he approached, inspecting them for injuries from all angles. Miraculously, they didn’t seem to be hurt, with the exception of the horse whose rein had pulled him out of the crevasse. The edge of her mouth was torn and bleeding.
He made quick work of removing her bridle and unbuckling the harness. But he kept a hold on both the horses’ halters, and he led them quietly but firmly back to the road.
About a mile from where their carriage had dropped upon the loose rocks, the road had begun to wend downward until it united with the river. Malcolm let the horses drink before turning them back in the direction they came from, this time walking along the riverbed.
Finally, Malcolm came upon the shattered carriage at the foot of the rocky outcropping. He looked up: The crumbling slope was being held up by the remaining valiant trees, but it wouldn’t hold out much longer.
“Serena!”
No answer.
He shielded his eyes from the late-afternoon sun as he scanned the slope. He’d give anything to be able to see a patch of blue fabric or a hint of blond hair.
“Serena!” he yelled louder. His voice reverberated across the canyon.
“Stop yelling,” came a voice behind him. “I’m right here.”
He turned, and there was Serena, smiling at him. He hugged her tightly, filling his arms with the feel of her, and spun her around.
“God be praised! Ye’re all right! How did ye get down here?”
“I climbed down!” she said triumphantly. “Did you take me for a frail milkwater maid?”
His jaw tensed. “Ye’ve far too much confidence for yer own good. Didn’t I tell ye to stay where ye were?”
“You said you were coming to get me.”
“So I was!”
“You took your time about it.”
“I had to fetch the horses.”
“Where did they get to … Norway?”
He pinned his fists to his hips. “I’ve a good mind to kiss ye.”
She smiled at him. “Well, what’s keeping you now?”
He seized her by the arms and snapped her to a hairsbreadth away from his face. A fierce grin cut across his face. “Why do I get the feeling that any road I share with ye will be fraught with danger?”
“Don’t worry,” she said with a wry smile. “I’ll protect you.”
Her lips touched his, and he melted all around her. His arms wrapped around her back as he feasted on her lips. She snaked her arms around his neck, putting his body in full contact with hers. They fit together so perfectly, wholly and in every possible way. What foolishness was it that taught her men wanted only showpieces on their arm? Malcolm not only wanted to keep her all to himself—he wanted to erase every lowly, contemptible man from her memory.
She exhaled contentedly. “My goodness! You are … That was …”
He chuckled. Now he knew how to rob her of speech. “Next time, ye’ll think twice about daring me to love ye.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Being able to live out in the open air was not a gift Serena could boast about.
Malcolm took her downstream to where the rushing water gentled to a brook alongside a forest. It was here that he announced they would set up camp for the night, and a peculiar sort of dread overtook her. For one thing, modesty protested. In London, relieving oneself out of doors was something that only dogs and drunkards did. For another, she was certain there were creeping things and crawling things that came out at night, and she did not want to meet any of them face-to-antennae.
There was very little that could be rescued from the wreckage of their town coach. What wasn’t destroyed was washed away, including their provisions. However, Malcolm had found enough left with which to fashion rudimentary f
ishing equipment, including a net from one of her ruined chemises, which he used to pull a fat salmon from the brook.
“Right,” he began, tossing down the fish onto the ground, “I got dinner. Now you, Miss Marsh, are going to cook it.”
Her eyebrows flew into the air. “I?” She shook her head. “No.”
“I know, too,” he quipped. “Get to work.”
“I’m not a domestic.”
“If ye dinna cook, ye dinna eat.”
The thought of going without food even one more minute was unbearable. “Malcolm, I don’t know how.”
“Start with a fire. And ye’ll build it the Highland way. By yer wits, not yer assets.”
Serena sighed in frustration. She looked around her at the forest, as if she might be able to spot a fireplace or stove nearby.
Malcolm handed her the knife from the sheath strapped to his leg. “Take this. See that dead birch tree over there? Shave off a wee bit of the bark. That’ll be yer tinder.”
Serena gave him a look that she hoped would convey her displeasure. But she went off and did as he said.
She returned a while later and showed him what she’d collected. “Here you go.”
His eyes widened when he saw the pile of bark clutched in both her hands.
“Och, woman, ye only need a wee bit.”
“Well, pardon me, but I have a difficult time quantifying the word wee. Next time, say when.”
He laughed. “Looks like ye stripped the tree bare.”
She held up the knife. “I’d like to strip you bare.”
“Ye won’t be needing that. Just ask me nicely.”
She rolled her eyes heavenward, but the blush on her face confessed a different response.
“Come along.” He grabbed her by the wrist. “Since ye’re such an admirer of the blade, let me put it to another use.”
Secrets to Seducing a Scot Page 17