Secrets to Seducing a Scot

by Michelle Marcos

  “Yes,” she lied. She was not about to leave Malcolm behind, even at his own insistence.

  They crept up toward the castle on the forest side, hidden from sight by the undergrowth. It slowed their steps, but they were able to approach undetected. Malcolm’s footsteps made no noise, even to Serena, who was only a few feet behind. He was clever enough to step only on earth or moss, avoiding the fallen leaves that crunched under Serena’s feet. Despite her pervasive fear of spiders, Serena gave them only a cursory thought. She was consumed with the hope that her father was just beyond the thick gray stone walls, and with the fear of anything happening to either of the two men dearest to her in the whole world.

  Malcolm halted in mid-stride, tensing. Some sound pricked his ears, and he stilled to hear it. Serena’s heart raced in her chest. Suddenly she heard it, too. It sounded like distant thunder, low in the sky, but it grew louder and stronger, until she felt it vibrate the ground underneath her feet.

  “The soldiers are on the move,” he said. “They’re marching out.”

  Serena gripped his arm. “What if they take Father with them?”

  His jaw tensed. “Come on. We’ve got to get a look.”

  They left the safety of the woods and ran to the stone dyke that ran along the far end of the adjacent sheep pasture. Crawling along behind the low wall, they reached a good vantage point. From here, they could get a better look at what was happening at the door of the castle.

  Ramh Droighionn Castle was a fortress built about five hundred years earlier. It comprised a high square keep surrounded by thick walls, which encased a courtyard in the center.

  From the portcullis emerged a line of armed soldiers four men thick, who followed in formation behind a cavalry of regimental leaders. On and on the line continued, hundreds and hundreds of men marching off to war. The infantry held lit torches in the air, making it appear as if the castle was spewing fire from its fanged mouth. It was a terrifying sight.

  “It’s hard to tell if the ambassador is with them. I have to find out for certain if he is still inside.” She made a move to follow him, but he halted her. “No. Ye stay here. No one will see ye behind this dyke.”

  “I want to—”

  “If I’m no’ back in fifteen minutes, find yer way back to the horses and return to Fort Augustus. Is that clear?”

  She was a jangle of emotions. She wanted her father back, but she didn’t want Malcolm to go. Her entire relationship with Malcolm flashed through her mind in an instant. At what point had she stopped being afraid of him and started being afraid for him?

  Her eyebrows tented in worry. “Be careful.”

  He placed a reassuring kiss on her mouth. “Tell that to whoever stands against me.”

  She watched him run silently across the meadow. He jumped over the stone dyke on the far end, and then he disappeared.

  The seconds slowed to a crawl, and the minutes dragged by. Serena’s eyes watered as she scanned the sight of the forbidding castle for a sign of her beloved. Her anxiety made her lose all sense of time. Malcolm could have been gone only a moment, or the unending moments could have swallowed him up entirely.

  A shadow shifted in the distance, and she saw a man’s body being dumped over the stone dyke into the sheep pasture. It landed with a thud on the ground and lay lifeless. Malcolm! Her heart was ready to beat its last. And then she saw a man jump over the dyke and run straight toward her.

  The moon was nowhere to be found, but she would recognize him even in utter darkness. “Malcolm!” She threw her arms around him and squeezed. “Thank God you’re all right.”

  “Yer father’s inside,” he panted. “He’s alive. They’re keeping him in one of the dungeon cells.”

  “Oh!” she breathed, joy fanning into her chest.

  “I also found out that the British have marched on Inverness. McCullough’s gone to engage them in battle.”

  “Can we go get my father now? Is it safe?”

  Malcolm shook his head. “The castle has reinforcements. McCullough has kept reserves.”

  “How many?”

  “About a hundred.”

  “A hundred men? How are we going to get my father out?”

  “I’ll figure out a way. Ye stay here.”

  “The hell I will!” Serena’s curse word surprised even herself. “I’m not going to be left behind again. We will get my father out.”

  “I can’t allow it. If anything should happen to ye—”

  “Malcolm,” she said forcefully. “You are here because I need you. But I can’t let you go in there alone. Now you need me.”

  She watched his face transform as he carefully weighed her proposal. “All right. But do only as I say.”

  She raised her pistol and cocked it. “As long as you say it nicely.”

  They ran across the meadow. Serena saw a lad lying unconscious on the ground with his hands bound behind him and a cloth in his mouth. A few sheets of paper danced in the wind beside him. “Who on earth is that?”

  He waved away her question. “Just the obliging page who told me what I needed to know. Don’t worry about him. When he wakes up, he’ll have a hell of a headache, but he’ll be fine.”

  They stole through the raised portcullis and darted behind an unhitched wagon situated just inside the courtyard. A wheel, broken in half, leaned against the crippled carriage. The oil lamps hanging from the walls around the keep cast a yellow glow on the enclosure. A couple of lads—pages, she assumed—were glumly walking around picking up rubbish and other debris after the regiments marched off.

  “Dougal,” one of them called out, but got no answer. “Dougal!”

  Serena’s heart started pounding. He was no doubt calling the unconscious boy from whom Malcolm had extracted information.

  The ginger-haired lad came right toward them. “Dougal, if ye’re hiding behind the carriage so ye can draw yer dirty pictures again, I’ll tell the captain in the dining hall. He’ll give ye what for.”

  Malcolm picked up a bone from the ground and tossed it through the portcullis. The thud distracted the boy, who walked outside calling his friend.

  Soundlessly, Malcolm grabbed Serena by the wrist and pulled her out from behind the wagon. They ran to the shadowed crevice behind one of the smaller baileys.

  Just then, an armed soldier walked past them. Malcolm darted his head out to follow the man’s movements. He went through the courtyard and stood his post, guarding the entryway. Malcolm ground his teeth.

  “The boy told me that the dungeon lies through that arched door in the keep,” he whispered. “We’re going to run for it.” Malcolm waited for the sentry to turn his head. “Now!”

  Malcolm held Serena by the hand as they ran headlong toward the opening in the keep. They were confronted by stairs going up, and another set going down. Malcolm took the downward stairs, hugging the cold stone wall as he tread silently. Serena could feel a dark sense of foreboding as she descended to what she knew was a dungeon. If they were caught down here, they’d be surely trapped with no other way out.

  The stairs yawned onto a room, a shaft of light glowing on the ancient stone walls. Malcolm stole a quick look within and saw two men sitting upon stools in the vestibule to the dungeon. Behind them was a thick metal gate. The opening to the prison cells.

  He turned to her and made a gesture to stay still. He pulled his sgian dubh from his sporran and ran to the bigger of the two guards. He plunged the six-inch blade into the man’s thigh, and the man screamed. Malcolm pulled the sgian achlais from under his arm and brandished it at the other man, but the guard was ready for him. He swung his sword at Malcolm’s dagger, knocking the weapon from his hand. Malcolm swung a fist at the guard’s face and jumped on him to wrestle the sword from his grasp. With his free hand, the guard punched Malcolm in the ribs, making him curl sideways. Still, Malcolm refused to let go of the guard’s sword fist. A taller man than the guard, Malcolm pushed him backward and wedged him against the stone wall. Malcolm succeeded in wres
ting the sword from his hand, but he left himself vulnerable to the meaty fist that came swinging at him. Disoriented, Malcolm stumbled backward and the man got in another blow to his face. He swung again, getting Malcolm in the abdomen. Malcolm collapsed to the floor. The man came at him, and when he bent to lay hands on Malcolm’s back, Malcolm grabbed hold of the man’s ankle and yanked on it, sending him sprawling to the floor. Malcolm fell upon him and began to rain blows on the man’s head.

  The other guard finally succeeded in extracting the dagger from his bleeding thigh. Just as Malcolm’s opponent finally lost consciousness, the stabbed guard lifted the bloody knife high and staggered toward Malcolm’s unprotected back.

  Serena stepped in the path of the armed man and pointed the muzzle straight at his face. “Touch him and you die.”

  The man’s already pained features contorted into one of shock at seeing not only a second assailant, but a woman, no less, with a gun. Slowly, he lowered the bloody knife.

  “Drop it,” she said.

  The man hesitated.

  Serena took a step toward him, her determined scowl blackening. “You’ve already got one hole too many in your body. How would you like another?”

  The man opened his fingers, and the dagger clanged on the stone floor.

  Malcolm stood behind her and took the gun from her steady hand. He aimed the pistol at the guard. “Open the gate.”

  The guard raised his bloodied hands. “I can’t.”

  “Now!” Malcolm yelled, his scream echoing through the chamber.

  The man quaked. “I haven’t got the key.”

  “Where is it?”

  A voice came from beyond the barred gate. “I have it.”

  Malcolm and Serena turned to look. It was an old man with a white beard that reached halfway down his bony chest. Several large iron keys dangled from a ring in his hand.

  The guard chuckled. “What are ye going to do, now, eh? Key’s inside. Ye’ll never get it out.”

  Their failure flashed red in Serena’s mind. So close, only to fall short now. With the key to opening the gate on the other side of it, they could not get her father out. And the pistol had only one shot. Even if they did succeed in shooting the old man, the key would still be out of their grasp.

  Malcolm stepped behind the guard and put the pistol to the man’s head. “Open the gate, old man, or we’ll shoot yer friend.”

  The old man’s voice rasped. “He ain’t m’friend. How do I know ye won’t kill me next?”

  “We’re here for Commissioner Marsh. Let him out, and we’ll trouble ye no more.”

  The guard continued to chuckle. “Ye’re wasting yer time. Guthrie’s not aboot to let a prisoner escape.”

  Malcolm met the old man’s gaze. Malcolm was at a disadvantage. He knew it. The guard knew it. Guthrie knew it. Malcolm had gone as far as he could. His success or failure was in the hands of the old man Guthrie.

  Serena walked up to the iron gate. She reached into the pouch that dangled from her belt and pulled out the bottle of digitalis.

  “Sir,” she whispered, her eyes beginning to water, “all I ask is that you give him this. It’s medicine … for his weak heart. Please.”

  The guard chuckled some more until Malcolm thumped him in the temple with the barrel.

  Guthrie’s mouth turned down at the edges. He eyed the brown bottle in Serena’s hand. His gaze lifted to Serena’s face.

  “Give it to him yerself.” He put the iron key into the lock and turned it, its mechanism grinding and clanking within. The door opened on its hinge. Serena gasped, glancing at him with something between suspicion and gratitude, then flew inside.

  The dungeon was a warren of small cells, each enclosed by stone walls and an oaken door with iron bars. The air was polluted with the smell of unwashed bodies and human excrement. She ran down the narrow passageway, looking into every cell. Each one was occupied, but not by her father.

  “Father!” she cried, despair darkening her voice.

  “Serena?” came her father’s voice.

  She flew to the cell the sound came from. “Father!” Inside was Earlington Marsh, looking drawn and pale, but miraculously alive. The sight of him tore sobs from her.

  “Poppet! I thought I would never lay eyes on you again.” Tears streamed down his face as he put his hands through the bars to stroke her hair. “What on earth are you doing here? How did you find me?”

  Guthrie walked up behind Serena. He put the key into the lock and opened the door. Earlington emerged and pulled Serena into his arms. Serena hugged her father so tightly that the bottle nearly slipped from her trembling fingers.

  Malcolm came up behind them, urging the guard ahead of him. He shoved the wounded man into Earlington’s cell, and the man stumbled to the floor with a grimace. Malcolm took the key from Guthrie and locked the guard inside.

  Earlington put a hand out to Guthrie. “Thank you. I’m more grateful than you can ever know.”

  Guthrie shook it. “Remember what I told ye. And if ye get to talk to the Prince, tell him that we wish to end the feud. The soil of our country should never be watered by the blood of its own children.”

  Earlington nodded, squeezing the old man’s hand.

  “Ambassador,” said Malcolm. “We must away. Now.”

  The three of them ran out of the dungeon and up the stairs to the courtyard. Malcolm led the way, stopping at the arched door. He glanced outside. The pages were gone, but the sentry was in the center of the courtyard. There was no way they would be able to run across undetected. They had to sneak back the way they came, creeping behind the small bailey.

  They waited until the sentry’s back was turned, and then darted across to the shadows behind the bailey. Just as they were about to sneak out past the broken wagon, the dungeon guard emerged from the arched doorway, his face bloodied from Malcolm’s beating.

  “A prisoner’s escaped. Lower the portcullis! Lower it now!”

  From a tiny window above the archway, a man rattled to life and began to lower the heavy wood-and-metal grille.

  Malcolm shouted. “Run!”

  Serena and her father took off hand in hand. They got halfway to the portcullis when Earlington’s hand slipped from Serena’s. She turned to look. He was doubled over, clutching his chest.

  “Father! Malcolm, help!”

  Metal screeched against stone as the portcullis continued to descend. Malcolm lifted Earlington into his arms. Thinking quickly, Serena grabbed the broken wagon wheel and wedged the arc of metal and wood underneath the opening.

  Serena was already outside, but Malcolm was running as fast as he could carrying the full-grown man in his arms. The heavy door lowered to the level of the wagon wheel and slowed as it made contact.

  “Hurry!” she shouted. The wheel would hold the portcullis, but only for a few seconds.

  Malcolm reached the gate and threw Earlington under the opening. But the sentry laid his hands on Malcolm and tossed him to the ground.

  “Malcolm!” A sense of alarm froze her blood. She realized with dismay that she no longer had possession of the pistol. Malcolm had taken it from her in the dungeon.

  The sentry, a large man, had Malcolm pinned to the ground facedown, unable to reach for the gun wedged in the waistband of his kilt.

  The spokes of the wagon wheel splintered as the weight of the portcullis bore down. The wheel would snap at any minute.

  “Malcolm, hurry!”

  Malcolm’s hand connected with the small dirk wedged in his hose. He unsheathed the knife and rammed it into the man’s calf. Screaming, the man jumped off him. Malcolm crawled out from under him and through the opening under the teeth of the portcullis, a single moment before the wagon wheel shattered.

  A cluster of soldiers reached the arched entry. “Raise the portcullis!” they shouted to the man in the room above the archway.

  Serena ignored the impotent shouts. She knelt beside her father, swiftly pulled out the bottle from her pouch, and poured a
swallow of it in her father’s mouth.

  “Take this, Father. The pain will pass,” she said, the confidence in her voice hollow but the hope strong.

  Through his twisted expression, Earlington swallowed the bitter draft. He gasped for breath, and within seconds his heartbeat returned to an even rhythm.

  Slowly, the portcullis lifted from its groove.

  “Time to go,” shouted Malcolm. “I’ll carry yer father. Just move!”

  Serena led them back across the sheep pasture. By the time they reached the forest, the soldiers were on their trail. Their escape was downhill, which gave them extra speed. Soon they found the horses they had hidden in the clearing. Malcolm helped Serena and Earlington onto one horse, and then he jumped on the other.

  They left the soldiers behind as their horses leapt into flight.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Earlington Marsh gazed out of the window onto English soil. British soil.

  The morning sun peeked through the clouds, warming the gentlefolk below as they went to church. Newcastle ladies underneath ornate parasols strolled through the park, accompanied by well-dressed gentlemen clicking their walking sticks on the pavement. And though he was far from the nightmarish experience of being confined to a Scottish dungeon, the scene of bustling tranquility on the streets below did nothing to gladden his heart.

  Earlington was staying as a guest of Lord Torrence Patterson, a Member of Parliament and friend, who insisted that Earlington recuperate from his ordeal under Lord Patterson’s personal care. Earlington was only too happy to accept, especially since he did not feel well enough to journey all the way to London just yet.

  He heard a knock on the door. A footman entered.

  “A General Frobisher here to see you, sir.”

  “Thank you. Please send him in.”

  Moments later a uniformed army officer was escorted into the study.

  General Frobisher was a man of singularly hard looks, with a slather of brown hair and determined brown eyes. A man of imposing breadth, even without the epaulets and gold braiding, he had a soldier’s bearing. He carried his plumed bicorn in the crook of his arm, and he moved with great purpose, as if he were always walking against the wind.