The Highlander's Stolen Bride

by Melanie George

  “Of your safety.”

  “I barely know him!”

  “Not from what I’ve seen. There’s enough heat between the two of you to set this house ablaze. Since your arrival in London, you have spent more time with Derek than any of the other men who have been desperately trying to get your attention—which, in case you haven’t noticed, has been greatly diminished with Derek continually at your side. The word is that you have been claimed, my dear.”

  Rosalyn took a deep breath. That was what she had feared. She was disturbingly attracted to him, but she could not allow that to cloud her judgment or imperil him.

  “I can’t go. Don’t you see? I won’t involve another person in my problem.”

  Clarisse laid a hand on her shoulder and turned Rosalyn around. “If there is one individual that I would feel secure entrusting with your care, it’s Derek. He won’t allow anything to happen to you. He will find your stepbrother and end his machinations. You could look upon this trip as a new experience. The Highlands are really quite lovely this time of year.”

  The feeling of being trapped pressed in on Rosalyn. “His lordship is an unmarried man, and I am an unmarried female. That precludes us from traveling together.”

  “Do you believe Derek would extend such an invitation were he not prepared to provide you with an appropriate chaperone?”

  “An invitation?” Rosalyn harrumphed. “It sounded more like a demand to my ears.”

  “Derek has never been a man who takes no for an answer,” Clarisse conceded with a shrug.

  A sense of desperation rose up in Rosalyn as she paced to the opposite side of the room and swung around. “Surely there must be some other solution? Something we’re overlooking?” Yet she knew she had exhausted every avenue during the long night without sleep.

  It was either go to Scotland with his lordship and pray he could convince Calder to leave her be, or move from place to place, hoping to outdistance her stepbrother—a prospect she did not relish.

  Clarisse took her hand, sympathy on her face. “Trust me,” she said softly. “You need more protection than I can provide, as proven by last night’s debacle. Derek’s home is like a fortress. His men number in the hundreds. Not even a mouse could squeak by without his notice. Please, my dear, say you’ll go. Neither my heart nor my peace of mind will be appeased until I know you are safe.”

  Rosalyn chewed a corner of her lip, riddled with conflict. She did not wish further worry upon Clarisse. But what of Derek? Did he realize what he was getting himself into? Calder would not stop until his plan had been brought to fruition.

  Rosalyn closed her eyes, worn to the marrow with the turmoil her stepbrother was wreaking on her life. She seemed to move in ever smaller circles to stay out of his reach, and she could not go on like this.

  She had to go, she realized with a sinking heart. What other choice did she have? Calder had found her, and neither Lady Dane nor anyone in her household would be safe until Rosalyn was gone.

  Rosalyn sighed. “You’re right, of course. His lordship has offered me sanctuary; it would be foolish not to accept his kindness.” Temporarily. “I’ll finish packing my things. Please tell Lord Manchester I will be down shortly.”

  Clarisse smiled warmly at her. “You’re making the right decision, my dear. Derek will take good care of you. He won’t let any harm befall you.”

  Rosalyn watched Clarisse leave, her step buoyant now that she believed the problem solved. But Rosalyn knew differently. And as she turned to finish packing her belongings, she wondered, who would protect Derek while he was protecting her?

  Three

  “Y e’ve lost your mind, lad. What could y’ be thinkin’ tae allow this woman tae come tae Castle Gray—and not just any woman, mind y’, but an Englishwoman? ’Twill be the end of all of us. Mark my words.”

  Derek ignored his uncle’s characteristic prophecies of doom. Darius, his father’s only surviving brother, tended to forget that Derek was no longer a child and therefore no longer in need of his guidance.

  Granted, this time his uncle was probably right. Bringing Rosalyn back to his home would undoubtedly cause a stir, and with the current unrest, the last thing he needed was another complication.

  He wasn’t worried about her stepbrother. In fact, he hoped the sod found out where she was. Should Calder—now Lord Westcott—set foot on Derek’s property, the man would promptly find himself footless.

  Derek raised his hand to forestall his uncle from going off on another tear. “Enough, Darius. The girl is coming with us, and that’s the end of the matter.”

  “Why are y’ bein’ so hardheaded? Since when are y’ the type tae be savin’ damsels in distress I’d like tae know? Should the Trelawnys get wind of it, they may think you’ve gone soft.”

  “And is that what you think, Uncle? That I’ve gone soft?”

  “Of course not, lad,” Darius blustered. “Ye’re hard as nails. But I cannae help wondering what good will come of havin’ this English lass in our midst. Y’ remember how hard it was for your mother, God rest her soul.”

  If any laird had been unyielding and uncompromising, it had been Derek’s father. His mother had been the epitome of a gently bred English miss. Two people could not have been from more contradictory backgrounds.

  Derek had often wondered what his mother had seen in William McDougal. His father had more closely resembled a barbarian, with his wild, knotted hair that reached to the middle of his back.

  If that had not been enough to scare off the meek at heart, then the distant promontories that jutted up around Castle Gray, like swords thrusting straight out of hell, would. Most people who visited promptly acquired a sudden need to flee in the other direction.

  His home on the northernmost point of the Highlands was a place no outsider, least of all a woman, wanted to come. The harsh terrain had been no place for his mother, though for a while, she had tried to make it work.

  His parents had loved each other once, but love could not stem the loss that came when they realized they both had mountains the other couldn’t climb.

  That was when the arguments began, and the endless recriminations and bitterness. When Derek’s father began grooming him to take his place as laird, his mother had returned to England, leaving Derek to be shuttled back and forth between two homes—and constantly forced to choose between his parents and his countries.

  To please his mother he had taken his lofty English title and surname, but his life belonged in Scotland. He loved its fierce beauty: the uncompromising landscape, the pristine skies, the harsh weather that could rattle a man down to the bone.

  What would Rosalyn see? Would she find his country barren and distasteful? Or might she view it as he did?

  His questions vanished as the front door of Lady Dane’s town house opened and a vision in a rose-hued day dress stepped out onto the landing, her chin high as though she were being led to the guillotine. She was terrified but would not show it. God, she was fascinating.

  Derek ground his cheroot beneath his boot heel and pushed away from the coach, tamping down the nagging sensation in the pit of his belly that asked him what the hell he was doing. Darius was right. It wasn’t in his nature to concern himself with other people’s troubles; he had enough of his own.

  He could have secured other means for her protection. He had not needed to get directly involved. There were plenty of people who owed him favors, but he had not even considered their help.

  He could already be on his way back home rather than walking up the steps to take hold of Rosalyn’s hand, which trembled slightly beneath his fingertips. Yet with that simple touch and the look of trust in her beautiful blue eyes, Derek knew he had to do this for her. There was no fighting it.

  “Are you ready?” he asked gently.

  Rosalyn hesitated, uncertainty sluicing through her before her concerns were calmed by the look in Derek’s eyes. There was something about his relaxed posture and slight smile that told her that she had nothin
g to fear—except her unusual attraction for him. If she wasn’t careful, she would find herself doing something very foolhardy, like kissing him again.

  Taking a breath, she replied, “I am, my lord. And thank you for your assistance in this…bothersome situation.”

  “Shall we go?”

  “Yes, of course.” Rosalyn turned to Clarisse. “Thank you for all you’ve done.”

  “May your journey find you happier at its end, my dear. You know I will be here to help with whatever you need, whenever you need it.”

  Rosalyn took hold of her hand. “I don’t know what I would have done without you. Had I never taken that first step out of Cornwall, I wouldn’t have met you.”

  “Nor I, you. And that would have been a terrible shame.” Patting Rosalyn’s hand, she said gently, “Now go on with you. I’m sure his lordship is eager to get some ground under him before night falls.”

  “If you see Fancy—”

  “Ease your mind, my dear. I will make sure she knows you’re safe.” She leaned over to whisper, “Trust Derek. He will see you through this.”

  Rosalyn tried to smile. “I will.”

  Clarisse straightened. “Good. Now off with you.” With a sheen of tears in her eyes, her hostess shooed her into the coach.

  Rosalyn continued to look back until Clarisse was no more than a speck in the distance. Her throat closed and she felt on the verge of tears, but crying would solve nothing, and Derek would undoubtedly think her a supreme nuisance.

  “You’ll see her again.”

  Derek sat across from her, looking incredibly large with his tall, broad form taking up most of the seat, and his long legs brushing her skirts each time the coach hit a bump.

  “I know,” Rosalyn replied, hating the waver in her voice. “Will the trip take very long?”

  “About two days.”

  She hadn’t expected such a long journey. She recalled that she had been promised an appropriate chaperone, who did not appear to be with them.

  As though reading her thoughts, Derek remarked, “Once we reached Castle Gray, your needs will be seen to by one of the maids.”

  She would be without another female for two days—two days of overwhelming temptation. Her stomach fluttered and her palms grew clammy whenever Derek was near her—and for two days, he would be very near. Sweet heavens.

  “It’s to be just the two of us?”

  “No, my uncle is with us. He hates all forms of transportation other than his own horse, no matter how grueling the journey.”

  Rosalyn wished she had the freedom to ride herself; it had always soothed her.

  She started as Derek took hold of her right hand. “What have you done here?” Gently, he brushed a finger across a tender spot on her palm.

  “It’s nothing.” She tried to disengage her hand, but he would not let go. “It’s really very silly. I was practicing my parries and thrusts in my room last night.”

  “You fence?”

  Rosalyn had hoped he would accept her answer and move on. “Not exactly. Rather I was practicing with a fire poker.”

  “I see,” he said, trying not to smile. “And do you do this poker fencing often?”

  Rosalyn glared at him. “No, I do not. But I must have some method of defense against my stepbrother.”

  He lost the battle to keep his grin at bay, which made her want to toss something at him. The man could be utterly maddening.

  Her annoyance was diverted as his thumb began to stroke back and forth across the top of her hand, making her skin tingle before his fingers slowly slipped from hers.

  Rosalyn could still feel his caress as she settled back against the velvet squabs and forced her attention to the scenery passing her window.

  As the coach traveled farther from London, the overcrowded streets and jumble of buildings began to fade into the wild beauty of the countryside, creating a feeling of wistful longing inside her.

  She missed Meadows Cove, where she and Fancy had spent so many lazy afternoons watching fishing boats bob on the windswept tide, sitting in the shadows of the old gnarled oak with their toes dug into the cool sand, watching the sandpipers dashing among the willowy reeds while concocting grand stories about buried treasures in the caves that dotted the cliffs.

  These made-up tales came replete with handsome buccaneers riding the waves to shore, or dastardly pirates seeking shelter from the regulation men who sought to end their illegal trade.

  It was images of pirates that occupied Rosalyn’s mind as her eyelids slowly drifted shut—pirates with eyes bluer than a Caribbean sea, and hair dark as midnight.

  Scottish pirates wearing kilts and little else.

  Derek watched Rosalyn fight the pull of her own exhaustion until she finally fell into a deep sleep.

  He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had so fully captured his attention. Or aroused him. But he was Rosalyn’s protector now, and he couldn’t take advantage of her under the guise of helping her.

  Even the most licentious of his fellow Pleasure Seekers, Hunter Manning, would not do such a thing. There were many reasons why Hunter was called “Notorious”; his ability to slip in and out of any woman’s boudoir without notice was the least of them.

  Derek doubted there was a woman alive who would ever snare the rogue. He was well versed in the tricks that could land a fellow in a state of matrimony, yet that never stopped females from throwing themselves at him.

  Derek would be damned if he could figure out his friend’s appeal. The man was cynical and didn’t trust women as a general rule; he considered them wolves in fashionable clothing. Derek doubted there was a woman in existence who could rock his friend back on his heels, but he hoped he was around if it ever happened.

  Nevertheless, none of them would take advantage of a vulnerable female. And despite Rosalyn’s brave face, she was a scared girl in an untenable position. Derek was impressed with how well she had held up. Another woman might have barricaded herself in her room in a constant swoon, jumping at every noise. Not Rosalyn.

  Derek smiled as he remembered the sight that greeted him when he barged into Rosalyn’s bedroom, half expecting to find her engaged in a scuffle with another kidnapper.

  Waist-length blond hair swung like a pendulum against her slender back as she bounced up and down on the lid of a trunk, bits of clothing and frilly undergarments spilling over the edge.

  But what had left Derek momentarily speechless was the vision she made when she stood up, her beautiful face flushed from exertion and her body garbed in a demure but shape-revealing day dress.

  The sight had nearly stopped his heart. He had wanted to gather her in his arms and do all the things that had been tormenting his mind since laying eyes on her—touch her all over, make her hum with desire. But she was a lady, sweet, guileless, and unschooled in the ways of men. Yet how he longed to teach her…

  Perhaps what was even more amazing about her was that she had no idea how glorious she looked. If he asked her if she thought herself beautiful, she would scoff—but no man who laid eyes on her would miss it.

  Yet during the few weeks that Derek had known her, he had found himself looking beyond the beauty on the outside and enjoying what was on the inside more: the simple pleasure of her company, the musical cadence of her laugh, her gentle wit. He had been entranced—and continued to be.

  The coach began to slow, and Derek glanced out the window, realizing how much time had passed. The sun had begun to set in a fiery red ball sinking below the horizon as they came to a stop in front of the George and Dragon, a quaint inn with an ample supply of ale and an even more ample supply of barmaids. He had made this stop frequently over the years, and while the idea of a warm female in his bed was a tempting one, he dismissed it.

  “We’ve arrived, m’lord,” his driver bellowed as he swung open the coach door.

  “Quiet, man,” Derek growled, nodding toward Rosalyn’s sleeping form. He knew she hadn’t gotten much rest the night before; he had heard her pac
ing her room. Nearly a half dozen times he had caught himself heading toward the door, wanting nothing more than to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right.

  “Sorry, y’r lordship,” the driver said in a whisper. “Would y’ like me tae get a man tae carry the lady tae her room?”

  “What am I?” Derek muttered stiffly, sweeping past his driver with Rosalyn held snugly against his chest.

  He frowned at how insubstantial she felt. He had not missed the fact that she had grown thinner; he needed to get a few of his cook’s good meals in her.

  He entered the tavern and was promptly greeted by the proprietor, who smiled broadly as he waddled over to him. “Ah, your lordship. So glad to have you back. Will you be staying long?”

  “Just the night.”

  Disappointment was evident on the proprietor’s face. “And who is the lovely young miss?”

  Though Derek should have been prepared for the question, surprisingly, he wasn’t. “She’s a relative in need of a quiet place to rest.”

  The innkeeper scratched his jaw and squinted an eye at Rosalyn. “A relative, you say?” The fact that she looked nothing like Derek was not lost on the portly man, but he wisely kept his thoughts to himself. “I’ve got a perfect spot for your, er…?”

  “Cousin,” Derek supplied without missing a beat.

  “Aye. Your cousin. Will you be needing separate rooms, then?”

  “Yes, two rooms.”

  The innkeeper nodded and trundled up the stairs. At the end of the hallway, he threw open a door. “There y’ go.” He waved Derek inside. “The best room in the house.”

  “Best” seemed a loose term as Derek glanced around the small space, furnished with only the barest necessities. He wanted Rosalyn to be comfortable.

  “I’d like a tub and hot water brought up. My cousin might wish for a bath should she awaken.”

  “I’ll get right on it, your lordship. Your room is right through there.” He gestured to an adjoining door, and Derek wasn’t sure whether to thank the man for making his life easier or throttle him for putting temptation within his grasp. “Might there be anything else you require?”