Her Outlaw

by Geralyn Dawson

  He thought of the orphanage with regret. He’d failed in his mission, but he’d put his faith in the letters he’d sent yesterday. He knew that the others—the three Texans who’d been like brothers to him—would step in to take up the slack.

  He had a longer memory of his night with Emma. In his mind’s eye, he saw her lying in his bed, sated and sleeping. Now there was an image to take to one’s grave. The smile on his face widened as he reached for his gun.

  As the coach rolled to a halt a voice rang out, “Stand and deliver.”

  Stand and deliver? Dair snorted at the dated line. Who was out there, a century-old highwayman? More likely a fifteen-year-old boy, judging from the lack of depth to his voice. Probably lads on a dare. Foolish boys, he thought. With mischief like this, someone could end up dead.

  From outside the coach, he heard horses neighing. The driver began cursing.

  “Drop the gun!” cautioned a voice.

  A familiar voice.

  No. Surely not. The pain must be affecting his hearing.

  “Driver, climb down. No, not this side. The other. Away from me.” Then, “You, in the coach. Throw out your weapons.”

  It was her. Dair lurched forward, shoved open the door, and stuck his head and shoulders out of the coach.

  She sat astride an animal more nag than horse. She wore a boy’s trousers and shirt, and she carried a Colt revolver in one hand and a Bowie knife in the other. In his pained fog, he recalled she was an excellent shot. Maybe she’d put him out of his misery. “Emma?”

  Even as he spoke her name, his speed of forward motion caused the pressure in his head to explode into debilitating agony. Nausea swirled in Dair’s stomach. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his legs lost the ability to support him. He tumbled from the coach onto the ground.

  The last thing he heard before losing himself in the pain was Emma Tate’s sigh of disgust. “Get up, MacRae. I haven’t shot you yet.”

  THAT’S WHEN THINGS WENT wrong. Climbing down from the sorry excuse of a horse she’d rented, she stared down at the man sprawled on the ground and nudged him with her boot. At least he was still breathing. “You weren’t supposed to fall down before I so much as touched you.”

  Then she shot a glare toward the driver. “What’s wrong with him, Charlie?”

  The cowering driver dragged his gaze off her Colt long enough to lower his hands and asked, “You know my name?”

  “Yes.” She sighed in frustration, then lied, “Jake Kimball sent me.”

  “To rob his own coach?”

  “It’s a joke. What’s wrong with Mr. MacRae?”

  “I don’t know, ma’am.” Charlie-the-driver shrugged. “He didn’t say much when he came out to meet me this morning. I did notice he was rubbing his head, though.”

  Was he drunk? Emma leaned over him and sniffed. She smelled no sign of alcohol mixed in with his usual sandalwood scent. The appealing fragrance triggered a memory of the man rising naked above her, but Emma quickly shoved it away.

  He groaned as she squatted down beside him and felt his forehead with the back of her hand. No fever. She tested the pulse in his neck. Steady and strong. “Was he ill yesterday?”

  The driver shrugged. “He didn’t have much to say, ma’am. I can’t say I noticed anything peculiar.”

  Emma frowned down at Dair for a moment, then touched his shoulder and tried to shake a response from him. He did let out another little groan which she found reassuring. She’d been around a lot of sickness over the years, but she’d never seen anything like this. She didn’t want him to die. Not until she had the chance to kill him, anyway.

  “Well, first things first,” she murmured. Reaching out, she began to search his pockets. When her fingers brushed against a familiar gold chain, she smiled with satisfaction.

  Emma pulled her necklace from Dair MacRae’s pocket, then slipped it over her head and around her neck, back where it belonged. Rising, she braced her hands on her hips, stared down at the prone man, and pondered her options.

  She had her necklace back. She could just wash her hands of the sorry bounder and head back to Chatham Park. Back to Texas, for that matter. It’s what she should do, probably. He deserved no more. She should just climb back on her horse and ride on. Never mind that she’d be leaving him lying helpless and vulnerable in the middle of the road. He’d left her lying helpless and vulnerable, hadn’t he? Was the middle of the road a worse place for that to happen than his bed? Not from her point of view, it wasn’t.

  And yet, Emma couldn’t quite find it in herself to kick the man when he was down. Either literally or figuratively. Exhaling a heavy sigh, she said, “Help me get him into the coach.”

  The driver hemmed and hawed and backed away. “I don’t know, ma’am. What if he’s sick? I don’t wanna catch nothin’.”

  Calmly, Emma reached for her gun belt and drew the Colt once again. Taking aim at the driver, she said, “Pick him up.”

  “I thought this was just a joke.”

  “Not anymore.”

  Dair was deadweight as Emma and a visibly disgruntled Charlie struggled to lift him back into the coach. Emma wished she could direct the driver to take MacRae to the nearest physician while she went on about her business, but she didn’t dare trust the man at this point. She couldn’t trust any man, for that matter. Well, except for her father, her uncle. Mari’s Luke. Maybe her younger brothers. And they were all on the other side of the ocean. Thank goodness.

  Most infuriating of all, Emma realized she was worried to death about the blackguard. “Don’t you dare die on me, Dair MacRae. I want the pleasure of killing you myself.”

  When she caught Charlie eyeing her rented horse speculatively, she snapped, “Don’t even think about it. You’re going to drive us back to the village to the physician’s office.”

  “But that town doesn’t have a doctor. I’ve a lady friend who lives there, so that’s how I know. If you want a doctor, you’ll have to go all the way to the next town.”

  “How far is that?”

  “From here? Probably a two hour drive by coach.”

  So far. Emma’s teeth tugged at her bottom lip as she gazed at Dair worriedly. As she watched, his brow creased and his face stretched in a grimace. “Dair?”

  Nothing.

  “Tie my horse to the back, then drive us as fast as you can to the doctor.” Emma didn’t know what else to do.

  Once the coach was on the move, she tried to spend her time looking out the window. She’d never traveled this particular road before. She might see some unique and unusual sights if she kept a close watch. At the very least, she’d be able to give her students a thorough description of the area during their geography lesson.

  Instead her gaze kept drifting back to the man slumped against the seat across from her. She hated him. She did. She truly did. Nonetheless, he looked so pitiful she couldn’t stand it, and she switched seats, sat beside him, and lifted his head into her lap. Almost against her will, her fingers stroked his thick, silky hair and smoothed away the creases at his temples.

  He appeared to be in pain. She wished he’d open his eyes. She wished they weren’t out in the middle of nowhere far away from a doctor’s help. “What’s wrong with you, Dair?” she murmured. “How can I help you?”

  “Don’t stop,” he mumbled into her lap.

  Her hand froze midstroke, her thigh muscles beneath his head went tense.

  “Please, don’t stop.”

  Her fingers curled into his hair all ready to pull. But something in his voice—a note of pleading pain—caused her to hesitate. “What’s wrong with you, Dair?”

  “Head. Hurts.”

  Emma continued to pet him. She’d do that much for a dog, she decided, making the excuse her pride demanded. This was basic human kindness. She’d do this much for anybody. That’s the way she’d been raised.

  It’s not like she was enjoying having his head in her lap or anything, because she wasn’t. Truly. It was difficult to be
near him. Hard to touch him. Each time she did, she was reminded of what a fool she’d been. She’d loved touching him. Thrilled at being touched by him. She burned with embarrassment at the memory of it. “You’d better get better so I can hurt you, MacRae.”

  “Mmmm,” he responded.

  The coach continued to move forward, Emma continued to stroke, and Dair continued to lie quietly in her lap as both minutes and miles rolled by. From time to time she checked his pulse, his body temperature, her watch. Time crawled in circumstances like this. The half hour they traveled seemed more like an hour and a half.

  The change occurred slowly, so slowly that Emma almost missed it. It was more a difference in the air than in the way he rested, and it took Emma a moment to figure out what it was.

  “You’re better.” She shoved him off her lap, then scrambled into the opposite seat.

  Dair grimaced as he sat up. “So I wasn’t dreaming. You really are here. And you’re wearing pants?” He paused a moment, winced, then added, “Emma, did you hold up my coach?”

  “Yes I did,” she snapped. “I got what I came for, too.”

  Dair frowned, then reached into his pocket. “Well, hell.”

  “Are you sick, MacRae? What happened to you?”

  “You stole the necklace.”

  “Excuse me? I stole the necklace?” Rage, hot and volatile, bubbled up inside her like lava. Drawing her gun, she demanded, “Are you recovered, MacRae? Tell me now so that I can get on with killing you.”

  Dair eyed the gun, then the light in her eyes. “My thinking is slow right now, so you’ll forgive me if I’m confused.”

  “I’m not forgiving you anything.”

  “All right, then. Just let me see if I have this straight. You followed me in order to reclaim your necklace and shoot me.”

  “Stabbing you is an option, too. After I cut off various appendages, that is.”

  Dair grimaced and rested his hands over his lap. “I never realized you were so vicious.”

  “And I didn’t realize you were such a villain.”

  Dair leaned his head against the seat back and closed his eyes. “Should I be grateful I still have all my body parts?”

  “Definitely.” He still looked pale, Emma thought. Concern battled with anger inside her. She appeased both by asking in a snotty tone of voice, “So, are you going to die or what?”

  It took him awhile to respond, and Emma’s stomach clenched. His mouth quirked. “Eventually. We all do. Although, my demise is evidently not at this particular moment unless you have a hand in the process. While you’ve been quite convincing with your threats, I doubt you’ll actually follow through—”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t be so certain if—”

  “—once I explain why I stole the necklace.”

  “—I were…what?”

  “Aren’t you curious about why I stole your beloved jewel and left you lying naked in my bed following the most thrilling night of my life?”

  The most thrilling? A shiver danced up her spine.

  Emma almost fell for it, but then she remembered that he was a liar, a thief, a rogue, a blackguard, a cad, and undoubtedly another dozen similar monikers not presently popping to mind. She cocked the gun. “Whether I’m curious or not doesn’t really matter. I can’t trust anything that comes out of your mouth.”

  She could see in his eyes that he didn’t like that. When speculation replaced irritation and his gaze dropped to focus on her mouth, she shook her head. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “I haven’t stopped thinking about it, Texas.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Do you believe in fate, Emma Tate?”

  She shrugged, unwilling to engage him in any more conversation. Doing so would only encourage him, make him think he’d stirred her curiosity. Never mind that he’d succeeded. Pride wouldn’t allow her to let him know it.

  “I do,” he continued. “I believe fate brought you and me together. Fate and perhaps the mystical power of a mysterious engraved ruby.”

  Mystical power? Emma about chewed her tongue in order to prevent herself from asking him to elaborate.

  And he didn’t, the bounder. He just sat there with his eyes closed, relaxed as a cat sleeping in sunshine, totally ignoring both her and the fact that she still had a gun trained on him.

  Emma decided she’d never met another human being as annoying as Alasdair MacRae.

  After a five minute or longer silence during which she fantasized about taking her knife to him, toe by toe, he finally spoke. “So, where are we going? Back to Chatham Park?”

  “No. To the nearest physician. I thought you were dying. It’s unsanitary to leave corpses beside the road, and it’s my understanding that in small towns, physicians also often serve as morticians.”

  Dair, the bastard, started laughing. “Definitely a vicious streak. I’ll have to remember that.”

  The sound of his laughter grated on Emma’s nerves, and in that moment, she wanted away from the man. Far away. She rapped on the window and called to the driver. “Stop. Let me out.”

  “Is he dead?” came the reply.

  “Not yet,” Dair called back.

  “Might not be long, though,” she added. “Stop the horses, Charlie. I’m leaving.”

  The coach began to slow and Dair casually propped his feet on the seat across from him. Next to her. Blocking her exit. “That won’t stop me.”

  “I never thought it would. I’m simply stretching my legs, getting comfortable while I tell you the story of Roslin of Strathardle.”

  Roslin of Strathardle? How did he know about her? Emma shot him a look. He studied his fingertips as if he hadn’t a worry in the world.

  He knew he had her, of course. The villain. He didn’t say a word when the coach rolled to a stop and Charlie climbed down from his perch and opened the door. “Ma’am?”

  It hurt, but Emma grumbled, “I’ve changed my mind.”

  Charlie opened his mouth, but apparently thought better of complaining when Emma shifted her gun. He nodded, shut the door, and moments later, their journey resumed.

  The bastard had the good sense not to make her wait this time. After rolling his tongue around in his mouth, he said, “I believe I told you that I was born in Texas. I never knew my father, but I’d like to tell you about my mother. She was a Scot. Her name was Roslin and she grew up in Strathardle Glen.”

  Emma reached to hold her pendant. “You think your mother gave us our necklaces?”

  “That’s a tough one.” Dair rubbed the back of his neck. “While I do believe in fate, I’m not so certain about ghosts. My mother died when I was a child.”

  Emma leaned away from him. “No. I don’t believe…”

  “I don’t know what I think about that. What I do know is that I recognize the engraving on your ruby. It has something to do with my family.”

  She stared at him long and hard before giving her head a shake. “You’re lying. You’re a liar.”

  “Yes, it’s a fair accusation. However, I’m not lying about this. I’ve seen a similar carving before, and I know that it’s something important. Think about it, Emma. You and your sisters received your necklaces from a woman named Roslin of Strathardle.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “We had you investigated.” Ignoring Emma’s outraged gasp, he continued, “It’s too coincidental not to mean something. Jake with his interest in the emerald and—”

  “Why did he steal Kat’s necklace?”

  “That’s his story to tell, not mine. I will say this, however. After meeting Kat, I believe she’s destined to become his wife.”

  “You think she’ll marry him?” she asked, thinking of the bride hunt.

  “I do. And the two of them will make a family with the children left to his care.”

  Emma’s thoughts drifted back to the night when she and her sisters were given their necklaces. It was shortly before Emma married Casey, and the three McBride sisters had decide
d to act like McBride Menaces one last time by visiting Fort Worth’s red light district, Hell’s Half Acre, and having their palms read. Instead of Fort Worth’s own Madam Valentina, they were met by a beautiful, ethereal woman who called herself Roslin of Strathardle. She read their palms, declared they had a Bad Luck Love Line, and announced that as a circle of three in the thirty-third generation, they had the opportunity to end the bad luck curse for all time. Roslin told them they could break the curse if they each found a love that was powerful, vigilant and true, and accomplished a mysterious task.

  Emma’s pulse began to race. Love that is powerful, vigilant and true. What if Dair was right? “Is he a good man, Jake Kimball?” she demanded. “A worthy man?”

  “Worthy of what?”

  My sister’s love. Emma could use a little reassurance. The ramifications of what he was proposing were daunting. “All I know about him is that he’s a thief and a treasure hunter. Kat’s already been put through hell by a scoundrel once, and she doesn’t need to go through a similar trauma again.”

  “Jake doesn’t give his word often. He doesn’t commit himself very easily. Once he does, he’s fierce about it. If he marries your sister, he’ll be loyal to her. He’ll be faithful.”

  But will he love her? Would Jake Kimball be the one who finally helped Kat heal? Would he be the love who helped Kat meet the requirements to fulfill her part in breaking the curse? If so, what did that mean for Emma?

  Mari had found a powerful, vigilant and true love and accomplished her task. If not for her sapphire necklace, that might not have happened. If Kat found similar success with Jake Kimball, her emerald pendant would have played a significant role in the process. Logic then suggested that the ruby might play a similar role for Emma. Oh, my. Did that mean…could it be…surely it’s not. He’s not.

  “What is it, Emma?” Dair asked. “Why such a sour look?”

  Emma swallowed hard. No, she couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t believe it. He’d lied to her. Stolen from her. After he’d slept with her!

  Dair MacRae could not be her destiny.