Highland Song

by Young, Christine

  "What code?" he asked skeptically.

  "The ones the resistance designed to keep the English from intercepting anything important."

  Slowly, Slade sat up, giving Lainie more room. But he was careful not to give her room to escape. He had seen Lainie move. She was fast, nearly as fast as he was.

  "All right, little fox. Talk to me. If you’re willing to decipher it," he let the words hang between them. "The knowledge might save your life."

  "My name is Lainie." She grabbed the shirt that Slade had tossed aside and covered herself with it. The torn fabric did little to conceal, yet it was all she had. What was left of it, she yanked on, trying to fasten it closed with clumsy fingers. When she finished the shirt hung in disarray, but it covered her.

  She knew she had just had a narrow escape.

  "All right," he said, "Lainie."

  She was thankful this man kept his word.

  "I’m interested," Slade told her. "In the codes."

  He let his hand rest on Lainie’s thigh, the action both a caress and a warning.

  "I can only decipher part of them. Each of us was given certain information. In case any of us was taken by the English the code could not be broken," Lainie said quickly, praying she could entice him with this little piece of deception.

  Then she looked from Slade’s hand to his eyes, plainly reminding him of their bargain. Slowly he lifted his hand.

  "I studied the journal, and I was able to breakdown some of the parts I wasn’t privy to. If I worked on it, I could probably figure out all of it," Lainie said with a hesitant smile.

  "The most interesting part," she paused. "About ten years ago there was a plot against the King of England. A man was beheaded because he discovered the truth. No one was able to find proof of who actually plotted against your king."

  He shrugged. "The plot involved a replica of the King’s seal."

  "Yes," she said cautiously.

  "What makes you think you can prove anything now?"

  "I can’t."

  "Or you won’t," he offered. "And why is that?"

  When Lainie didn’t say anything else, Slade’s hand went to her belly. He spread his fingers wide almost spanning her hipbones.

  Her breath came in with a rushing sound. It was the sensual pleasure that seemed to undo her. Despite the memories that haunted her, Slade's touch was nothing like Bertram's. For a moment she wished Slade’s touch could erase her sordid memories of the past.

  "Go on," Slade said.

  He knew his voice was too deep, too husky. But there was nothing he could do about it. Nor could he could control the intensity of his need, no matter how foolish he knew it was. Despite everything, he wanted to make love to the calculating Scottish lass who had once been Bertram's mistress.

  She made him burn. The heat from her body was like an aphrodisiac seeping through his flesh and being absorbed into his blood, making it harder with each heartbeat to remember that she was just one more woman to get whatever she could by using her body as a lure.

  Then Slade realized Lainie had said nothing more. He looked up and saw her watching him with shimmering sky blue eyes.

  "You promised," Lainie said.

  Furiously, Slade lifted his hand.

  "It was my father who was executed," Lainie told him.

  "Your brothers should be fighting this battle, not you."

  "My brothers have suffered enough fighting for justice." She turned to look at him.

  Without answering, Slade looked at the frail material of her shirt, which served only to heighten rather than to conceal the allure of Lainie’s body.

  "Slade?"

  When he finally looked at her, Lainie was afraid she had lost the dangerous game she was playing. Slade’s eyes were a pale green, and they burned with what she was coming to recognize as desire.

  "I’m not so sure I believe any of your tall tales. I heard about the beheading of a MacPherson but nothing was ever mentioned about a stolen seal."

  "A replica."

  "'Tis all true. 'Tis in the journal. My brother has sought revenge for years. He married--"

  "Whitcomb’s daughter?"

  "Aye, you heard?" Lainie asked quickly.

  "Sometimes news travels fast," he shrugged.

  "David Whitcomb had my father beheaded. He accused him of treason but it was someone else. A plot against your English king. The proof is buried in codes in my journal. As well as other things," Lainie spoke, emotions vibrating within her.

  "I’m listening," he said. "Not real patiently, but I’m listening."

  What Slade didn’t say was that he was listening very carefully. He had heard rumors about this and he wanted to know how the pieces of the puzzle would fall. He wanted to know what part Lainie MacPherson played and why Bertram was involved.

  "Does your journal tell you who else was implicated?"

  "I think it does."

  "But you don’t know for sure," he asked dryly, wondering if any of this was true, having his doubts about her story.

  She shook her head, closing her eyes for a moment. "I will when I can figure out all the codes. It’s very intricate."

  "How did you figure out the first ones?"

  "A friend of my father’s helped me. He was there when it all happened. He was charged with keeping my brother safe. He helped me decipher most of what I know. He sat with me for hours when I was a little girl, telling me that someday I might need to know this."

  "Why didn’t he speak with your brother, Hawke?"

  She paused then, looking at her hands, fingers interwoven and lying on her lap.

  "Lainie, tell me. Don’t leave anything out."

  "Hawke was too close to all that happened. He’d watched his father’s execution and vowed revenge," she hesitated again. "My friend was afraid Hawke would end up the same way as my father. He didn't think I would act on anything that was in the journal."

  Slade’s head lifted abruptly. Lainie’s words, rather than her body, finally held his full attention.

  "Ian, my youngest brother didn’t care. He thought Hawke’s need for revenge a foolish waste of time."

  "Family tales, fairy tales, I don’t see much difference. Both woven to help heal old wounds or open new ones."

  Lainie ignored the interruption. "Hawke doesn’t believe there are tales. Even though he was a little boy, he trusts what he saw."

  "Does he know about the journal?" Slade asked.

  Lainie shook her head. "I took it when I left my home. I thought I would have hours to try to figure all this out, but it’s so confusing."

  "You left the only one who could help you decipher this at home?" he asked coolly.

  "I had to leave," she said, tears forming in the back of her throat while she remembered the reasons for her leaving.

  Bertram’s horrible groping hands.

  The pain, the terror that held her hostage in her own home, and the fear her brothers would seek revenge.

  "Why?" he asked.

  She shook her head. The reason isn’t part of our negotiations. Nor did I promise to tell you about myself. The debt is paid in full. I owe you nothing."

  Unconsciously, Lainie laced her fingers together, remembering the pain. She was changed forever. That day she’d felt her life slipping away. She'd known she couldn’t stay with her family. She'd had to find a peace within herself before she could go home.

  Peace eluded her though. She didn’t think she would ever feel whole again.

  "All right Lainie MacPherson, tell me more," he commanded.

  "I can’t."

  Slade had caught the change in Lainie’s voice and the subtle tension in her body. He wondered what she was lying about.

  Even as Slade opened his mouth to a snide remark about the futility of hiding behind silence and pulling on his heartstrings, he realized there might be something to her silence. She had volunteered a lot of information--until their conversation became personal.

  Slade nodded. "I’ll let it go for now. But
I mean to get to the bottom of your story. A time will come when you’ll tell me everything."

  "Never," she told him weakly.

  "Don’t bet on it."

  He watched Lainie close her eyes. The expression on her face changed so it was almost as if she was reliving something very painful. His heart ached for her.

  "I can’t imagine why I’d ever tell you my dark secrets. They have nothing to do with you or what I took from you."

  "I don’t believe you."

  Her eyelids flinched. "It doesn’t matter."

  "It might matter by the time we reach Edinburgh. You should work on a fairy tale that will stop me from handing you over to the authorities there." Slade said, not bothering to hide his disdain.

  "I won’t go to Edinburgh. I’d die trying to escape before anyone hands me over to Bertram."

  "Why?" Slade asked again.

  She inhaled a long deep breath. Her eyes seemed to glass over for a moment. Then she shook her head, a lone tear sliding down her cheek.

  "All right, have it your way, for now," he said, sitting back, giving her more room than he had since he’d first pounced on her.

  "You can’t force me to talk."

  Nothing in Slade’s voice or expression revealed the anger that churned in his gut at the thought of Lainie’s beautiful body being manhandled by a man who was at best the scum of the earth.

  "I’ll find a way."

  "What?" Lainie looked up, startled.

  "How much did Bertram pay you?"

  Lainie was too stunned to speak. Her hand flashed out so quickly that only a few men would have been able to counter the blow.

  Slade was one of them, but it was a close call. Just before her palm would have connected with his cheek, he caught her wrist and flattened her out on the bedroll beneath him in the same fierce motion.

  "Don’t ever try that again," he told her harshly. "I know all about wide-eyed little lasses who slap a man when he suggests they’re anything less than a lady. The next time you lift a hand to me. I won’t be a gentleman about it."

  Lainie made a sound that could have been a laugh or a sob. "Gentleman? You? No gentleman would force himself on a lady."

  "But then you’re not a lady are you? You’re someone who ran away from a caring family and was paid handsomely for service rendered."

  "No man ever paid for anything for me. And no one ever will. I'm not a whore," she gritted out between clenched teeth, her breaths coming in tiny spurts.

  "You just gave your, uh, favors away?" Slade suggested ironically. "And Bertram was so grateful that he left a little present on the bedside table. Is that it?"

  "You just don’t give up do you? Bertram’s a pig." Lainie said icily.

  Slade rolled aside, freeing Lainie. Before she could move away, his hand settled on her stomach suggestively.

  "I won’t stop until you admit the truth, little fox. And I won't muddy the water, by leaving a purse by your bed in the morning."

  "Go to hell, Englishman," Lainie said tightly, her voice steady despite the tears of shame and rage in her eyes.

  Slade saw only the rage. It occurred to him he would be wise not to turn his back on this woman until her temper cooled. Lainie was quick, very quick and she looked fully capable of picking up a rock and hitting him over the head with it.

  "Mad enough to kill aren’t you?" he asked sardonically. "Well, don’t worry. Nobody ever died of shame. Now, talk."

  Lainie watched Slade through shimmering blue slits. He lifted one dark eyebrow.

  "If you don’t feel like talking I can find something else to fill the time."

  ~ * ~

  "Damn her!" Bertram whirled on the soldier. "What do you mean you can't find her?

  Don't tell me she got away?" Bertram had never had so many incompetent fools working for him.

  "Slade has her," the soldier said taking a step backward as spittle flew from

  Bertram's lips.

  "Where the bloody hell is Slade? He should have been here days ago."

  In a fury, Bertram ran his arm across the table. Plates and glasses crashed to the floor. He paced the length of the table then back, hitting the palm of one of his hands with a fist. Damn her. Since the day he sent Slade, he'd had a bad feeling in his gut. Moreover, he'd been impotent since that day. All he could think of was the length of Lainie's hair winding around his body and how she'd felt when he'd been deep inside. Just the memory of Lainie made his blood run savagely. He wanted her with an ache so bad he couldn't sleep at night. None of the women he'd had brought to him could satisfy him.

  "If Slade doesn't get here soon, I'm going to try him for treason" He was supposed to bring her to Edinburgh. At this rate, Slade would never get his release from the army. A smile swept across Bertram's face. He'd like nothing better than to keep Aaron Slade in his service, doing his bidding.

  But he wanted Lainie first. Once he had her in his bed, all his problems would be righted. He would make Slade watch. Slade was a lady's man. It wouldn't surprise Bertram if Slade had her several times before he made it here. He could live with that. He'd had her first.

  "What do you want me to do, General?" The man had backed himself toward the door as if he were ready to bolt.

  "Go back to Jericho and tell him he'd better find Slade and the girl. I want her here."

  "But sir, Lainie MacPherson has a bounty on her head. She will go to the prison." The soldier's hand found the door handle.

  Bertram's arms flew in the air, "Bring her here."

  "But sir--"

  "Go on. Go before I have you put in the prison."

  The man saluted then fled the room.

  Bertram sunk into a chair, wiping his brow. Sweat beaded around his lips and slid down his chin to his neck.

  The door opened slowly, a girl of about sixteen slipped into the room.

  "You sent for me?" she asked.

  Bertram looked up. He didn't smile but he patted his heavy thighs and motioned for the girl to sit there.

  She looked to the door as if she wanted to run. Bertram's smile grew even wider.

  "Come here, he beckoned with one hand. "I won't hurt you."

  He watched her swallow hard and waited.

  She moved forward but her steps were small and hesitant.

  Good, she is afraid. This is much better than the last Scottish lass. Perhaps tonight he would be able to relieve the horrible burning ache that had possessed him for too long. Her fear was good. Terror reminded him of the MacPherson lass. Aye terror was good.

  He licked his lips and drank long and deep of the sweet red wine that he'd poured.

  "What's your name?" he asked.

  "Lainie," she told him.

  His grin widened even farther. His staff had schooled her well. He closed his eyes letting his mind see the real Lainie MacPherson. When he opened his eyes, he tried to imagine Lainie. The girl stood in front of him.

  He took her hand and pulled her to sit on him. His finger wound around her waist. He heard her whimper. He grew hard and the burning, pulsing heat swept inside him.

  "Lainie, Lainie, touch me," he purred. He didn't wait for her to touch him. He ripped her dress in half down the front. She cried out and tears slid down her cheeks.

  "Lainie," he cooed. But the girl was not Lainie MacPherson. He grew soft but the burning need did not vanish.

  He let out a wild cry. "Lainie!"

  Chapter Four

  "Bertram takes what he wants with no regard to anyone else," Lainie said, her voice humming with fury. "He found me alone and--" she stopped, catching her lower lip between her teeth. "If you think to take me anywhere near that pig, you’ll have the biggest fight on your hands you’ve ever seen."

  Slade looked away from Lainie’s flashing eyes and pale lips, feeling something close to shame for pushing her so hard. Then he cursed himself for feeling anything at all for the little spy who had done her best to get him killed while she ran to safety.

  "When did you meet him?" Slade asked
roughly, needing answers to the questions that hung between them.

  She looked at him as if she knew he would keep badgering her until she told him everything. "At MacPherson castle."