Captured by the Highlander

by Julianne MacLean

  “It doesn’t have to be so difficult,” he gently urged. “Al you need to do is follow your impulses.”

  “My impulses?” She glanced up at him with fire in her eyes. “What if my impulses are to run you through?”

  Duncan slowly backed her up against the wall . His mouth found hers again in a second, tender effort to claim and possess. He kissed her deeply, then caught her up in his arms and held her close. The intimacy of it broke her will . His tongue rolled seductively around hers, and a wild frenzy of heartache and yearning racked her body. She was no match for him, and she hated him for that.

  “What will you do with me?” she asked, still wishing she could push him away but failing in the attempt.

  “I plan to keep you, lassie. I’ll not let you run from me again.” His voice was soft and husky, heavy with desire.

  She could barely think now. “What are you saying? That you will never let me go? That you will keep me as your prisoner forever?”

  He lightly palmed her breast. “Surely you know me better than that. I told you I wasn’t daft. I’ll not be letting you go, lass, because you’ll be my countess.”

  She looked up. “I beg your pardon? You are suggesting that we should marry?”

  His expression was darkly sexual. “Aye. I can’t stomach the idea of you returning to your betrothed. He’ll never put his hands on you again, not while I live. I mean to take you from him, and have you for myself.”

  “So this is about your vengeance?” she asked, needing to understand. “You wish to deprive Richard of his wedding day, as he deprived you of yours? Just to punish him? Is that it?”

  “Aye, and I’ll take great pleasure in it. I can’t deny it.”

  Fighting to stay strong, she swallowed hard over the frustration and discontent she was feeling. “So by wedding me, you will again be using me as your weapon?”

  The corner of his mouth curled up slightly in a predatory grin. “I’ll be using you in all sorts of other ways, too, lass, and I promise we’ll both enjoy it, just as we did last night by the fire.”

  Amelia pushed away from him and faced the door. “This is too much, Duncan. You cannot do this to me. You cannot make such a demand, nor can you expect me to forgive you for all that has occurred between us leading up to this moment. You abducted me, you bound me with ropes, you threatened my life, and you want to kill the man who is still , despite everything, my fiancé. You have no right to claim me as your own.”

  He scoffed. “You and your silly English rules. You will be my wife, Amelia, and I do not care what Richard Bennett thinks about it. It will not matter for long, at any rate.”

  “Because you still plan to kill him.”

  “I’ll not rest until I have my justice.”

  She shook her head. “You do not have to do that, Duncan.

  You could simply let it go.”

  “Nay, I cannot.”

  She strode toward him. “Yes, you could. You refuse to do it only because you refuse to let go of your anger and hatred.”

  He crossed the gallery and stood in front of the hearth with his back to her. She waited for him to say something.

  Anything. To respond to her plea for mercy.

  “You want to disarm me, lass. You want to temper my rage.”

  “Yes, I do. But do you consider that an undesirable quality—to be at peace, and without anger?”

  He paused. She wished she could see his face.

  “I cannot answer that. all I know is that you move me like no other woman. When I woke this morning and you were gone, and I imagined you rushing into the arms of that swine, I was enraged. I want you, lassie. I want you badly enough that I’ll do anything to keep you for myself, and to keep you away from him.”

  “You’ll do anything?” she said. “Even surrender your vengeance?”

  He faced her at last and frowned.

  Slowly, she approached him. “I believe that you are capable of compassion, Duncan. I’ve seen it in you. I’ve felt it in your touch. You did not deprive me of my virtue when you had the chance. That man who held me in his arms last night, he was kind and gentle and…” She stopped for a moment and redirected her thoughts. “I could never marry the Butcher.

  I cannot be a part of that world. I cannot turn a blind eye to death and murder, nor could I ever grow to care for you if you continued on this path of savagery.”

  There was still a hint of anger in his expression, but he seemed at least willing to listen. “Are you giving me an ultimatum?” he asked. “Are you telling me that you will not be my wife unless I lay down my weapons?”

  She hesitated, uncertain suddenly about what she was all uding to, standing here on the brink of something very different from the future she’d imagined for herself. Was she truly negotiating a marriage? Or was she simply stall ing for time so that she might escape him again? She had not had adequate time to consider this. He was still the Butcher and always would be. That history could never be erased. He would always live under the shadow of the dead. His heart would be forever scarred by the lives he had taken.…

  “Would you agree to allow the courts to carry out justice and decide upon Richard’s punishment, if he is found guilty?” she asked.

  He scoffed in disgust. “You’re telling me that you’d be willing to sacrifice your body and soul to me, a sinner bound for hell , in order to save that dirty piece of filth from the blade of my axe?”

  God help her …

  She nodded.

  But did she truly intend to become his wife?

  His eyes narrowed. “I’ll not lie to you, lass. If I make this pledge, I will keep my word as a matter of honor. I’ll not kill Richard Bennett. But this marriage—it will be a real marriage. I will have you in my bed, and you will give me children.” He strode closer to her. “And I’d need a pledge from you as well . I have a responsibility to my clan and those rebels who have followed me. I need to ensure their safety and protection. I need to know you will not expose them.”

  She watched him warily. “You would insist that in return for your vow to spare Richard’s life and allow the courts to judge him, that I would keep your secrets?”

  “Aye.” He stood with his hands at his sides, staring at her intently.

  “What will Angus say?” she boldly asked, knowing that the question would unsettle Duncan. “He will not approve, so I will need you to protect me from him.”

  “I would.”

  Amelia was having trouble breathing. When she failed to give him an answer, he took hold of her chin and careful y lifted her face to study it. “But tell me this, lass. How do I know I can trust you?”

  “How do I know I can trust you?”

  They stared at each other while the light in the room grew dim. The sun had moved behind a cloud.

  “I do care for you,” he said at last, and she was surprised by the hint of vulnerability she sensed in his voice. It was not something she had heard before. “I mean to keep you safe, and you will be, if you agree to be my wife.”

  “I will be safe from Richard, you mean.”

  Duncan met her eyes. “Aye, and everything else that is unpleasant in the world. And one day I hope you will trust me.”

  Trust. The word shook her. One week ago, he had been consumed by only one ambition—to kill Richard Bennett. He was still consumed by the loss of his former betrothed. He could not possibly have been cured of that grief after only one week, just because he desired her physical y and had proposed marriage to strike a bargain of loyalty. And he had been lying to her about his identity since the moment she met him.

  “What about my uncle?” she asked. “He is my guardian. I could not possibly do this without his consent.”

  “I’ll send for him.”

  “And do what?” she asked with sarcasm. “Win his esteem?”

  Duncan’s eyes lifted. “Aye. I saved you from the Butcher of the Highlands, didn’t I? And I would wager your father would have been more than pleased if I’d asked for your hand when he
was here in the spring.”

  She marveled at his confidence. “I have a dowry, you know. It’s quite substantial.”

  “I care nothing about that, lass, but I’ll take it. For the good of Scotland. We are agreed then?”

  She took a deep breath and prayed that she was doing the right thing. “Yes, we are agreed.”

  He started for the door. “Good. You’ll write to Bennett today and end your engagement, but do not seal the letter. I’ll be reading it before it’s sent.”

  “And what about trust?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet.”

  She sighed forlornly, then said one last thing before he left.

  “I will oblige you in that, Duncan, but in the future…”

  He waited for her to finish.

  “If it is a docile wife you are seeking, you should know that you will not find it in me.”

  He faced her squarely. “I have no interest in a docile wife. I want you. And I like it better that you can defend yourself— even against the likes of me. On that note, you are mine now, so I’ll come to your bed tonight. will you receive me willingly?”

  She lifted her chin. “As long as you don’t bring your axe.”

  He grinned. “Just my hands, then. And my mouth. And one other thing.”

  “I suppose you are referring to your sense of humor?” she countered. “Or perhaps your boyish charm.”

  He stared at her with a slight glimmer of amusement, then left her alone in the room to comprehend the shocking magnitude of what she had just agreed to.

  Not only had she agreed to become his countess, she had given him permission to come to her bed tonight when they were not yet man and wife.

  Would he take her virginity, or would it be like the other times? Would he stop if she asked him to?

  Would she even want him to stop?

  No, she decided. No, she would not. Despite everything, her desire for him was immense. After everything they’d done together, she belonged to him, body and soul, and tonight he would claim her as his wife in all but name. There would be no turning back. He would make sure of it.

  She forced herself to focus instead on what she had achieved. She had bargained for a soldier’s life, and she had won. Now it would be up to the King’s army to decide his fate. Which was only right.

  More important, she had bargained for the salvation of Duncan’s soul, and for that she would have no regrets.

  * * *

  “They say they have never laid eyes on him,” Major William Jones explained, feeling sick to his stomach as he emerged from the cottage, locked the door from the outside, and mounted his horse. “The wife claims he’s nothing but a legend.”

  William’s commanding officer, Colonel Bennett, reined in his skittish white horse. Bennett whipped him hard across the rear flank. “The Butcher is true flesh and blood, Major Jones, and these filthy Highlanders know it. They’re Jacobites. Burn them out.” His horse reared up and screeched alarmingly.

  “But there are children inside, Colonel.”

  Bennett glared at him fiercely. “Are you questioning my orders, Major?”

  “No, sir.”

  William feared he might vomit.

  “Then do as I say and burn them out. There must be a window they can crawl out of, if they wish to live.”

  Colonel Bennett galloped away toward the stable and shouted, “Burn everything! Shoot the livestock and kill that mangy animal!” He pointed at the black and white sheepdog in the stable door, barking incessantly.

  William fought to smother his agony. He looked up at the Highland mountaintops shrouded in mist, then at the clear water rushing bril iantly along the riverbed. His shoulders rose and fell with a deep, cleansing breath, which was necessary to discharge all independent thought, as he rode around the thatched cottage to ascertain that there was indeed a rear window. When he found it, he said a brief prayer for forgiveness, and for the safety of those inside, and then he lit the torch and tossed the flame up onto the roof.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Duncan entered his private study. It was dusty and cluttered with papers, paintings, and rare books, which were stacked in tall , tilting piles against the wall s. A telescope on a tripod stood in front of the largest window, aimed at the sky to view the stars at night. A collection of busts lined the mantel, and the wall s were hung with rich and vibrant Flemish tapestries.

  In the center of the room, a set of rolled architectural plans stood vertical y inside an open trunk. He had dragged the trunk there a month ago, searching for some piece of information he could no longer recall .

  He sat down at the desk facing the small stained-glass window in the corner and pulled out a blank sheet of paper embossed with the Moncrieffe coat of arms. The light pouring in through the glass illuminated the page with a dappled rainbow of color. He reached for his quill, dipped it in the inkwell, and began a cordial and gracious correspondence, conveyed in the most exquisite penmanship possible while writing in such haste.

  Lady Amelia Templeton, Richard Bennett’s betrothed, had agreed to become his wife. He had claimed her as his own, and very soon he would bed her and draw soft cries of rapture from her lips.

  In turn, he had agreed to spare Richard Bennett’s life.

  Disturbed suddenly, Duncan lifted the quill off the page, sat back, and looked around the room. He recalled a day he had once sat at this desk writing a letter to Muira, pouring out his heart and quoting love poetry. He had adored her, and his future had been filled with hope—not unlike what he was feeling at this moment. A strange condition indeed.

  He supposed it was because, for once, shockingly, he was distracted from that grief. By making Amelia his wife he knew he would immerse himself in sexual pleasures, and he was anticipating those pleasures with great vigor and zeal.

  But could he truly keep his word to her, lay down his weapons, and allow Bennett to live?

  He idly tapped the soft tip of the feather quill on the page and gazed out the window. What if Bennett came here and demanded satisfaction?

  Well. Duncan would simply have to exercise self-control and force himself not to run Bennett through. He could do it.

  He was a highly disciplined warrior. He would keep his hands off his weapons and focus instead on the effects of this less violent, altered form of revenge.

  He was stealing Bennett’s beloved, as Bennett had once stolen his own. It was an eye for an eye, as Angus had once said. And there was nothing to stop Duncan from presenting evidence to the Crown, which would instigate a court-martial and with luck, death by hanging. He had not promised Amelia anything about vengeance in that form. In fact, it was what she had tried to convince him to do.

  So there it was—vengeance achieved from all angles. As an added benefit, Duncan would be satisfying his lust for Amelia. Her body, her innocence, and her virginity—it would all be his.

  Sitting forward and dipping the quill , he continued the letter. A moment later, he sprinkled it with sand and shook it clean, folded it, sealed it with wax, then rose from the desk and left the room. A liveried footman was standing in the corridor, waiting dutiful y, as instructed.

  “Take this to Fort William today,” Duncan said. “It must be delivered to the Duke of Winslowe. No other man’s hand. Do you understand this?”

  “Aye, milord.”

  “Lady Amelia will also have a letter to be dispatched today, which I will need to see. Go and wait outside her chamber, bring it to me, then you will take the Moncrieffe coach to the fort and provide His Grace with a return escort.”

  The footman bowed to Duncan, then hurried down the corridor toward the stairs, passing Iain along the way.

  Iain watched him go, then strode toward Duncan anxiously. “I hope you have a plan,” Iain said, stopping outside the study door. He began to speak in an almost frantic whisper. “Because I’m growing tired of putting out your fires, Duncan. I’ve been waking every morning to find myself staring into the impossible consequences of your fury. A few day
s ago, it was Richard Bennett seeking Moncrieffe men to join his troops and hunt you down. Our own men! Today was worse. I was forced to receive the daughter of a great English duke, who wanted you of all people to protect her from the Butcher. What the devil was I supposed to tell her?

  Obviously, she must know the truth by now. It’ll mean the gal ows for us both.”

  Duncan glanced up and down the corridor to ensure there was no one about. “Come inside.”

  His brother walked into the study and glanced at the open trunk. “Could you not ring for a chambermaid, Duncan? This room is the very essence of anarchy.”

  It was no secret that Duncan’s younger brother preferred order over chaos. He was exceptional y well mannered, highly intelligent and educated, and when faced with a choice, he never, under any circumstances, selected the path of greater risk. He detested conflict, had never held a sword or set foot on a battlefield.

  And that morning he had reached the absolute pinnacle of panic when Amelia was announced—not five minutes after Duncan had come charging into the bailey like a cannonball.

  “I like this room in its current state,” he replied. “Sit down, Iain.” Duncan gestured toward the settee.

  Iain moved toward it but had to move a box of candlesticks in order to clear a space. He flipped back the tail of his morning coat and sat down. “Tel me what happened with Lady Amelia. What in God’s name are we going to do?”

  Duncan sat down at his desk. “There’s no need to panic.

  She’ll not reveal our secret. I’m confident she’ll be loyal.”

  Iain’s eyebrows flew up in disbelief. “She gave you her word, did she? Freely?”

  “I did not threaten her, if that’s what you think.” He paused.

  «Well… maybe I did, but the lass is plucky and she threatened me, too. It was a fair fight. But now that it’s done, I’ll trust her not to betray me.”

  Iain frowned. “But how can you risk such a thing, Duncan?