Of course, if she was right that the news about her kidnapping would spread, then she would never have the chance to marry anyway.
Devil take her, she was making him worry about things that weren’t going to happen, things that shouldn’t concern him! This was about Duncannon, about forcing him to live up to his responsibilities. There was no reason to believe that things wouldn’t go as planned, that she wouldn’t be returned to her cozy life in London without harm to her reputation or her future.
So why did the other possibilities plague him every step of his way back to the coach, even more than his stiff leg and his aching ribs? Why couldn’t he take any pleasure in the sight of the morning sun dancing its light across the loch or the delicate scent of the honeysuckle twining along the edge of the woods?
And why did anger roar into him with a vengeance to find Jamie sitting in the carriage with her, chatting along like any royal courtier with a princess?
“Out of the coach, Jamie! It’s yer turn up top.”
He didn’t miss the pleading glance Venetia shot the lad…or the reassuring pat Jamie gave her hand before he climbed out and faced Lachlan with a stubborn set to his shoulders. “I thought I’d ride inside a bit longer if ye don’t mind, sir.”
“I do mind. It’s nigh on to twenty-four hours since I last slept.”
“I thought you didn’t need sleep,”Venetia taunted him. “I thought you said that soldiers were used to—”
“That was before I had to chase you for half a mile.” Before he’d had to endure her beating his ribs and thrashing about beneath him. He fixed Jamie with a stern glance. “Besides, laddie, the lass escaped on yer watch, not mine. So I mean to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
Bristling at being called “laddie,” Jamie crossed his arms over his chest. “And I mean to make sure you don’t make untoward advances to the young lady.”
“Oh, Lord,”Venetia muttered, and threw herself back against the seat.
Lachlan’s temper flared right high. What had the scheming wench told the lad? “Are you threatening me, laddie?” he asked, this time deliberately insulting. He strode forward, forcing Jamie to back up against the coach. “Because I’d think long and hard about that if I were you. I can still thrash you with one hand behind my back, and don’t think I wouldn’t do it, either.”
Jamie glared at him. “Do it if you please, sir, but I’m not backing down.”
Oh, the lad had fallen hard for the wench already, hadn’t he?Lachlan jerked his head toward the coach. “Is that what the lady told you? That I made ‘untoward advances’?”
“She didn’t have to tell me,” Jamie said stoutly. “I saw how you held her. And she had twigs and leaves all over the back of her gown, too.”
“Aye, because she went hurtling through the woods like a madwoman and nearly got herself mauled by a wildcat. All because ye slept through our stopping.”
Jamie paled, but Lachlan went on venting his temper. “ ‘Untoward advances’ indeed—you wouldn’t know an ‘untoward advance’ if it bit you in yer hairy Scottish arse. She’s the only one who talks like that, and you ought to be ashamed of yerself for listening to her when she already got away from you once—”
“Enough!”Venetia said in a commanding tone. Lachlan glanced over to see her glaring at him from the open coach door. “Don’t blame Jamie for that. I got away because you were off pissing in the bushes.”
Jamie’s jaw dropped.
Lachlan’s was right behind it. “You said ‘piss.’
”Venetia flushed. “It seems the only sort of language you understand, you ill-mannered oaf.”
A choked sound came from Jamie, and Lachlan looked over to find the lad fighting the urge to laugh. Lachlan’s dark scowl took care of that.
“Now, sir,”Venetia continued, “if you insist upon riding inside the coach, by all means do so. I don’t care one way or the other.”
“No, milady,” Jamie protested, “I told you I’d look after you, and I will!”
“Silence, lad,”Lachlan growled. “She doesn’t make the rules around here, and neither do you. I’m riding in the carriage, and that’s the end of the discussion.”
“But—”
“It’s fine,”Venetia said firmly. “I’ve put up with the great lout until now. I’m sure I can put up with him a while longer, laddie.”
Jamie flinched to hear her refer to him that way, and Lachlan almost felt sorry for the young idiot. Little did she know she’d done more to harm her cause with Jamie with that one word than with any amount of Lachlan’s shouting.
Then Jamie drew himself up. “All right, then. I’ll drive.” He shot Lachlan a resentful glance. “But I’m keeping the panel open.”
Lachlan rolled his eyes but allowed Jamie his bit of rebellion. After all, he could hardly blame the lad for turning into a mooncalf around Venetia . She was the kind of woman a man would die to protect. And no doubt she’d used that to her advantage. But she wouldn’t do it with him, Jamie or no Jamie.
As soon as the coach set off, he reached under the seat and pulled out the lengths of rope he hadn’t needed until now.
Her eyes widened. “See here, Lachlan, I didn’t put Jamie up to challenging you. He did that on his own. So you can’t punish me—”
“This isn’t about that.” He bent down and began to bind her at the ankles. “I need to sleep, and I won’t be able to if ye’re free to run about.” He finished tying her legs and sat up. “Now give me yer hands.”
“Please, Lachlan ,” she begged, tucking them beneath her skirts, “what if I promise I won’t try to escape?”
“Don’t take me for a fool. You know bloody well that the moment my back is turned, ye’d be running into the woods again.” He managed a smile. “It’s only for a while, and no harm will come to you. But I’ve got to get some rest, and you’ll make that impossible. Now give me yer hands, lass.”
When she just sat there, staring mutinously at him, he hardened his voice. “I see. So you’re up for another tussle, are you? Very well.”
She thrust her wrists out with insulting swiftness, though her eyes flashed fire. “If you touch me anywhere you shouldn’t while I’m like this, I swear to God—”
“I know, princess, I know.” He bound her carefully, not wanting to cause her any pain. Then he sat back against the seat. “Now, then, can I trust you to keep quiet? Or will I have to gag you, too?”
She swallowed. “I’ll keep quiet.”
“See that you do.” He lifted one eyebrow. “Because you don’t want to be giving me a reason for stopping up yer mouth.”
A flush stained her cheeks, wreaking holy hell on his insides. He’d have to stop saying things like that; it just reminded them both of what they couldn’t do.
He took up one of the blankets. “If you’ll slide into that corner there, I’ll cover you. You can probably sleep well enough like that.” And with her covered, he wouldn’t be tempted to spend his sleeping time staring at her body in a lustful stupor.
She did as he said, but a calculating look was already crossing her face.
He knew that look only too well by now. “I’ll be handing my pistol to Jamie while I sleep,” he said, “because I can’t have you trying to wrest it away.”
Her face fell.
“But we both know he doesn’t have the heart to kill anyone.” He drew out the tartan blanket and covered her with it. Then he moved to sit next to her. “So I want to remind you of one thing before we both try to get some rest,” he said softly. “If you scream, it’ll just wake me up to stop ye. Then you’ll be gagged, and I don’t think you want that.”
He turned her face up to his, and she stared at him mutely. “But if you do succeed in bringing attention to yerself before I can silence yer mouth, it’ll mean a fight at the very least. You might get yerself freed, or you might not, but one thing is sure. If they take me and Jamie and you tell them who we are, they’ll hang us.”
Brushing back her hair, he locked his ga
ze with hers. “We haven’t hurt you, neither of us, and I swear that you needn’t fear that we will. So do you really want our deaths on yer conscience, lassie? All because of some money that’s disputed between yer father and me?”
He was taking a chance by trusting her when he ought to be gagging her. But judging from the troubled look on her face, his words had hit their mark.
“I’m going to sleep now, lass. And you’d be wise to spend the time sleeping yerself instead of inventing more ways to escape me.”
He settled back against the seat and closed his eyes, but it was a long time before he could relax enough to drift into sleep. The problem of Jamie now plagued him. It would be just like the lad to do something foolish on account of the lady—it grew rapidly apparent that Jamie had a soft spot for her.
So they couldn’t go on like this. Once he’d had enough rest to hold his seat on a horse, there’d be a change of plan.
Because the only man he could trust around Venetia now was himself. Even if being alone with her meant he suffered in hell for the rest of the trip.
Chapter Eleven
Dear Cousin,
How could I ever “accept” the world you describe? The best I can do is teach my girls to navigate it well, while making sure they surround themselves with people less cynical than you.
Your relation,
Charlotte
A rumbling noise rather like distant thunder teased Venetia awake. She snuggled deeper into her bed, then realized that her bed was living flesh and it was speaking to someone in low, muted tones.
She jerked her eyes open to find herself wrapped in Lachlan’s arms, with her head comfortably tucked beneath his chin and her cheek pressed to his shoulder. Her bottom lay nestled between his splayed legs, and her bound hands rested on his thigh.
She yanked them up with a blush.
“It’s all right, lass,”Lachlan murmured. “I’ve got no feeling left in my legs anyway.”
Twisting her head back to gaze at him, she said tartly, “That’s what you get for tying me up.”
“No, that’s what I get for letting you crawl all over me while you slept.”
Her cheeks flamed hotter. Shoving against his chest, she scooted onto the seat beside him. “You could have pushed me off your lap if it was a problem,” she said, hating that she sounded apologetic.
“It wasn’t,” he said, though his clipped tone belied his words.
Especially when he flexed his legs and true pain sliced across his features. It was just from having the circulation restored in his limbs, she told herself. It served him right for kidnapping her in the first place—let him suffer.
So why did she have the fleeting urge to take those thick, strong thighs in her hands and massage the muscles until the harsh lines softened on his brow and his eyes slid closed in contentment…
Lord, how ridiculous. No lady worth her rank would ever do such a thing. And touching his legs would only lead him to attempt taking more liberties. Which she didn’t want. No, indeed.
Strange, though, that he hadn’t tried anything while he’d had her neatly trussed. She’d warned him not to, but she didn’t flatter herself that he paid her threats any attention. So despite his boorishness and thievery, he must have gentlemanly instincts somewhere. Otherwise, he’d have ravished her in the woods when he’d had the chance.
He bent and dragged out the pack he’d kept their food in, then rummaged in it until he withdrew a sheathed knife.
She sat up straight. “Has that been there the whole time?”
“Aye. A pity you missed yer chance to cut out my heart while I slept.”
“That would hardly have been practical. Jamie would have shot me if I’d tried.” Lord knew the lad hadn’t stood firm in the one area she’d asked him to.
“Ah, you’re starting to grasp the way of things, I see.” His eyes gleamed at her as he sliced through her bindings with swift efficiency.
As she rubbed her wrists to get the blood moving, he sheathed the knife and shoved it into his pocket. “No point in doing anything foolish. Not that you could have sneaked out the blade without me stirring, but even if you had, you sure as the devil don’t have the stomach for murder.”
“True. But unlike you, I don’t consider that a character flaw.”
His gaze grew shadowed. “It’s only a flaw when you’re fighting for yer life, lass. And I pray to God you never find yerself in that position.” Then he lifted his face to the open panel to hail Jamie. “How far to Kingussie?”
“A mile at the most, sir. Are you still wanting to stop?”
“Aye, we could use more in our bellies than sandwiches.”
“I won’t say no to that. But aren’t you worried about having to make explanations?”
“It’ll be fine. I’ll take care of it.” When Jamie shrugged, Lachlan added under his breath, “Especially since it can’t be helped, laddie.”
Lachlan began to tidy the coach. As Venetia watched him fold up blankets and stuff items into the pack, hope sprang to life in her chest. “Does this mean that you intend for us to stay overnight in Kingussie?”
“Would I have needed to spend part of the day sleeping if I had?”
“Well, no, but…” Perplexed, she watched as he tied the pack up neatly. “Surely you’re as heartily sick of this carriage as I am. I’ll do almost anything right now to get out of it for a few hours.”
“Now, that’s a wish I can grant,” he said enigmatically. He dusted off both their hats and handed hers over. “You’ll be needing this.”
She tied it on, truly confused.
He lifted a shade to stare out the window. “Damn. Looks like rain.”
“Poor Jamie.”
He slanted a dark glance at her. “Not ‘poor Jamie,’ princess. Poor us.”
Before she could ask what he meant, the coach halted in front of a large wattle-and-daub cottage, scattering chickens in its wake. A milk cow munching grass in the scrubby field nearby looked up, and a burst of barks erupted from an outbuilding. That sent a stout, graying woman exploding from the cottage into the yard, wiping her hands on her apron.
As Jamie jumped down to catch the cottager in a tight embrace, Lachlan leaned over to Venetia . “Look here, lass. Telling the Widow McCain you’re being kidnapped won’t get you away from me. She won’t believe you and won’t care about it even if she does. All it’ll do is ruin any attempt yer family makes to save yer reputation.” He glanced out the window. “And mentioning yer father’s name to our hostess would be a very rash mistake.”
“Why?” she said acidly. “Because you’d shoot me for it?”
“No.” He jerked his head out the window. “But she’s liable to.”
Venetia blinked at him.
“You see, Princess Machiavelli, the only person who hates yer father more than me is the Widow McCain. If you’re wise, you’ll let me do the talking.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “And how will you explain my being here with you and Jamie?”
“Don’t need to. We won’t be here long, and Annie knows better than to pry. I’ll tell her it’s none of her concern.”
“But then she’ll think that I’m your—”
The word “mistress” was drowned out by the widow exclaiming, “Who is it you have with you, Jamie?” The woman released him to turn her attention to the carriage.
Setting his shoulders as if bracing for a fight, Lachlan climbed out.
The minute the Widow McCain saw him, she froze, the color draining from her features. She looked him up and down, then whispered, “Lachlan Ross, as I live and breathe…But you’re supposed to be…I thought that you were—”
“Dead?” He cast her a rueful smile. “You can’t always believe what you read in the papers, Annie.” Cocking up his eyebrows in a hopeful expression, he walked haltingly toward her and held out his arms for a hug.
But she was having none of that. She snatched his wide-brimmed hat right off his head, then began to beat him about th
e head and shoulders with it. “How dare ye let me think you were dead, you big reckless lout!”
“Annie, stop that, will you?” he cried as he dodged her blows. “It’s not as if I planned it, you know. Come on, now, that’s my best beaver hat ye’re mutilating!”
“Mutilating! I’ll show you mutilating, you thickheaded clod!” She threw the hat at him, then began looking about the yard. “Where’s my broom? Or better yet, my fowling-piece…then you’ll wish you’d stayed dead!”
“Be still, damn you!”Lachlan ordered as he caught her about the waist from behind. “You know I would’ve told you if I could. And my life depends on yer keeping it secret, ye ken?” He waited until she’d stopped struggling, then murmured a few words in Gaelic that softened her frown.
At that moment, Venetia would have given anything to understand Gaelic.
“Ye’re lucky I don’t set the dogs on ye,” the woman grumbled.
“I know, I know,” he said, his voice gentler than Venetia had ever heard it. “Can I let ye go now?”
The widow nodded, but when he released her, she whirled on him and slapped him hard enough that Venetia heard it in the carriage. “I cried for a week when I heard that you died,” she choked out, and as if to illustrate that very claim, tears leaked from her eyes. “Not that I mind learning that it was a sham, but it was cruel of you to let yer friends keep thinking you were dead. Right cruel.”
To Venetia’s surprise, remorse flooded Lachlan’s face before he enfolded Annie in his arms. “Aww, don’t cry. I’m here now. That’s all that matters.”
As Lachlan comforted her, Jamie came over to help Venetia climb down from the carriage. “The widow was Lachlan’s nanny when he was a lad,” Jamie explained, “and she’s looked after him in one fashion or another ever since. Sort of a second mother to him, she is.”
Venetia’s heart sank. That explained why Lachlan was sure the woman wouldn’t listen to her pleas for help. “Lachlan said she doesn’t like my father.”
“Aye, she was married to your father’s—”
“What are you blathering about, Jamie?” Annie pushed away from Lachlan, blotting her eyes with her apron. “Lud, I don’t know what came over—” She broke off when she caught sight of Venetia . “And who is this you’ve brought with you?”
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