Which meant the property had probably been a prime location for smuggling activities, even more so, if it had been essentially abandoned during the last several years.
“I suppose we’ve discovered why Fergus is so keen on marrying me.”
John’s eyebrows rose. “Aye, I suppose so. If this property comes with ye, as ye say, then as yer husband he’d have as much access to it as he’d like. As would yer father.”
Her gaze shot back to him. “What do you mean?”
He hesitated to tell her, but at this point keeping her in the dark seemed pointless. “I’ve been fairly certain that yer father and yon wee bastard have been working together.”
Her eyes widened. “Doing what?”
“Smuggling.”
She laughed, though there was no humor in the sound. “You must be mad.” Despite her words, her forehead creased in a frown, and her gaze returned to the men busy digging up her grandmother’s property.
“It would explain why yer father would wed ye to such a man,” John said quietly. “These lands border Scotland and have river access to the sea. And being abandoned, little danger of prying eyes. Yer father has probably been using them for years, but with you at marriageable age…”
“He’d lose access if I were to marry, gain control of the property, and decide to do something with it,” she said, finishing his thought.
“Aye.”
“And if Fergus is working with my father…”
John nodded. “Fergus gains ownership through you, and yer father keeps his access through him.”
She shook her head, the sorrowful defeat in her eyes enough to tear his heart to shreds. “So he’d marry me to that monster in order to keep his criminal empire afloat.”
John couldn’t bring himself to agree, but Philip nodded. “It seems so, my lady.”
She looked back at John, her face expressionless but pale in the moonlight. “And you’re here to stop them?”
He nodded, and a faint smile touched her lips. “Seems a might judgmental of you.”
He nodded again. “Aye. Though it’s no’ the smuggling that is the problem so much as his methods. There are honorable free traders enough. Men who sell their contraband without murdering and deceit.”
“And my father does not.”
“Aye.”
“Well, anything on this property belongs to me, or will soon enough. And to my family in the meantime. He’s stealing and trespassing. I could put an end to this now. Go out there and confront him.”
John had to smile at that. He wanted to thrash the woman for disobeying him and putting herself in danger, but he had to admire her spirit.
“That’s probably not the wisest course of action.”
“And why not? He’d be caught in the act,” she said, jerking her head to where Fergus directed the men loading the boxes they’d finally unearthed onto wagons. “He could be held accountable for his crimes, and we’d both be rid of him.”
“Because, lass, while we have several witnesses, we dinna have a lick of evidence.”
“The word of the daughter of the Earl of Dawsey should be sufficient,” she said, drawing herself up to her full height and putting on that air of entitled nobility that he’d seen often enough in other peers of her station. Though never from her.
“Not when that word is against the Earl of Dawsey himself.”
She stepped back as if he’d struck her, not in fear, or even in pain or anger. Her eyes swam with the realization of the truth of his words.
“They would paint ye as a discontented girl telling tales in the hopes of avoiding a marriage to the man her father has chosen. And yer father is, perhaps, more guilty than Campbell. I canna turn over the one without the other.”
“But my mother is not guilty. I am not guilty. I am not condoning what my father has done, but he is still my father. And turning him in would put my mother and me on the streets. We’d be ruined.”
“My lady…” he said, his resolve for revenge wavering for the first time. He wanted the men responsible for so much death and destruction, for his brother’s life, to pay for their crimes. Needed it. The constant, gnawing fire in his gut would never go away until his brother’s death was avenged. Until the men responsible were brought to justice.
But what she said was true. If Dawsey fell, so did his family. Still… “What choice do I have?”
“You have a great many choices,” she spit out, her body trembling in her anger. “Choices that I, as a mere girl, as you so helpfully pointed out, do not have. There are other ways to ensure my father never harms anyone again. Ways to possibly curtail his activities without forfeiting his standing. Or his life. There are other ways, surely. But you’re so blind with your self-styled heroism you refuse to see them.”
He opened his mouth to respond but before he could, Will came crashing back into the clearing. “Soldiers, sir! Coming quick, from the south!”
John’s men scattered, already well-trained at what to do in just such a situation. Beyond the tree line, Fergus’s men did the same, though with much less precision and a great deal more noise and panic. With any luck, the soldiers would focus on those fools while John and his men made it away.
John reached out for Elizabet’s arm but she yanked it away. “I’m in no danger from them. In fact, I seem to be the only one within a two-mile radius who isn’t a criminal.”
“My lady, ye’re a lone woman, dressed in rags, freely standing in the midst of a band of thieves who are spying on another band of thieves. I dinna believe the soldiers will pause long enough to listen to yer explanations.”
She frowned, but he knew she couldn’t argue with that.
“Come, we must get ye back to the cottage.” He reached out to take her arm again, but she evaded him a second time.
“Elizabet,” he said, his patience at an end.
She glanced up at him in surprise, but she still took another step away.
“I know the way back.” She sprinted away before he could say another word.
He started to go after her, but Philip grabbed his arm. “We canna lead them back to the cottage! We must follow the plan and meet up at our rendezvous point.”
He was right, damn him. Leading them back to the cottage would not only lead them straight to Elizabet, but it would effectively remove the cottage as a safe place to stage their attacks and rest and recuperate when needed. He couldn’t return there with soldiers in the area.
But he couldn’t leave her to them, either.
“She’ll be fine,” Philip insisted. “The soldiers are following Campbell’s men. They dinna even ken she’s here.”
No sooner had Philip finished speaking than several soldiers peeled away from the main group and began riding off in the direction of the cottage. And Elizabet.
The king’s men should be honorable, above reproach. And if they were to encounter a lady in full finery in the company of her own guard or at least a maid or two, they would most likely be on their best behavior. A bedraggled lass in a torn and bloody chemise alone in a cottage in the woods? No. He’d not leave her to their mercy.
“I have to go, Philip. I’ll not let them see me, but I canna leave her to them.”
Philip looked fair to bursting with the desire to argue, but he didn’t waste any more time. He simply nodded. “Be safe, Cousin.”
“Aye, and you.”
And with that, John turned and ran. He could only hope being on foot and knowing the territory would be in his favor while the soldiers bumbled through the dark on their horses. He ran faster. Every footfall pounding through the forest thundered in time with his heart.
He had to reach her before the soldiers did.
Chapter Eight
Elizabet shimmied back through the window and dropped the pistol on the chair beside the tub before quickly stripping her clothing. Her bloodstained chemise would be difficult to explain if anyone cared to look closely enough. She looked around for a hiding place that wouldn’t be immediately notice
d and finally shoved it into the simmering water of the cauldron. It needed to be laundered in any case. Of course, she’d never washed her own clothing before so she wasn’t entirely sure how to go about it. But she’d seen the palace laundresses with great vats of boiling clothes, so hopefully it wouldn’t appear odd to anyone who might see it.
A loud banging at the door sent a jolt of fear shooting through her, and she clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. Despite her bravado in front of Jack, his words had hit home. She had nothing to prove her identity. Nothing to keep her safe. For the first time in her life, she had nothing between her and possible danger but her small dagger. At least when Jack and his men had attacked her carriage, she’d had her parents and the drivers. Small help though they were, at least she hadn’t been alone.
Still, she was a lady in dire straits. Perhaps if she asked the soldiers for help…
The pounding shook the door, and she grabbed the quilt from the bed and the pistol from the chair near the tub.
“Elizabet! Open the door! It’s Jack! Quickly!”
She gasped again, her heart hammering in her chest. Only this time from relief. Whatever their differences, Jack meant safety. That he’d risked his own to ensure hers meant more than she could contemplate. She’d barely lifted the bar when the door flew open and Jack ran in looking like the hounds of hell were on his heels.
“Soldiers are coming,” he said, his chest heaving with the force of his breath. “They gave chase…”
“You shouldn’t be here!” she said. “They’ll find you. Why did you come back?” The terror that rushed through Elizabet nearly paralyzed her with its intensity. Most of it centered on the man before her and the danger that hunted him.
“You have to go,” she said.
He cupped her cheek, drawing her close. “I couldna leave ye here alone. If they came…” He swallowed hard and shook his head. “Not all of the king’s men are honorable. I couldna leave ye to their mercy.”
She covered his hand with her own. “Jack…”
“I promised ye my protection.”
“Even at the expense of your own safety?” She shook her head, trying to calm her racing heart. Damn stubborn, wonderful man. She didn’t mention the relief coursing through her at his presence. He didn’t need the encouragement. “You can’t always protect me, Jack.”
“That sounds like a challenge, lass.”
She sighed and shook her head. “Must you always joke?”
“Always,” he said, smiling. He kissed the top of her head, and she shivered against him.
His hands smoothed down over her back, and he seemed to notice her state of undress for the first time. His mouth quirked up into a smile, and he opened his mouth to say something but before he could, hoofbeats echoed through the small clearing where the cottage sat. Men’s voices shouted.
“They’re here,” Jack said.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Open in the name of the king!”
Elizabet looked around wildly, fighting the urge to hide under the quilts as she had as a child. Jack was the one with a price on his head. And hiding places were scant, save for under the bed or in the armoire. Two places so obvious they’d be immediately searched.
“Open up or we’ll break the door in!”
“Into the water,” Elizabet said, running to the armoire to throw open the doors. Then she hurried to the bed, twitching the blankets aside to clearly reveal the floor.
She turned to Jack who stood beside the tub, frowning in confusion.
“Get in the water,” she said again. “There’s nowhere else. I’ll get rid of them.”
Something large and heavy crashed against the door, and the wood splintered, but held.
“Do it!” She gave him a shove. “I’m coming!” she said in the direction of the door. “I’ll open. A moment, please, I beg you.”
She snatched his hat from his head and frantically searched for a place to hide it. Finally, she shoved it behind a pillow on the bed and hoped that she could keep the soldiers from entering the room too far. Jack jumped into the tub, took a deep breath, and ducked beneath the water. He’d be discovered if they got too close, but if they stayed near the door, he couldn’t be seen over the lip of the tub and, with the fire in the hearth as the only light in the room, the water would be dark enough to hide him. For a few minutes at least.
She hurried to the door, still clutching the gun in her hand as she tried to keep a grip on the quilt covering her. She threw aside the bar and hurried back, barely in time to miss getting crushed by the door being thrown open. The soldier who had been barreling his way inside stopped short when he saw her. Elizabet knew she didn’t look a threat. A lone woman huddling inside a quilt would be no match for a soldier.
He glared at her. “We’re looking for an outlaw, a highwayman. He was seen coming this way.”
“Well, as you can see, he’s not here,” she said, hoping Jack could hold his breath for a while longer. She needed to get the soldier out.
“Says you. I need to search to be sure he’s not hiding anywhere.”
He made a move to enter farther but Elizabet countered his movement, keeping her body blocking as much view of the tub as she could.
“There is nowhere to hide, sir, as you can plainly see. It is a small cottage. Naught to it but this,” she said, waving her arm. “The armoire is the only possible place and you can see from where you stand that he is not in there.”
The solider looked around, obviously wanting to argue but unable to.
“Under the bed…”
“Bend down. No one is here.”
The soldier did as she said, straightening with a frown.
“There,” she said, her heart thumping in her chest. She had to get him out, now, before Jack had to surface. Or drown. “You can see no one is here. Get out. Now.”
The soldier’s attention turned to her, and his look of anger turned to one of a much more dangerous nature as he noticed what Elizabet wore. Or rather, wasn’t wearing. He moved a little nearer.
She had no intention of letting him get even an inch closer to her. She brought the pistol out from beneath the quilt. “Get. Out. Now.”
The solider scoffed. “Oh, come now. You wouldn’t shoot me, would you? I want only to get to know you a little better, that’s all. A pretty little thing like you, all alone in the big, dark woods? No man here to protect you.”
He stepped closer, his eyes gleaming with evil thoughts. Elizabet didn’t wait to see what he intended to do. She dropped the quilt. The soldier stopped in his tracks, his attention riveted to her naked body. Then she raised the gun and shot the floorboards near his feet. The wood splintered, sending a shard up and into the man’s calf. He yelped and grabbed his leg, stumbling back out into the yard as Jack heaved out of the water, sucking in a lungful of air.
“Elizabet!”
“I’m okay,” she said, her hands shaking. She dropped to her knees to grab the quilt and quickly wrapped it around herself again. More shouts and footsteps.
“Back down,” she ordered.
The look of pure astonishment on his face would have been comical if their very lives didn’t hang in the balance. But they did, so he needed to obey. Now.
“Quickly!” she commanded.
Jack looked as though she were forcing him to chew molten steel, but he took another deep breath and dropped back below the water. And not a second too soon. A man who looked like he was the one in charge entered with two other soldiers. Elizabet backed up as far as she could without allowing them too far into the room.
The commander glared at her. “What’s happened here? Did you shoot a member of His Majesty’s army?” he demanded.
Elizabet swallowed her anger. She needed them to leave, quickly, and arguing wouldn’t make that happen. Men such as this liked their women weak and afraid. It wouldn’t be too difficult for her to let that show, since her shaky legs were seconds from collapsing beneath her.
“He
attacked me,” she said. The quilt slipped a bit lower, exposing a shoulder. She clutched it tighter.
The commander’s eyes narrowed, and she let him see her trembling lip, her shaking hands. When he took a step closer she let a terrified gasp escape her lips and brandished her pistol.
He held out his hands. “Be careful with that! I’m not going to hurt you, you silly girl. We’ll trouble you no further tonight. But this can’t go unanswered for. You may have been provoked, but we can’t have people going about shooting at officers. What is your name?”
“Mary Smith,” she said, giving him the most common name she could think of with her wits rattled as they were by sheer panic.
He seemed about to speak again before the moaning man in the courtyard drew his attention. He sighed. “As you were obviously provoked, I will let the incident go. For now. I would suggest in the future calling for help before firing your weapon.”
Elizabet nodded and curtsied, and the commander motioned his men out. The second they were over the threshold, Elizabet rushed forward, slammed the door, and dropped the bar back in place. When she heard hoofbeats riding away from the clearing, she allowed herself to slump against the door with relief.
Jack rose from the water, dripping wet and desperate for air. She stayed put, dragging air into her own tortured lungs. She didn’t think she’d breathed the entire time the soldiers were there, terrified they’d discover Jack.
She probably should have run into their arms. Instead of fighting the urge to run into his. Instead of hiding the man who’d taken her. Who had a vendetta against her family he wouldn’t forget. She’d truly chosen sides this time. And looking at the towering, dripping wet, masked man before her, his clothing plastered to him, muscles tensed and ready for a fight—to protect her—she didn’t regret her decision for a second.
…
John stood in the tub and wrung himself out as best he could. His mind raced. He had, for all intents and purposes, kidnapped her. For good reason, yes. But at the end of the day, he was the man responsible for trying to ruin her father, who had gotten her shot and kidnapped. He’d been certain there was something between them, something he grew less capable of fighting. But until that moment, he wouldn’t have been surprised had she thrown open the doors and welcomed them in. Instead…
How to Ensnare a Highlander (The MacGregor Lairds) Page 9