How to Ensnare a Highlander (The MacGregor Lairds)

by McLean, Michelle

  “Yes. I’m sure he will. But how many will suffer for it?”

  John’s jaw visibly clenched, and he spun on his heel and strode to the other side of the room and back again, like a caged tiger who’d been provoked.

  “Damn it, Elizabet! I’ll not leave ye!” he said, nearly growling with the force of his emotions.

  The tears she’d tried to hold back began to fall. Before she could respond, Philip rushed in from the courtyard, his eyes wild with panic.

  John pulled her to his side. “Philip? What is it?”

  “You are discovered. Lord Dawsey…” His gaze flickered to Elizabet. “My apologies, my lady,” he said with a little bow before turning back to John. “But Lord Dawsey and Ramsay have uncovered yer identity and compiled evidence against you. They showed all to the king only moments ago. Before the court. The king had no choice but to dispatch the soldiers.”

  “What evidence?” John asked, his voice low and hard.

  “Witnesses, my lord. Villagers who say they’ve seen ye at the cottage, riding up wearing a mask and leaving again without it.”

  John snorted. “Nonsense. There are no such witnesses.”

  Philip shook his head. “Aye, the likelihood they actually saw anything is slim, I’ll admit. But since when has that ever stopped someone from bearing witness? If they are paid well enough, they’ll say anything.”

  Philip’s gaze darted to Elizabet and back again. “I believe there is even a witness who will swear to having seen ye at the cottage in the company of Lady Elizabet. The commander of the guard had yer quarters searched and found yer mask.”

  “So that’s why the wee bastard was so smug when he found us.” John’s face hardened. “Who is this witness?”

  “A soldier. He’s been wounded. Walks with a limp. When he was injured, he was transferred back to the regiment at court. He saw my lady and recognized her. He…” Philip’s face turned bright red but he pressed on. “He swears he entered the cottage and encountered my lady in a state of undress. She fired on him and he fled. The cottage is on your lands, John. They drew their own conclusions.”

  John nodded, and even Elizabet knew what those conclusions would be. Ironic that they had probably paid a fortune for the man to lie and he needed only to tell the truth to condemn them.

  “My lord, please. I sent Will to keep watch, but it would be wise to leave. I dinna think even yer friendship with the king can save ye now.” He glanced around, noticing the men littering the floor. “Ye’ll be hanged for certain.”

  Elizabet’s heart dropped at those words. “Go,” she said, turning to him. “You must go. Quickly.”

  “Ready the horses,” he said to Philip. But instead of following his friend, he turned back to Elizabet. “And what of you? Ye refuse to come with me. And I canna leave ye.”

  That he would even think of her with his life in peril made her heart flip in her chest. And sent fear for him rushing through her, tying her stomach in knots. “I’ll be fine. My life is not at stake.”

  “No,” he said, pulling her close. “Just yer happiness.”

  She leaned in to him. She’d been so close to being able to keep him. So close to all the possibilities loving him offered. “I…I’ll find another way. Somehow. Now go.”

  He pulled her to him and kissed her, sweet and deep. Then he took a deep breath and let it slowly out. “Nay, lass. I’ll not leave ye.”

  She sobbed but tried to push him away. “John. Go. Now.”

  But it was already too late.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Open in the name of the king!” Fists pounded at the door.

  John grabbed Elizabet’s hand and ran. He pulled her through the courtyard and into the gardens beyond. The stables weren’t too far away. They could make it.

  The distant sound of his chamber door splintering echoed through the air, and John’s heart plummeted. They should have left the second Philip had warned him. But the thought of leaving her had been more than he could do. The time they’d spent together in the cottage had been the best of his life. She’d saved him. In more ways than one. For the first time in years he’d thought of something other than revenge. She made him think of love and life and laughter. And he didn’t want to lose her.

  But it didn’t look like he would have a choice. Soldiers shouted and boots thundered over the ground. Close. Much too close. There was nowhere to run.

  “Elizabet,” he murmured.

  Before he could say another word she spun, pulled his dagger from its sheath at his hip, and pressed her back to his chest. Then she thrust the dagger into his hand and brought his hand to her throat.

  Stunned, John froze. The soldiers burst from the hedges and began shouting.

  “Drop the dagger!”

  “Release the woman!”

  John immediately started to comply, but Elizabet grasped his hand and kept it at her throat, though from the soldiers’ point of view it must have looked as though she struggled to keep the blade from her skin.

  “You aren’t getting out of here without a hostage,” she whispered to him.

  It took him a moment to push past the abhorrence of having a dagger against her tender throat, and then he wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her close. “You bloody brilliant, beautiful woman,” he murmured into her ear.

  He began to back them up, shouting at the soldiers to keep back. Philip had their horses ready at the stables. They had only to make it there. And then…he had no idea. He’d need to make himself scarce. With his recent line of work, he had several plans in place for such a situation. But none had included a maddening woman who insisted upon using her body as a shield. He’d throttle her later for risking her neck for him. Right then, however, she provided their only means of escape.

  The soldiers glanced at their commander whose face had turned a delightful shade of purple as he watched his prey slip through his fingers. John and Elizabet had reached the point of the path where it curved, leading into a maze of hedges. If they could make it into the maze, they’d be able to turn tail and run. The stables lay not far beyond.

  John looked at the commander. “If ye want to keep this pretty neck of hers unmarred, I would suggest yer men remain where ye are.” Then he raised a finger to the tip of his hat in a mock salute and pulled Elizabet into the maze. The second they were out of sight he took her hand and they ran.

  Hampered by her skirts and thin slippers, Elizabet couldn’t run. Not quickly at any rate. Nor could she breathe with the damn corset she wore. After a few minutes, she pulled her hand from his grasp.

  “Leave me. They aren’t after me. You must go,” she said, her breath wheezing from her constrained lungs. “I can’t run any farther in this gown. We must part. Now.”

  He grabbed her about the waist and kissed her, hard and fast. He would have to leave her. And soon. She couldn’t go with him when he fled. They might have managed as a pair of lovers hiding from an arranged marriage. Being hunted as a highwayman with a price on his head was another matter. He wouldn’t condemn her to an outlaw’s life. But the thought of leaving her standing there, never to see her again, went against everything he was.

  “Not yet,” he said. He bent and picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder.

  The shouting from the soldiers drew nearer, and he spun and ran again. Ran until his chest burned with the force of the air leaving his lungs with each breath. They reached the exit of the maze. John could see the stables. He merely needed to reach them. Philip would have the horses ready.

  Elizabet…he put her down and took her hand again, pulling her along with him the final few yards. They’d have to say goodbye. For now. But he’d come back for her. In a few weeks, perhaps, he could come back…

  He was so intent on reaching the stables, he didn’t see the soldier step from the hedges until it was too late. Until he saw the glint of a pistol in the sun. Heard Elizabet scream.

  John turned. Her face had gone ashen, eyes wide with fear and horror. Blood
stained the front of her gown, the red bleeding into the satin like ink on parchment. No! He couldn’t lose her now. Not like this!

  She reached for him, and he tried to raise his arms. But they didn’t seem to work properly. His legs threatened to collapse, unable to hold his weight any longer. He dropped to his knees. She dropped with him.

  Only it wasn’t her blood marring her clothing. He frowned. Had he been shot then? That must be why the world seemed dull around the edges, why focusing on anything had become impossible. Why Elizabet was crying.

  Shouldn’t it hurt?

  “Elizabet,” he said. Only no sound came from his mouth.

  He sank down, slumping forward. Elizabet caught him, resting his head upon her shoulder while she pressed against his chest, urging him to lie down so she could put pressure on the wound.

  The soldier who’d shot him came forward, shouting at her to move. She looked up, the fury contorting her face magnificent to behold. She more closely resembled a warrior than a heartbroken lass in a ruined dress. The soldier shouted again and drew his sword.

  Before John realized what she meant to do, Elizabet reached beneath his coat and pulled his pistol from his belt. She aimed. Fired. And the soldier fell.

  The pistol dropped from her shaking hand, and she turned back to John. Without her strength to support him, he collapsed on the ground. She reached for him, the dead soldier forgotten.

  “Jack. Stay with me,” she pleaded, again pressing her hands to his chest in a futile attempt to staunch the flow of blood. “Help will come. I’ll find help.”

  John shook his head. Help wasn’t going to come. But soldiers were. And she couldn’t be found with a dead soldier lying at her feet. He might be able to save her. She wouldn’t like it. But he’d make her see reason.

  He mustered what strength he had left and forced the words from his throat. “Elizabet, listen to me.”

  “I’m here, Jack. I’m listening.” She stroked his hair back from his face with one hand. The other never left his chest.

  “Take my gun,” he instructed. She looked at the one she’d dropped and he shook his head. “The other gun. In my belt.”

  He waited until she had it in her hand. Then he took the hand that rested over his heart and pressed it to the pistol as well. She protested, trying to resume putting pressure on the wound. “No,” he said. “Elizabet, my love, stop.”

  At those words, she froze. But the numbing cold already crept through John. They were out of time. She needed to focus on herself.

  He took a deep breath that rattled in his chest. “Wait until the soldiers come. They’ll be upon us soon. Wait. And then shoot me.”

  Whatever she’d expected him to say, it hadn’t been that. She shook her head. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “Aye,” he said as forcefully as he could. “I do.”

  “No.” She gritted her teeth, her mouth pressed in a pinched line. “You need a doctor. You’ll be fine. I’m not going to…to do that…not to you. No.” She dropped the gun on the ground beside him and reached for him, cradling his head in her lap, her hand cupping his face.

  “Elizabet…”

  “No. Don’t make me do this,” she murmured. Hot tears spilled from her eyes to land on his cheeks. “I won’t do it. You’ll be all right. You’re strong.”

  “Hush, lass.” He stroked her cheek, wiping away her tears, though more continued to fall. “I’m no’ asking ye to do this for me.”

  “Yes, you are. Why else would you want me to do something like that?”

  “The soldiers are coming. If they have a witness who swears ye were with me at my cottage, then ye’ll be suspect. Especially as ye shot that soldier. And now ye’ve killed one of their men. No matter who ye are, ye’ll have to answer for that. Unless ye tell them I did it. And prove your loyalty to the Crown by shooting me.”

  She gasped and pushed away from him. “No. How can you think I’d ever—”

  “Ye must,” he said, putting the last of his energy into making her understand. “I’m done for, Elizabet.”

  “No,” she said, her voice cracking. “No.”

  “Come here, love.” He held out his good arm, and she came back, pressing herself as close to him as she could get. He kissed the top of her head and she lifted her face. He kissed her, slow and gentle, pouring every bit of love he would never get the chance to show her into it. She broke away from him with a sob.

  “I’m done for,” he said with gentle insistence. “There’s no time for you to run. Philip must have been captured, or he’d have been waiting here for us. Ye need to take the gun and when ye see the soldiers, shoot me. Tell them I killed their man there. And ye took my gun and shot me. They’ll have to believe ye if they see it with their own eyes.”

  “Jack. I can’t…” Her breath caught, and she pressed the back of a bloodied hand to her mouth. “Please.”

  “Aye, my love. Ye can. Ye must.” His breaths were coming in short bursts now. He couldn’t seem to get enough air. Elizabet had taken on an almost ethereal quality. Her face faded a bit, edged in a glowing light. He smiled at her. “Ye look like an angel.”

  He reached up to cup her face, and she pressed her cheek against his hand. “You can’t leave me. I love you,” she said, pain coating every word.

  His fading heart jumped in his chest. Then faltered.

  She turned her face so she could kiss his palm. “You said you were a man of honor. You promised you’d always protect me. Always.”

  John smiled. “And so I shall, love. With my dying breath.”

  A faint breeze blew over them, bringing with it the faint echo of the commander and his men.

  “Now,” John said. He grabbed the pistol from where she had dropped it beside him and pressed it into her hand. Then he used the last of his strength to haul himself to his feet.

  She lunged forward, sealed her mouth to his and kissed him with a passion born of love and desperation. Then she wrenched herself away, tears streaming down her beautiful face as she backed away from him. She raised the gun.

  The soldiers poured from the maze. John didn’t take his eyes from Elizabet, or she from his. He gave her a slow, sad smile.

  She pulled the trigger.

  A scream of anguish and rage rent the air, the sound ripped from her throat as John crumpled to the ground. The soldiers shouted, rushed at them. Elizabet fell to her knees, dropping the gun to cover her face.

  Then John saw no more.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Elizabet sat despondent, staring out her window. Alice sat beside her. She’d offered her tea, food, diversion, and when Elizabet had refused them all, she’d finally offered her silent companionship. Elizabet was grateful for her company. Being alone in a house with her parents made life unlivable. Even more with her father’s gloating. And Fergus’s constant attempts to see her. She’d refused, and surprisingly, her father hadn’t insisted. Which only made her suspicious.

  “Bess, you’ve got to eat something,” Alice said, pushing a tray of small sandwiches toward her.

  She looked at the food and shrank away, her stomach revolting at the sight of it. “I cannot. I’m sorry, Alice. I simply cannot.” Her voice trembled, and Alice immediately pulled her into a hug.

  Elizabet sobbed in her friend’s arms. Images of Jack lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood haunted her every thought. Waking or asleep, she couldn’t shut out the sight. Couldn’t forget the feel of his body growing colder in her arms.

  She hadn’t shot him. How could she? She’d have sooner turned the gun on herself. But with her screaming like a wild woman, no one had noticed her shot going wide and disappearing through the shrubbery behind John.

  But the wound from the soldier had been grievous. And he’d been so cold, so still.

  She sobbed anew, her heart rending. Of the soldier she’d shot, the one who’d killed Jack, she hardly gave a thought. Distantly, she worried about that. Shouldn’t it bother her that she took a life? Yet he
’d been a threat. He’d shot Jack. And now he was gone. But not soon enough to save her love.

  Her father marched into the room, took one look at her, and exploded. “Damn you, Elizabet, enough of this! I’ll not stand here and watch you make yourself sick over some criminal. I’ve allowed you to wallow in your self-pity long enough. You will desist with this behavior at once. Mr. Ramsay will be returning in a few days, and you will be presentable and welcoming, or I will throw you out of this house without a cent to your name.”

  Elizabet’s fury grew with every word her father spewed. She slowly stood, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. “Go ahead,” she said, her voice quiet but steady.

  “What did you say?” her father asked, his face growing mottled with anger.

  “I said, go ahead. Toss me out. I’ll manage. But you won’t. You need me too much. Who else will you sell off to the highest bidder to refill your pilfered coffers? You can’t steal more from your neighbors. You can’t embezzle it from your business partners. The tenants on your estates have precious little to give. And without me to tie you to him, Fergus might stop being your ally and start wanting more for himself. You’ll have a rival on your hands. So do your worst. John is dead. You can’t hurt me anymore.”

  Her father sneered at her. He couldn’t argue back when she spoke the truth. But the self-satisfied look didn’t leave his face.

  “On the contrary, my dear. Your John is alive.”

  Elizabet staggered back a step and reached for the table to steady herself. Alice gripped her hand, providing silent support.

  Her father scoffed at her reaction. “Before you go indulging in any fantasies, he won’t be that way for long. He’s been exposed as a highwayman. People are calling for him to swing from the gallows at Tyburn.”

  Elizabet steeled her spine, refusing to allow him the satisfaction of watching her lose control despite the tempest raging inside her. “I’m sure you are the chief among those voices, Father.”

  “The man is a brigand. His friendship with the king and years of service to the Crown may have bought him some leniency, but he cannot go unpunished. Not with the public outcry against him…”