How to Ensnare a Highlander (The MacGregor Lairds)

by McLean, Michelle

  “Fueled by you!” Elizabet burst out. “The public love him. The only people who don’t are the ones whose own deeds have given them reason to fear him.”

  “Says you. Either way, there’s no escape for him now. Though if the king is feeling sentimental I suppose they might let him live. If you call life in a dungeon living.”

  Elizabet sucked in a breath but her father wasn’t finished. “Either way, you’ll never see him again. If he lives, he’ll either be imprisoned for the rest of his life, or exiled. He’s a criminal. He deserves to hang.”

  “By that logic, so do you.” The words erupted from her before she could stop them. Alice squeezed her hand in warning.

  “Careful, girl,” he said, his voice low and deadly. “My need of you extends only so far. I came to warn you to stop this nonsense at once. Reconcile yourself to your marriage. There are worse fates.”

  He turned and stormed from the room. Elizabet slumped into her chair and wrapped her arms about herself, trying to drag enough air into her lungs to make her head stop spinning.

  “He’s alive,” Alice said, patting her hand. “Focus on that. He lives.”

  Elizabet shook her head, trying to breathe past the lump in her throat. “For now. If my father and the others like him have their way, he won’t be much longer. And I doubt anyone will be eager to share any news of him with me. I’ll never know what befalls him.”

  “Oh, my dear Bess,” Alice said, pulling her forward to envelope her in a cloud of lavender-scented satin and lace. “You only have to tell me what you wish to do, and I’ll make it happen.”

  Elizabet pulled away and wiped at the tears she couldn’t keep from falling. “Oh? You’ll help me break him out of prison? Or get Fergus out of my life?”

  “In an instant! I’d gladly kill Fergus with my own bare hands, and don’t think for a second I couldn’t do it.”

  Elizabet choked out a laugh. “Of that I have no doubt.”

  “It would probably be easier to break John out of prison.”

  “From the Tower? Impossible.”

  “Difficult. But not impossible. With his connections, he most likely isn’t being held in the dungeons. They’ll need to tend to his wounds. Prison, exile, or execution, they seem to want him alive to experience it. Therefore, he’ll need to be someplace relatively comfortable and accessible. A few bribes placed in the right hands and a foolproof escape plan and you’ll be away in no time.”

  Elizabet sighed and covered her face with her hands. “If only we really could.”

  Alice wrapped her arms around Elizabet. She put her head on her friend’s shoulder and for once, let herself completely go to pieces.

  …

  John blinked at the harsh sunlight glaring down on him. After several weeks in the Tower, locked up and healing from his wounds, the sun was too bright, though very welcome.

  “John, sit, please.”

  John glanced at King Charles and nodded, sitting in the indicated chair, though he didn’t relax.

  “I told you to stay out of this mess,” Charles said. “But you couldn’t let it alone.”

  John sighed and rubbed his hand over his newly shaven face. He’d had to clean up before entering the king’s chambers. Perhaps the only time he’d been grateful for the strict etiquette involved in being in the king’s presence. “Your Majesty, I…”

  Charles held up a hand. “It doesn’t matter what your excuses are, John. Or even if I agree with them. Your arrest was too public, and Dawsey and Ramsay have too much evidence against you for me to overlook this time.”

  “Evidence they have fabricated!” John said, too forcefully. At Charles’s raised brow he sat back in his chair and added, “Sire.”

  “That hardly matters now. The rumors are rife, and the evidence—falsified or not—is damning. I’m afraid even I cannot get you out of this one, my friend.”

  John’s heart sank, though he had suspected as much. “I understand, Your Majesty. What is to be done with me, then?”

  “Well, that depends on you.”

  “On me?”

  “I know not all the accusations against you are false…” He paused when John opened his mouth, his look enough to keep John from speaking. “But I’ve also looked the other way because, frankly, most of your so-called victims deserved what came to them, and you provided a justice I could not. And because, despite the damage you did to their coffers, you never actually harmed anyone. I cannot do that, in this case, as you stand accused, with half my guard as witnesses, of kidnapping Lord Dawsey’s daughter, on not one but two occasions, I’m told. And in your attempt to flee, you killed one of my guard. Neither of these offenses can be dealt with lightly. I’ve got shouts on all sides to hoist you by your neck.”

  John blanched, and Charles’s look softened. “I’m not inclined to do so. Neither am I willing to lock you in some dank dungeon for the rest of your days. My only other choice is to proclaim your English lands forfeit and banish you from our borders. I would advise against returning to Scotland for the time being. Though perhaps, someday you could go home to your estate there.”

  Exile? Though a fair sight better than he had cause to hope for, the prospect still weighed heavily on him.

  Elizabet.

  He’d never see her again. He’d never see his home, his family. Never bring Dawsey and Ramsay to justice. The thought of them roaming free, his brother’s death unavenged and countless more at risk, made his stomach roil.

  The king raised his hand and beckoned to the guard standing at the door to open it. John surged to his feet when Dawsey and Ramsay entered.

  “Sit down, MacGregor,” Charles said.

  John had completely forgotten etiquette in the face of his enemies’ smug faces. “Sire, ye canna let these men roam free.”

  “You are the one who should be back in irons, MacGregor,” Dawsey said. “The only criminal in this room is you!”

  “I should have let the soldiers run you through,” Ramsay said, trying to appear bored, though hatred blazed from his eyes. “Though I wish I could have seen your darling Elizabet shooting you with your own pistol. I didn’t think she had it in her. Perhaps, I should get her something extra special for a wedding gift.”

  John leaped toward Ramsay, all but growling, and grabbed Ramsay’s sword, yanking it from the scabbard to hold it to Ramsay’s throat. The soliders shouted at John and rushed for him, but John thought of nothing but the man before him.

  “Here is yer villain, Your Majesty! Here is the man who should be in irons at yer feet. He and Dawsey both! I have evidence, sire, more than enough to convince ye of their crimes. I waited only for a witness, so there would be no mistake. But take these men into custody now, and I can show ye the truth of my words, I swear it.”

  In his mad panic to make Charles understand, to ensure that Fergus did not once again get away, John failed to see Charles’s growing anger. His soul-crushing desire to bring Fergus down overshadowed everything.

  “You dare draw a blade in my presence!” Charles said.

  Too late, John realized his mistake. But Ramsay hadn’t. His slow smile seared into John like a slow drip of acid.

  John immediately dropped the sword, but the soldiers had already surrounded him.

  “Enough of this,” Charles said, waving the soldiers away. They tried to protest, but he waved them off again. Had John made such a dumb mistake in the presence of the rest of the court, he’d have been run through on the spot.

  “Sire,” he said, his body trembling with the desire to wipe the smug grin from Fergus’s face. To avenge his brother and keep Elizabet safe forever. “My deepest apologies. But I implore ye, dinna let these men go free.”

  “This is outrageous!” Dawsey cried, his face growing a mottled purple. “You have no cause to hold us. There is no such evidence as he claims—”

  “Aye, there is! Enough to see ye hanged, you and yer foul accomplice.”

  “Enough!” Charles bellowed.

  The soldiers
, probably in confusion as to who was the real threat, did the prudent thing and surrounded them all.

  Charles sat back in his chair and fixed each of them with a cold gaze before turning his attention to John. “You have told me time and again that these men are criminals of the highest order. Yet you present no evidence to support your claims. They, on the other hand, have provided a great deal of evidence pertaining to your own guilt.”

  John’s blood thundered through his body, in panic or rage, he knew not. All he did know was that his revenge was before him, and he’d not get the opportunity again. He’d likely be hanged or imprisoned. Fergus would never again be in his grasp. If John ran him through now, they’d both die for certain, as Charles would not overlook such a breach twice. Especially when Fergus dropped dead at the king’s feet. But if John were to suffer death anyway, he’d gladly take his enemy down with him.

  “Do you or do you not have solid evidence, witness or no, that will convict my Lord Dawsey and Mr. Ramsay?”

  John hesitated, Elizabet’s tearful image in his mind’s eye. Elizabet pleading for her father, blackguard that he was, for her sake and her mother’s. He wanted Dawsey to pay for his crimes. But he needed Ramsay to pay. Needed to avenge his brother with every ounce of his MacGregor blood. He’d minimize Dawsey’s involvement, if possible. For Elizabet’s sake. But he would not risk losing Ramsay, even if Dawsey must go down as well.

  “Aye, Your Majesty. I do.”

  “Then, if you want justice done, MacGregor, present your evidence or hold your tongue and be sent to the Tower.”

  It took John a second to realize what the king had said. “Ye’ll listen to my petition, sire? Though I have no witnesses?”

  “You said you had evidence. Witness or no, present it. If these men are guilty of that which you accuse, they will be dealt with accordingly. Bring forth your evidence.”

  John’s head buzzed. Finally, the moment was upon him.

  “Yes, MacGregor,” Fergus said, his voice still calm and measured. “Bring it forth. Present the evidence that will condemn me. And Dawsey along with me. And Dawsey’s family along with him.”

  “Silence,” Charles said. “Take them to the Tower. They can wait there while MacGregor presents his case. Then we’ll see if there is ought to this matter. Escort him to his chambers. You have one hour to gather your evidence,” the king said, with a flick of a finger at John.

  The soldiers hauled away a shouting Dawsey. Fergus though…Fergus merely stared at John, his face almost serene.

  John followed his guard back to his quarters willingly, longing to be alone. He sank into a chair before the fire, his head in his hands. He’d just seen Dawsey and Ramsay dragged from the room to be thrown into the Tower. He should be euphoric. The king would hear his considerable evidence despite no corroborating witness. With one fell swoop, he could gain his freedom, avenge his brother, and see justice done with the punishment of his enemies.

  But Fergus’s words echoed in his ears. Dawsey’s family.

  Elizabet.

  What had he done?

  Her father had just been taken to the Tower. At John’s word. To avenge his brother, yes. To save others from the misfortune of meeting Dawsey or Fergus or their henchmen, yes. And yes, even to save his own neck. But at what cost?

  He had loved his brother more than anything. He’d spent a long time chasing revenge for his brother’s death. But Elizabet…he loved her with his whole being—body and soul. And yet he’d betrayed her at the first opportunity.

  He stood and paced the room, his heart in shreds.

  What have I done? What have I done? What have I done?

  Her anguish-filled face as she’d held him in her arms, declaring her love for him, as he bled out into the dust, tore at him. His brother, God rest him, was gone. Dead and buried and past any pain that anyone might inflict upon him. Elizabet was alive. Needed him. Trusted him. And he’d failed her.

  He stopped pacing and strode to the armoire in the corner of the room, kneeling before it to remove a false bottom. He dragged out a small case and brought it to his chair, opening it to rummage through the contents. Everything he’d collected against Dawsey and Ramsay. Documents showing shipments, contacts, bribes. Personal memos to contacts. Even a few letters not so subtly bragging about their activities. Enough to keep the men in the Tower a good long while, if not anything else.

  The evidence Charles required of him.

  He went through it, separating out the pieces that explicitly implicated Dawsey. The memos, the personal letters. The other papers might point to him if the trail were followed closely. But Fergus had been his hired gun, the one who’d gotten his hands dirty. Dawsey had been smart enough for that. Without the letters, there might not be anything to tie Dawsey directly to Fergus.

  John held the stack of papers, his hand faintly trembling. He gripped them until his knuckles turned white and a slight sweat broke out on his brow. And then he opened his hand and let the papers fall. Right into the fire.

  Fergus was much more dangerous. More deadly. And more desperate. But he would drag Dawsey down with him, John had no doubt. So if he turned over the evidence against Fergus, Elizabet would still suffer. John couldn’t bring himself to destroy the evidence against Fergus. He needed to be stopped. The man was a murderous bastard, and no community was safe while he roamed free.

  But neither could it be John’s hand that brought him, and by extension, Dawsey, down. Elizabet would suffer. And John would rather die alone in a filthy cell or at the end of a rope than cause her one moment more of grief.

  He placed the box back in the armoire inside one of the drawers rather than back in its hiding place. It would be found. But Fergus would have a slight head start, if he were smart enough.

  The soldiers returned to escort John to the king. He left with them, his heart both lighter and heavier at once. He was sorry for what he was about to do. But had he done otherwise, he’d have regretted it for the rest of his days.

  Which were sure to be short, judging by the confused and livid expression on the king’s face.

  “I don’t believe I heard you correctly,” Charles said. “Do you have evidence to present, or not?”

  John took a deep breath. “No, sire. I’m afraid it’s been misplaced.”

  Charles rubbed his temple. “You do understand I’m trying to save your life, hmm?”

  “Aye, sire.”

  “I need only a reason to set you free. I cannot do it due to past friendship or royal mercy. You’ve angered too many at court. Give me my reason. Turn over your evidence. Have the Lady Elizabet sign a document, detailing what she’s witnessed at her father’s and Ramsay’s hands. I but need an excuse to investigate them further and claim unjust sabotage committed against you. You’ll have your life. And your freedom.”

  John’s heart thundered so hard blood roared in his ears. This was everything he’d waited for. Worked for. Sacrificed everything for. Revenge and justice were at hand. Finally.

  If he convinced Elizabet to bear witness against her own father. Against Ramsay? He knew she would gladly do so. However, the men were linked. They could not destroy one without the other, and Elizabet would never have a hand in her own father’s downfall.

  Or maybe she would.

  He’d nearly died in her arms. He wasn’t entirely sure if she knew he yet lived. But she loved him. When he’d lain bleeding in her arms, she’d told him so. Assuming she would be happy to discover he still lived, would she agree to anything he asked? Would she testify against her father? She wouldn’t have to satisfy his need for revenge. But would she to save his life? His freedom?

  She might.

  Could John ask her to?

  He sat silent, his heart and mind raging in turmoil. Battling desires branded him. His need to see his brother avenged, to keep others safe from the murderous tyranny that was Lord Dawsey and his hellspawn follower Fergus Campbell Ramsay had burned as a rampaging fire within him since the day his brother had drawn hi
s last breath. He’d devoted his life to their downfall. How could he walk away from that, especially when doing so would buy his own freedom?

  But Elizabet…she was an ache in his soul. A hunger that would never be sated. Were he to spend every moment of his life in her presence, he’d still cry out on Judgment Day that they hadn’t enough time.

  If she felt even a fraction for him what he felt for her, she’d testify against her father. She’d ransom John’s life with her own peace of mind. But doing so would destroy a part of her.

  And that would destroy a part of him.

  He released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “I have nothing to give ye, sire. And I willna ask it of the lady.”

  Charles raised a royal brow. “We are talking about your life, John.”

  “I ken that well.” He gave the king a small smile. “I suppose I’ve finally found something that means more to me.”

  Charles shook his head. “I can’t say I’ve ever found that myself. But, if you’ll not reconsider…”

  “Nay.”

  “Then I am sorry, John.” The king nodded at the guards who stood near the door, and they came forward to collect him. “I am sorrier than I can say.”

  Philip stood waiting by the carriage, looking nearly as bedraggled as John.

  John climbed up to sit beside him. “The ship leaves tomorrow. I’ve been given instructions to be on it as soon as possible.”

  Philip nodded. “It’s a mercy you were given that long. That they let you go at all.”

  John’s thoughts strayed to Elizabet as they often did. In fact, he spent every waking and dreaming hour consumed with thoughts of her. But even as a provisionally free man, he could do nothing about it. She needed to stay where she was. Unhappy perhaps, but safe and alive.

  Philip’s constant glances in his direction began to grate on his nerves.

  “What is it, Philip?”

  Philip shrugged. “I merely wondered if ye’d be visiting Lady Elizabet before taking ship.”