by Amy Quinton
MacLeod looked like he always did. Kilted and angry.
Oh, he couldn’t wait to hear this. Dansbury nearly rubbed his hands with glee as he suddenly rediscovered his normal amiable manner, albeit this time, his manner held a touch of mischievousness. His friends always managed to bring him back to himself.
Dansbury slapped on an extra wide grin for good measure. “Good morning, my friend.”
“Churchmouse,” came the brusque reply. As usual, no smile came from that quarter.
“I see you have company. Why?” He didn’t beat around the bush.
“Doona ask…”
Dansbury grinned wider. “But…”
“Doona. Ask.”
He tried to keep a straight face. “You nev…”
“I said Doona. Fooking. Ask.”
“Right…I won’t ask.” He held up a finger. “But you know…”
MacLeod took a swing and Dansbury only just managed to duck out of the way of the man’s ham-sized fist.
Hmm. A might touchy today, aren’t we?
He laughed at his friend. It’s how they usually related to one another. He laughed, MacLeod scowled. Never mind that his own laugh was a touch strained today, an unusual occurrence to be sure.
He let go his teasing and turned to introduce Mrs. Chase to Lady Beatryce. “Mrs. Chase? This is my wife, Mrs. Betty Churchmouse.”
“How do you do, Mrs. Churchmouse?” came the downcast reply.
“MacLeod, may I present my wife, Mrs. Churchmouse? Darling, this is my friend, Lord Alaistair MacLeod.”
Mrs. Chase jerked her head up, her eyes wide with curiosity, and Dansbury winced as he realized his mistake. Another to fuel Mrs. Chase’s curiosity. Based on their conversation at the last inn, Mrs. Chase would surely find it odd that his wife and his friend were not acquainted. And clearly, she’d noticed the blunder. Or suspected that something was off. But what could he say now? Nothing, really. In the end, he didn’t offer an excuse, and as expected, she was too polite to query him on it.
Predictably, MacLeod snarled over Dansbury’s use of “Lord”. He was quite touchy on the subject of his own nobility.
In all, the tension around the table was so thick as to be almost visible.
Beatryce took charge to diffuse the situation.
Dansbury couldn’t help but admire her as she spoke to MacLeod and Mrs. Chase. She stepped into the role of Mrs. Churchmouse as if she was born to it. Damn, but she was a surprise. At least, she put on a good show. She was lively and quick and quite swiftly put Mrs. Chase at ease. Not so MacLeod, but then Dansbury didn’t think anyone was that capable. That man was born angry. But he was faithful.
Wasn’t he?
Dansbury hated that he doubted the man, even for a moment. He owed that man many things, his faith among them.
MacLeod abruptly stood. “I need to check on my horse. She was acting verra strange on the way over.” Then, he walked away without another word.
Right. That was his cue. Dansbury, too, made his excuses and followed after MacLeod to the stables.
* * * *
Dansbury entered the stables and was immediately awash with the scent of fresh hay and horses. It was a comforting smell. Normal.
MacLeod was leaning against a stall, stroking his horse’s nose. He murmured softly and his mare visibly relaxed over his shoulder. She nudged his hand and whinnied in response.
And Dansbury witnessed the rarest of all things—a smile on Alaistair MacLeod’s face.
It was brief and strange and no one would believe him if he told of it. But he saw it and it was an odd sight to behold. It almost looked wrong on the man, for it completely altered his usual appearance. Or at least, recently normal appearance. Five years thirty-two days normal to be precise. Dansbury shook off dark memories that threatened to surface.
Here was a man who never offered an unnecessary word to a human. He’d always been that way. Polite conversation completely escaped the gruff man. More so since…
He didn’t complete the thought.
Yet MacLeod was as gentle as a lamb with his cattle, and clearly had much to say. He allowed few, if any, to ever see this side of him. Dansbury almost felt like an intruder, despite the fact that he probably knew this man better than anyone else in the world.
“I got your note.” He got right to the point. The infamous note he’d received while he and Beatryce were…nearly…engaged in physical congress had been from MacLeod.
Alaistair didn’t answer, but continued to stroke his mare’s nose and murmur quietly. The ritual seemed to soothe the man as much as the beast. Many would claim it was the mare as much as the beast.
“A traitor?” He prodded his friend.
“Aye. It’s the only explanation that makes sense, ye ken?”
Dansbury shuffled the straw at his feet. He didn’t want to face this truth. Every part of him rebelled against the idea of one of their own betraying them.
MacLeod must have noticed his demeanor though he never once looked at Dansbury. “Och, I doona like it either.”
They were certainly in agreement on that. “Do you suspect anyone?”
“Aye and nae. I doona have proof, mind, but I have my suspicions, and I doona like them. I doona want them to be truth, ye ken?” MacLeod continued to stroke his mare’s nose. He looked off into space.
“Where is Kelly?” Dansbury asked the question he assumed was really on both their minds.
MacLeod turned to look at him then, his gaze hard and cold. His look conveyed much that would remain unspoken. For now. “Och. He’s not here, aye? He’s off chasing doun a lead, ye ken?”
Dansbury looked down and dug up a stone at his feet with the toe of his boot. “Yes. I believe we understand each other perfectly.”
* * * *
“So, Mrs. Chase. MacLeod seems an ill-tempered sort. What dire event has placed you in his keeping? I did see you at the Quiet Witch Inn, did I not?”
Mrs. Chase nodded and smiled and every man in the room seemed to turn as one in her direction. She was quite stunning when she smiled—for she did so with her entire face. Here was a woman who would find it impossible to be dishonest. It had been some time since Beatryce had met the like. Had she ever?
She is quite the opposite of me to be sure.
“It’s a long story, Mrs. Churchmouse. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” She answered with a wave of her hand.
Beatryce threw on her biggest smile. “La, try me. And call me Bea…um Betty. I believe we are going to be seeing a lot of each other in the future, Mrs. Chase.”
Mrs. Chase widened her eyes in surprise before adopting a more thoughtful mien. Beatryce waited patiently and assumed her most innocent expression—the one guaranteed to make anyone spill their secrets. Especially the open, friendly type like Mrs. Chase.
It worked. It wasn’t a moment before Mrs. Chase nodded her head as she came to a decision. She folded her hands on the table. “Well,” she said, “you know I’m from America, but did you know that I was born an orphan?”
Chapter 19
“Tempt not a desperate man.”
― Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
On the Road Again…
Dansbury was in a mood. Again. He sat with his boots propped up on the seat before him, his arms resting on his knees as he all but glared at the walking stick he held between his legs. Every once in a while he pulled at his worn cravat with a worried expression, and then scowled at the trees passing outside his window before returning his attention to the offensive cane. Eventually he tossed his cravat and his cane on the seat before him.
At one point, Beatryce thought he might toss both items out the window. It would probably be a good idea. If anyone were to see his walking stick they’d wonder why a man of his standing would own such a costly thing. It would blow away their cover. At least he’d had the sense to leave it in the carriage each night so it wouldn’t be seen by the patrons at the inns.
His mercurial expressions were so o
bvious, she nearly laughed at the sight of him brooding in the corner. She refrained. Just. Instead, she watched it all from her side of the carriage with only a twitch or two of her lips to betray her inner thoughts.
She didn’t try to hide her perusal, but if he noticed, and Beatryce had no doubt that he did, he did not show it. Which was fine. She was quite content to simply observe, catalogue, and then reach her own conclusions about what conflicting thoughts were running through his mind.
And then there was Mrs. Chase and her monumental revelations. Monumental might even be regarded an understatement. Mrs. Chase had revealed far more than Beatryce could have ever imagined. In fact, she was still trying to come to terms with it all. Mrs. Chase’s story had far reaching implications…for Dansbury. For Stonebridge’s team…
La, but what to do with this information?
She didn’t know at the moment. But the knowledge was important and Dansbury needed to know…when the time was right.
Now was not that time. He was clearly distraught over one possible traitor…but this? This might very well push him over the edge and into a rage that made his tying-her-to-the-chair-and-gagging-her tirade look like child’s play. Not to mention the pain and confusion that would soon follow. Though possibly some joy, too.
No. For now it was best she still her tongue and go along with the current plan, which wasn’t really much of a plan at all. Certainly not a new one. They were simply going to proceed with the original scheme—at least until the next stop. Which meant they were off to another ratty inn in the middle of nowhere.
Ha! Men and their schemes.
Unbeknownst to Dansbury and MacLeod, Mrs. Chase had agreed to stay within sight of MacLeod. For now. Beatryce rather thought Mrs. Chase would not find that task too much of a hardship. And MacLeod, though dark and brusque, appeared incapable of keeping his eyes from following Mrs. Chase’s every move in return. Considering Mrs. Chase was normally quite animated, the effect was amusing on such a brooding man.
Beatryce returned her thoughts to Dansbury and soon noticed that Dansbury’s mood had continued to deteriorate with every mile they traveled. She decided to redirect his ire.
“You’ve led quite a charmed life, haven’t you?”
That should do it.
“What is that supposed to mean?” He all but bit off every word.
Yea, that did it.
“You have wealth, power, excessive good looks, friends who care, friends with money, family who supports your every move…I say you with your ‘life-is-what-you-make-of-it, look-for-the-positive-and-ye-shall-find-it, holier-than-thou’ attitude, you have never had your ideals truly tested…”
“Love, my values are challenged every single minute I’m around you, and they’ve survived intact thus far.”
“Yes, you proved that well last night. I seem to recall you telling me you never fuck anyone under your protection…”
“We didn’t.”
“Only due to the damn missive. Deny it all you want. It would have happened if someone hadn’t knocked on the door.”
Judging by the thunderous expression that stampeded across his face, he was downright furious. And despite the fact that he was still angry, at least now, his irate countenance lost some of the bleakness she saw hovering around the edges before.
But she wasn’t finished. Because now she was irritated over his attempted denial of their obvious attraction. She kept her composure though. Even when she realized that it was the first time she had acknowledged their mutual attraction, even to herself.
And it was true. The attraction was real. On both sides.
“I think you’ve grown tired of being good. I think there is a part of you lurking inside that wants to be just a little bit bad and it is making you crazy.”
“Ha! You see me through tinted eyes. I love being good. In fact, I excel at it. But what about you, Dr. Beckett? Are you tired of being bad? What do you want? What makes you tick? You don’t act like a normal lady…”
“I am not a normal lady.”
When had he drawn so close? He had crossed to her side of the carriage and was in her face now. She smelled his earthy scent, his minty breath. He was breathing hard and she responded in kind.
Were they even talking about the same thing anymore?
He bent to kiss her; she read the intent in his eyes as he learned forward. And she nearly allowed it.
But instead, she put her hand up to stop him. She’d given this a lot of thought during her sleepless night.
“I will not do this.”
He leaned forward and touched his forehead to hers instead. Then rubbed her nose with his and whispered, “You seemed to manage just fine yesterday.” His voice had quieted, barely above a whisper now.
“Yes, well I can’t now. Don’t ask me why.”
It was called self-preservation.
He leaned back and looked at her. If anything, his lust seemed to flame hotter rather than diminish with her rejection of his advances. And an answering call swelled inside her.
She tamped it down and lifted her chin. “Go back to your side of the carriage, Dansbury. You were good, what I had of you, but I’ve moved on.”
For a moment, there was a challenge to his gaze. She’d impugned his virility with her words. His male nature would require him to accept the challenge. To prove her wrong. But all too soon, his challenging look was replaced with a knowing one shaded with a large portion of confidence.
That look was frightening.
He braced his arms on either side of her, effectively caging her to the seat. He leaned close, his breath tickling her ear as he said, “Oh, I’ll have you, never doubt it. And you’ll be begging for it when I do…”
La, he wanted to be bad. With her. Ha!
He brushed his lips against the side of her face, a caress she felt down to her toes. But then he pulled away and moved back to his side of the carriage as per her request…No. Demand. Dammit.
Despite the distance that now separated them, the carriage still felt like it had shrunk. To the size of a rabbit hole. That was on fire.
He smiled again. A mischievous, knowing sort of grin. Then crossed his arms and let his eyes roam her figure before returning to look at her. She saw the heat in them and wanted her fan. Or a bucket of ice.
He leaned forward and braced his hands on his thighs. “Ah, Bea. You have no idea of the things I want to do to you…The things I’ve dreamt…The things we will do…”
He lost his smile then, his face turned serious. “And Bea? You had better be ready…”
Chapter 20
“Et tu, Brute?”
― William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar
“If his lips are silent, he chatters with his fingertips; betrayal oozes out of him at every pore.”
― Sigmund Freud
The Queen and the Horny Toad Inn…
That Night…
He wanted to jump into the stream running alongside the inn. His body all but demanded he douse the burning in his loins. He could hear the trickle of water and smell its clean scent. And it beckoned him closer. Enticed him to dive in, clothes and all.
Damn, but she touched something inside of him that set his blood on fire. Whether it be anger or lust, it all seemed to amount to the same thing with her…his blood burning through his veins.
Who was this depraved monster that suddenly craved sex? With her. All of the damn time.
Yet he couldn’t resist taunting her as he helped her out of the carriage. “Like the name of the Inn? Appropriate, don’t you think?”
Despite the taunt, what the name implied was all too true. Unfortunately.
She didn’t respond and he was glad. He’d disconcerted the impossible-to-disconcert Ice Queen. Finally. Though somehow his success felt hollow.
They rushed inside and once again he was caught off guard by her complete change in demeanor the minute they walked through the door and introduced themselves as Mr. & Mrs. Churchmouse to all and sundry. She unnerved him w
ith her ability to change on demand, to cloak her personality in a believable façade. It was all he could do to maintain his own pretense as they waited for their room to finish being readied…in front of twenty-five other patrons enjoying themselves in the inn’s taproom. He felt like he was on stage.
More than an hour later, two hours after they had disembarked from their entirely too small conveyance, lust still made his skin sensitive to the touch. His shirt grazed his prickled flesh with every step. He wanted to rip his clothes off.
More concerning, he wanted to rip off hers.
Alas, he was on his way to the public room. This time to meet with Kelly, who was awaiting him downstairs. Like last time, Beatryce remained upstairs in their room. And like last time, he tried not to dwell on that fact. Or remember what he’d found awaiting him when he’d returned to their room.
“Kelly…”
“D…Churchmouse?”
“Another near slip? You’re getting lax, old man.” Dansbury tried to keep the accusation from his tone.
“Though, I shan’t like to admit it, ye’re right. I’m feeling my age, fer sure.”
Kelly seemed different. Unsettled. Dansbury tried to decide whether or not he was simply projecting his own distrust on his friend. Or was his friend finding it tough to hide his guilt?
“Where were you this morning? Imagine my surprise to find MacLeod with Mrs. Chase instead of you. Though, I must say she is a damn sight better to look at.” Dansbury tried to make his question humorous, to put his friend at ease…loosen the tongue a bit.
They laughed, but Kelly’s was clearly strained. “I had to check on something,” was all he said. Vague and noncommittal.
Dansbury waited while Kelly fiddled with his mug of ale. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Kelly seemed surprised to learn of Mrs. Chase’s presence at the last inn. After a while, he prompted, “Something…”
“I can’t say. I don’t want to believe in my suspicions. Aye?”
“You have suspicions?” Well, this was unexpected.
“That’s just it. I don’t even want to admit them, aye? We’ve all worked together for too long. Trusted each other, aye?”