It dawned on him that her approach to leading her men was as opposite his own as it could be. In a way, she saw herself as an equal, but one with responsibilities, rather than their superior. She rarely issued orders, and he had the impression that were one of her men to disagree with her, she would listen and perhaps even change her mind, if the argument to do so were strong enough.
The kettle tapped loudly as the water began to boil, and, wrapping her hand in her cloak, she lifted the kettle and poured steaming water into the waiting cups. He watched as she made the tea, and soon she held a cup his way.
He took it, wincing a little at the hot cup, before he wrapped it in his muffler and settled back with it. Rurik and Gregor came to join them, and even MacKean made a brief stop to fetch himself a cup before returning to his post.
The tea was weak compared to the type Nik and his countrymen typically drank. In the morning, he’d make them some of his grandmother’s tea; he doubted they’d ever be satisfied with this tepid stuff again. Tata Natasha would be proud of that.
From across the fire, Ailsa saw the prince’s face tighten as he stared into his cup, his expression growing as dark as the encroaching night.
She shouldn’t care what he thought. She barely knew him, and he’d done nothing to endear himself to her. He wouldn’t have done one single chore if she hadn’t chided him. Yet she couldn’t ignore his seemingly genuine concern. “What is it?” The words slipped over her lips before she realized she was going to say them.
Nik looked up from his cup, irritation crossing his face.
She thought it wasn’t with her, but with himself, for allowing his thoughts to show.
He shrugged. “It is nothing.”
She raised her brows and waited, but he didn’t offer another word.
Gregor asked Rurik about winters in Oxenburg and how they compared to those in Scotland, a topic that gained Stewart’s attention. Ailsa noted this left Nik alone with his thoughts. From his expression, she thought perhaps his worries were growing with the darkness.
Worry was like that; it gnawed upon one in the quiet. She should know; she spent a lot of her time worrying. Was she doing enough? Too much? Had she thought of everything? Should she ask for advice more often, and if so, from whom? She worried more than she should, and yet it was because she cared—she didn’t just want to do well with Castle Leod, she was determined to do so, no matter the cost.
Thus, she recognized the worry now settled on Nik’s face. Ailsa moved a little closer to him. “You are thinking aboot your grandmother.”
His jaw tightened. “Perhaps.”
She raised her eyebrows.
He grimaced. “Fine. Da. I was. But I do not like that you know what I am thinking.”
“I worry aboot the captives, too. All the time.”
His gaze met hers. “We must rescue them.”
She managed a smile, and for a moment, she didn’t feel quite so alone. “So we must.”
The prince murmured his agreement, and they fell silent, lost in their own thoughts. The night darkened and the men continued to talk, moving closer to the other side of the fire. Stewart reheated the leftover stew, the fragrant smell lifting over the camp.
“I hope she is safe.”
Nik’s words were so quiet, Ailsa thought for a moment that she hadn’t heard them.
He set his empty cup on a rock. “She is very old, though she does not like that mentioned.”
“My grandmother cannae stand us to mention that, either.”
Nik nodded, his gaze flickering past her to the forest. “I cannot imagine her traversing such rough country. I assume Lord Hamilton is the same age?”
“Aye, though he is verrah healthy. He rides almost every day, but this would be difficult for him, too. Fortunately, the prisoners dinnae use this trail.”
Nik’s gaze locked on her face. “Didn’t they?”
“They took a gentler trail through two long valleys, most likely because the abductors knew two elderly prisoners would nae make it on this path, which is steeper.”
“So we take a more direct route. Good. I do not like thinking of her suffering.” He picked up a piece of wood and fed it into the fire, sparks crackling and then lifting with the ash in a curl of gray smoke that rose overhead and disappeared in the trees. “Our conversation last night . . . It was unsatisfactory on many levels.”
“I would nae call it a conversation, but a regular mill.” At his confused look, she explained, “A fistfight.”
A faint smile curved his mouth. “Da. Neither of us were at our best. We have lost sight of why we are here: to help Lord Hamilton and my Tata Natasha. On that, we agree.”
She couldn’t argue with that.
“Ailsa.” He faced her, his green eyes almost black in the rapidly growing darkness. “We must work together. If in any way our assisting one another helps, then we should—we must—do so.”
He is right. And yet she found herself hesitating. Could she trust him? Was this the real prince? Or the charming man who was only saying what he must to get his way? She’d seen both sides of this man—the arrogant, no-nonsense prince who ordered his men about without care, and the feckless charmer who tried to win information from her. She’d be wise to remember that first meeting.
Not that she could forget it; every time he spoke, she remembered that blasted kiss. It had been only one kiss. Just one not-that-long-of-a-kiss, but it was still so fresh in her memory that her lips still tingled from it, and her heart still raced at the mere thought.
She was surprised he couldn’t hear her heartbeat; it pounded so loudly in her own ears.
Perhaps it is good we’ll be in one another’s company for the next week or so; being exposed to him will kill every reaction but annoyance. Last night, he’d been every inch an arrogant do-as-I-say prince. He’d attempted to take over her rescue expedition as if he had more of a say in it than she.
Ha! She was the daughter of the Earl of Cromartie; she was no one’s servant to be ordered about. She could only hope their argument had disabused him of his misconceptions concerning his role in this expedition. No matter how genuine his concern for his grandmother might be, she couldn’t allow his preemptory, arbitrary approach to their situation win the day.
He sighed now. “You are still angry. I see it in your eyes.”
The last thing she’d wanted was for him to know how she felt. “I’m considering your proposition. What exactly are you suggesting?”
“Something simple. We will share our information and do what we can to reach the captives.”
“And then?”
“Once we have located them, then we will decide which tactic to pursue.”
“And how will we decide that? I am nae guid at arm wrestling, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
He shot her a warm, amused look. “If pressed, I could think of several better ways than mere arm wrestling to resolve an argument with you.”
She dropped her gaze to the safety of her cup of tea, her face heating even in the cold. Just a few words from this man sent her imagination racing in directions she didn’t even know existed. It was a dangerous power, one she hoped he never realized he held.
She cleared her throat. “And if we cannae resolve our difference of opinions?”
“We can do this, krasavitsa. We must at least try.”
She couldn’t argue with trying, could she? “Fine. But we must have a joint plan by the time we reach Kylestrome. We cannae be arguing all the way to the door.”
“Agreed.” He rocked back on his heels. “We will make good partners, I think.”
We might, at that—providing we keep both our lips and our opinions away from one another. She would make certain they were never close enough for their lips, knees, or any other part of them to so much as brush. The opinions might take a bit more work. “We are partners, then. For now.”
“Good.” He leaned back, his expression still sober, although less dark. “Who do you think is behind this ab
duction?”
“I dinnae know.” She gave a frustrated sigh. “At first I thought someone took Lord Hamilton to stir oop trouble for my family, but now I’m nae so certain.”
Nik’s brows rose, surprise plain on his face. “You think he is the primary target of this abduction, not my grandmother?”
“Hamilton’s carriage was the one attacked. Besides, why would someone steal away with Her Grace?”
“She’s a grand duchess, and extremely wealthy.” He seemed about to add something else, but then shrugged. “That is enough.”
“But the ransom note was nae for a verrah large sum,” Ailsa pointed out. “Both Lord Hamilton and Her Grace are worth far more.”
“I agree.” His brows knit as he considered this. “Interesting.”
“If money is nae the object, what benefit is there to be had from taking Her Grace? And why ask for a ransom at all?”
His lashes lowered until she could no longer see his eyes. “I’m sure there are reasons.”
“There must be—but you dinnae seem as if you’re aboot to share your ideas.” She eyed him over her cup of tea. “We are partners, and yet you are already hiding something. I see how you want it: I tell you all, and you tell me nothing.”
“Nyet. That’s not how I wish it. I just—” He scowled, his gaze still on her face. “If I thought I knew something that would help us recover my grandmother and Lord Hamilton, I would share it. But I do not.”
“You clearly have a theory of some sort.”
“I have nothing but empty suppositions. I will tell you this: I believe there is more to this abduction than meets the eye. I just don’t know what.”
Whatever he was hiding, she’d find out. Perhaps I will charm something from you, my kissable prince, and not the other way around. The thought intrigued her more than she could say.
He raked a hand through his hair, his green eyes resting on her face. “I have a question for you.”
“Aye?”
“If you thought there’d be a ransom note, why did you send Greer to track the abductors?”
“I dinnae expect a ransom. Lord Hamilton’s brother is the Earl of Arran. He and my father have never been friendly. At one time, tensions were so high it seemed as if we might end oop in a clan war, which would nae be the first time for our families.”
“There’s a rivalry there, eh?”
“Centuries of it. It was only through Lord Hamilton’s friendship with my grandmother that the conflict had cooled off a wee bit. Arran loves his brother dearly, as does anyone who meets him. Hamilton’s a charmer, he is.” Much like you.
He toyed with his teacup. “If you don’t mind, can you explain what a clan is? I’ve heard the term, but I’m not familiar with it.”
“Every family in Scotland has pledged to one of the auld families. Those are the clans.”
“Ah. And if you get on the wrong side of one clan—”
“—then you get on the wrong side of all those who’ve pledged to them.”
“I see. It sounds very confusing.”
She had to fight a smile. “The Scots dinnae care if we confuse you, so long as we win every battle, even the ones we fight between ourselves.”
“You’re certainly a contentious people.”
“Och, now you’ve made an enemy for life.” She tried to look fierce, but had to laugh when he appeared shocked.
Seeing her grin, he gave a reluctant chuckle. “Since the war, the treaties in Europe are just as difficult—everyone is pledged to everyone else until there’s a tangle so thick, you cannot sneeze without setting off a wave of discontent amongst your neighbors.”
“Aye, it can raise tensions, but it can also provide small families some protections, and that was the original intent.”
“But if it leads to war, then no one is safer.” He shook his head. “I sometimes think we are too attached to the ideals of what our countries are, rather than to the people who live in them. There’s a certain amount of pride involved in any war, a strict nationalism that is as aggressive as a rabid dog.”
“If the Scots excel at anything, ’tis pride. We believe in three things: the power of God, the sanctity of the family name, and the strength of our clan vows. If you break faith with any of those, you open the door to a war that could go on for so long, nae one remembers what began it.”
“How do you know which clan is which?”
“We’ve our own histories and tartans.” Her smile faded. “Someone left a torn bit of our Mackenzie tartan at the scene of the abduction, tucked under the coach wheel as if someone’s kilt had been caught during the attack.”
Nik whistled silently. “So someone wanted to point a finger your way. But that’s so obvious—unbelievably so. You might as well leave a signed letter. Couldn’t you write Arran and tell him all of this? Surely he’d realize how unlikely such a happenstance must be.”
“The last words the earl spoke to my father included the phrases ‘dirty liar,’ ‘bloody fool,’ and ‘treasonous traitor.’ ” She nodded when Nik’s brows rose. “Aye, ’twas an ugly meeting, that. I’ll spare you the phrases my father used in return, for they were nae any better. Arran always believes the worst of the Mackenzies. That makes things difficult.”
The prince was quiet for a long while. “When you demanded to be left to run this venture, I thought it was because you were—” He waved a hand, obviously searching for a word.
“Difficult?” she suggested drily.
“That, and bossy, and overly concerned with being in charge.” He winced at her sharp expression. “I’m sorry. It was not the most flattering thing to think.”
“Worse, it was wrong. I am nae a despot.”
“I know. I assumed the worst, and the fault is mine. It never dawned on me there might be legitimate reasons you wished to have the operation under your control. But now I see that it’s a delicate situation for you and your clan.”
She’d never expected to hear such an admission from him. “Which is why I dinnae wish to rush in, pistols blazing. Lord Hamilton has been a friend of our family for decades. He is verrah dear to my grandmother—and to yours, I should add. For his sake, and the sake of peace, we must do what we can to return him to his family unharmed.”
Nik rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “From what you’ve told me, Arran stands to win the most if ’tis proven—even falsely—that your family abducted his brother.”
“He’ll have a valid reason to attack Castle Leod, and the crown will do naught since they dinnae get involved in what they call Scotland’s ‘family matters.’ Family matters, my arse.” She sent him a quick look, her cheeks turning pinker. “I’m sorry. I should nae have said that.”
“I was shocked, but I’ve decided to shed my tears of horror in private.”
She shot him a surprised grin and then laughed. She had the warmest, huskiest laugh he’d ever heard, each note a seduction. He was slammed with a powerful desire to slip an arm about her waist and kiss the laughter from her lips.
Collecting his thoughts, he managed to say, “So, do you think this abduction is a plan of the earl’s? That he abducted his own brother?”
“I dinnae know.” She sighed and pulled her knees close, clasping her arms about them. “Someone else might wish to stir things oop, and it could be that the earl is as much a puppet as we are.”
Nik nodded. “So, believing the abduction was a ploy of some type, you sent your best tracker after the prisoners, hoping to locate and rescue them quickly and defuse the situation before it became public knowledge.”
She shrugged. “What else could I do? I dinnae wish this known; the quicker it is resolved, the less dangerous it becomes.”
He had to approve; it was exactly what he would have done. He frowned, a thought catching him. “In the note you sent me, you said you would alert the constable if you did not find the prisoners soon.”
“Och, I only wrote that so you would nae come running to Castle Leod. I thought if you believed the constable was
on the verge of being called in, then your grandmother’s plight was in guid hands and there was nothing more to be done but wait on the ootcome.”
“It only made me come the quicker.”
“So it seems. Had I known you were so fond of your grandmother, I would have written a verrah different note.” The wind blew some tendrils of her hair across her cheek and she pushed them away. “That missing outrider from Hamilton’s coach bothers me.”
“That caught my attention, too.”
“Aye. He must have helped the abductors, or he would have been left at the attack site like the others.” She pursed her lips. “And why take elderly prisoners such a distance as Kylestrome? Why not hold them somewhere closer? I dinnae understand the need for this lengthy trip.”
Nik nodded. Was someone trying to draw one of them out? But which one? And why? Was his negotiation with the tsar the target? Or was this indeed a plot concocted by the Earl of Arran or someone to start a clan war? If so, was there an ambush down the trail, one intended for Ailsa? If the earl wished to truly start a clan war, then a swift retaliation for the taking of his brother would do it. Bloody hell, the more I find out, the less I know.
Ailsa sighed, her breath puffing white in the growing cold. “See? It dinnae make sense. And the ransom request only confuses the issue. I cannae accept that a mere two hundred guineas will make all of this right again.”
“Yet you still intend on delivering it.”
“I have to at least try. Besides, even if it doesn’t free the prisoners, the exchange could tell us something.” She picked up her cup and sipped her tea, which must have been cold by now, although she didn’t seem to mind.
He watched as thoughts flickered over her expressive face. After a moment, she cut him a sharp look. “So, Prince, I’ve told you all I know, but you have nae shared a thing. You were surprised to find that I believed Lord Hamilton the target of this abduction, which means you assumed it was your grandmother. Why do you think that?”
She had shared her thoughts with him, and quite willingly. In all fairness, he should tell her his purpose in being here, that he feared someone was trying to interfere with what he hoped would be a groundbreaking treaty that could benefit hundreds of thousands of people. That he must regain his grandmother’s freedom quickly, so that he could conduct the coming delicate negotiations without hesitation or distractions.
Mad for the Plaid Page 11