“I’ll explain it to you later,” she said quickly. “You take care of rescuing your bride first. Come on. We’ve got to plan this thing properly. I’ll find a way to alert Maggie to expect you.”
The duchess was right. Connor had no choice but to marry Maggie immediately and take the matter of her future out of her brother’s hands. Once Connor was a member of the family, Robert would have to accept him.
He realized it would be wise to plan an escape route if he had to abduct Maggie in the dark. Obviously she would have to sleep somewhere in the east wing since the rest of the castle was crumbling and uninhabitable. He’d have to strike tonight unless he wanted to end up chasing her across the Channel and all over France. He wasn’t going to wait for her to be pushed back into Bernard’s welcoming arms.
He knew the castle’s history and that the previous tenants had converted the roundtower chamber into a bedroom before their final defeat. Secluded, it was the perfect place to hide a princess. Connor almost wished he’d thought to keep Maggie there himself, away from the world. While he was glad that her heart’s wish at finding her brother had been realized, he went insane at the thought of her belonging to a man she’d pledged her heart to in childhood. Perhaps Connor couldn’t insert himself in her past, but he was damn well going to dominate her future.
His hunch proved correct. The chamber had been dusted and aired, the stone floor swept of the leaves that blew in the unshuttered window. The heavy bedstead boasted fresh lace-trimmed Belgian linen. A bowl of nuts and imported fruit sat on the nightstand. A virginal white-ivory nightrail lay over a chair.
Daphne dozed by the hearth where a cheerful fire blazed blue and gold flames. She thumped her tail as Connor entered but didn’t bother to rouse herself from her cozy spot. The room had been prepared for royalty, for the newly recovered de Saint-Evremond heiress. Connor was an intruder.
His face defiant and determined, he pushed open the narrow door to the stairwell onto the battlements and ran up the winding steps. Wind stung his eyes as he walked to the edge of the crenellated wall.
He leaned over, contemplating the sobering drop to the wooded ravine below. It would be quite a feat to sneak her down that turret wall without risking life and limb. Not impossible, but perhaps with a decent rope and ladder— “Sacre-bleu!” a horrified voice shouted behind him. “Thank the good Lord I am not too late!”
Connor nearly jumped out of his skin as he swung around to see Claude charging toward him like a bull. Before he could react, the older man grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, spun him around, and dragged him away from the unshuttered crenellation.
“What are you doing, you cabbage head?” Connor shouted.
“This is not the answer, sir. You must be strong!”
They did a sort of shuffling dance across the walkway, Claude trying to shove Connor behind one of the merlons, Connor struggling to free himself without hurting the older man. The wind battered them unmercifully, heightening the sense of melodrama.
In the end they stumbled across a rusty Jacobite cannon, landing flat on their backs like a pair of breathless tortoises with their arms still locked around each other.
“Do you mind explaining what that was all about?” Connor said as he stared up, stunned, at the sky.
“No woman is worth such a horrible end, sir.” Claude gasped weakly, placing his hand over his heart. “Not even my mistress.”
Daphne bounded across the battlement, leaping over Connor’s chest to cover his face in slobbery kisses. Connor scooped the dog to his chest and sat up in irritation. “How many glasses of champagne did you have, Claude? What in God’s name are you ranting about?”
Claude struggled into an upright position, wringing his hands. “Suicide, sir. Think of those you’d leave behind. Think of my poor mistress.”
“Leave behind?” Maggie called from the depths of the turret doorway. “Did you get lost on your way outside, Connor? Why are you and Claude sitting on a cannon?”
Claude shook his head in sorrow. “His lordship was contemplating suicide over you, my lady. I never realized he cared so much. Oh, sir. I have misjudged you. It appears you have a passionate heart, after all. I feel terrible.”
Maggie hurried toward Connor, her small body buffeted by the wind, her face white with alarm. “Dear God, I never realized he was that sensitive a man, either. Suicide. You beast, Connor. Don’t you care how I would have felt when I had to identify your body?”
“Claude? Marguerite?” Robert had apparently followed his sister up to her room. “Why is everybody gathered out here in this bitter wind? Why is that Scotsman sitting on a cannon?”
Claude rose stiffly to his feet. “Don’t be too hard on him, your grace. He is under extreme emotional duress.” His voice dropped in sympathy. “He was about to”—he made a somersaulting motion with his hands toward the wall— “you know.”
Robert compressed his lips. “No, Claude, I do not know.”
Maggie gestured covertly at the crenellation. “The tower, Robert.” At his blank look, she gave a little hop on the balls of her feet. “Over the edge…”
“He was doing acrobatics on the battlements?” Robert said in bewilderment “Jumping rope?”
Connor leaned back against the cannon with Daphne in his lap to watch this impromptu game of charades played out. He saw no reason to interrupt. He couldn’t very well admit he was plotting an abduction, anyway. Hell, let them think he was Lady Macbeth.
“He was trying to take his own life?” Robert finally guessed. He regarded Connor with a newfound respect mingled with contempt. “Well, I would not have guessed he had it in him. But, alas, Marguerite, this only proves me right. I could never have handed you over to a man who is that emotionally unstable.”
Chapter
36
Connor sat in the moonlit castle garden and listened to Ardath in horrified silence. He felt betrayed, humiliated, enraged. That Sheena would put him through hell for almost a month. That she would defy and deceive him when he had only wanted her happiness. She couldn’t have devised a better way to hurt or publicly embarrass him.
“She’s afraid of you, Connor,” Ardath explained gravely. “She got pregnant and was terrified to tell you. He married her. They’re a family. You really have to accept it.”
Rebecca, standing behind the bench, touched his slumped shoulder. “Poor big brother. You always think you know what’s best for everyone.”
“I do know what’s best.” He lifted his head, his hazel eyes bright with anger. “I’ve seen more of life than all of you stubborn women put together. Who do you think she’ll come crawling to when her criminal husband can’t pay the rent? And you, Rebecca, who will take care of you in your old age? Your helpless animals?”
“I will take care of myself,” she said. “Oh, Connor. Stop worrying about us. Can I not simply be the family’s eccentric old auntie who watches your children while you and Maggie are on holiday?”
Maggie.
He lifted his head to the roundtower window where she stood, framed in candlelight, imprisoned by the shackles of family obligation. She gave him a forlorn little wave. He didn’t have the heart to wave back. He wanted her back in his arms, and he was going to get her if he had to tear that castle apart stone by stone.
He glanced around as the duchess returned from heaven-knew-where hefting a ladder over her shoulder. “The coast is clear, Connor. What are you waiting for?”
He eyed the rickety ladder she propped up against the garden wall. “What good is this thing supposed to do?” he said indignantly. “That won’t reach halfway to the turret window.”
“That’s why I sneaked up to Maggie’s room and gave her a nice long rope to knot around the bedpost,” Morna replied. “She agrees that an abduction is probably the only way to avoid a duel. Good Lord, Connor, where is your initiative?”
“Morna, I love Maggie more than life itself but I am not climbing up on that ladder, rope or not.”
The duchess squar
ed her shoulders. “That’s what I was afraid of. Therefore, prepared for every eventuality, I have drawn a map of an alternate abduction route.”
Connor frowned down at the wrinkled parchment she pulled out of her trouser belt and spread beside him on the bench. “What are those little X’s suppose to mean?” he said suspiciously.
“That’s the way from Maggie’s chamber through the unoccupied west wing. It’s a bit of a walk but you’ll manage.”
“And all this scribbling over here? ‘Thread. Salt. Horse liniment.’ Is this some kind of secret code?”
The duchess peered down at the map. “No. It’s the list Frances took to market. Just ignore it.”
Connor’s frown deepened. “There’s something about this I don’t like. The west wing is falling apart. And the east—”
“For heaven’s sake, Buchanan,” the duchess said. “Don’t be such a twiddlepoop. One can’t have a fairy tale castle at a time like this.”
He sighed, rising to his feet. Thunder growled overhead, which didn’t surprise him. Nothing would surprise him ever again. At least the foul weather was fitting.
A stormy Scottish night was perfect for an abduction.
Maggie was all packed and waiting to be abducted. There had been more to bring along than she’d anticipated, what with the wedding trousseau and family keepsakes Robert had thoughtfully left in her room.
He had planned everything to the last detail, much as Connor had tried to plan his sisters’ lives. The trouble was, both men meant the best but usually ending up making a mess by interfering.
Even if Sheena stayed happily married to her embezzler husband for life, Connor would never admit he’d been wrong. And Robert would probably hold a grudge for the rest of his days because Maggie had defied tradition for the man she loved.
Connor. She did love him, too, so much she ached with it. She loved him for going to such lengths to prevent a duel with her brother. There was no doubt in her mind that a confrontation between the two men would end up with one of them seriously wounded if not dead. Robert was forcing her to defy him.
She leaned out of the turret window to search for Connor in the darkness. She hoped to goodness he knew what he was doing. He wasn’t the sort of person prone to wildly romantic gestures.
She sighed as she watched him steal through the shadows of the ravine. He looked strong and powerful, a Highlander determined to carry off his bride. This was one Scottish tradition Maggie approved of, although she would have preferred to have her brother’s blessing. Still, it was sweet of Connor to go to all the trouble of rescuing her. She only wished he’d hurry up before Robert realized what was happening. With all the racket Connor was making, someone in the castle was bound to hear him.
Her heart was so full of love and gratitude.
Robert and Jeanette were alive, and Connor didn’t know it yet, but as soon as the murder trial ended, he was taking Maggie to Paris for their honeymoon.
Maggie suspected he would need a rest after winning the case of the century. Perhaps by that time Robert would have softened enough to at least let them stay in the chateau. She was dying for Connor to meet her sister, to admire her ancestral home.
A stone sailed through the window, the prearranged signal that the abduction was about to get under way.
Maggie ran back to the bed to test the rope that the duchess had brought her under the pretense of saying farewell. Then she hurled it out the window, hearing Connor curse as it hit him on the side of his head.
She started to crawl over the ledge, then stopped. “Where is the ladder?” she called down in confusion.
“There’s been a change in plans,” he shouted back. “We’ll have to escape through the west wing garderobe.”
“Into the drains?” Maggie said to herself, pulling her leg back over the ledge. “Whatever you say, Connor. But it doesn’t seem nearly so romantic.”
He appeared at her door nearly three minutes later. Maggie’s breath caught as she turned toward him, her ruggedly handsome Highlander.
It seemed ironic that not long ago she had climbed a rope to rob him, and now he was stealing her, heart, body, and soul.
The Devil’s Advocate abducting a woman.
She knew it would only add to the allure of his reputation.
She could hardly wait to see what other scandals they could brew up together as man and wife.
Chapter
37
“The trunk is going to break if you keep banging down the stairs like that, Connor.”
“Maggie, the only thing that will break is our necks, and if you don’t hold still, it is a distinct possibility. Please don’t put your hands over my eyes when I’m carrying you. I can’t see a damn thing in the dark as it is.” He kicked the trunk down another step. “What on earth do you have in here anyway? A year’s supply of cannonballs?”
“My wedding trousseau. Robert had it made for me. It’s ever so lovely, all seed pearls and Valenciennes lace.”
“Well, if that doesn’t tickle me pink. I’m killing myself carting the trunk of clothes you were meant to wear to marry the Toilet Count. How long is this staircase anyway?”
“These types of stairs were built originally to repel invaders,” Maggie said conversationally. “They’re made narrow so that an enemy would have a hard time climbing up with a sword.”
“Yes, well, they don’t do much for a man going down with a woman, dog, and trunk either. Did we really have to bring Daphne along?”
“But she adores you.” Maggie grazed his cheek with a kiss, whispering sweetly, “So do I. Do you have any idea how much?”
He grunted, tentatively hooking his right foot over the trunk to feel for the next step. “Show me later, lass.”
“I love you more than the de Saint-Evremond family code, more than chocolate éclairs and champagne, more than—”
“Is that a light I see flickering at the bottom of the stairs?” Connor asked worriedly. “Or is it a pool of water?”
“—pearls and diamonds, more than silk sheets and—”
“Quit licking my ear, lass. It’s getting me aroused. This is no time for loveplay.”
“That wasn’t me. It was Daphne. Aren’t you going to tell me you love me even once while you abduct me?”
Connor leaned his shoulder against the wall to rest his muscles. They had reached the halfway mark, but it was still a dangerous plunge in the dark if he fell. And something kept nagging at his mind. Something about the castle’s history. “Maggie, I’m risking my neck to marry you. Hell, yes, I love you.” He raised his voice to a shout. “I love you.”
The shouting startled Daphne. She squeezed upward, paws flailing wildly to escape back into Maggie’s arms. Unfortunately, Maggie had her arms laced around Connor’s neck and couldn’t grab hold of the dog in time.
She gave a horrified shriek. “Connor, I’m losing her!”
He jerked his left arm upward to grasp the poodle’s wriggling posterior. In doing this he caught the dog, but lost his grip on Maggie. The trunk started to bump away from him as he locked his arm around her neck. Connor extended his leg to catch it only to realize there were no more stairs. He was treading air. The trunk was plummeting into a black void, and he was plunging forward to follow it.
Maggie released a shriek loud enough to be heard around the world. “Connor, the staircase is gone! We’re all going to fall!”
He regained consciousness to see Maggie leaning over him on the stone cold floor of the garderobe, tears of concern wet on her cheeks. Her features slowly came into focus. “Connor, say something. Let me know you aren’t dead.”
“Non jit raptus propriae sponsae,” he murmured.
“Non—” She frowned, searching his face. “What are you trying to tell me?”
“Cannon law is quite clear on this point,” he said calmly. “There is no illegal abduction if a woman consents to being carried off by her abductor. I could not be tried in a criminal court. The popular press is another matter.”
>
“Can you move your feet?”
He lifted his head a few inches and wiggled his toes. “Apparently so. Just don’t ask me to do a Highland reel. Daphne, stop licking my damn face.”
“You sustained no permanent injuries?”
“My pride will never be the same. I do suspect, however, that I will live.”
“Good.” She paused a heartbeat before falling backward with Daphne into the clothes scattered about her. “Then you won’t mind if I have a good laugh at your expense? Oh, Connor, that was the silliest thing I’ve ever seen. One moment you were standing there, and the next—”
Torchlight flared across the garderobe as she burst into a fit of giggles. Connor sat up with a scowl to watch Robert running through the doorway in his dressing robe and silk slippers. “What’s going on?” he called out in panic. “Marguerite, is that you? Do we have burglars?”
Robert lurched to a halt and held the torch above Connor’s head, gasping in shock as he surveyed the garments strewn about the floor. “I should have known. An abduction. This is an abduction.”
Connor sighed. “Yes—no—oh, hell. What does it matter? I had to get caught. There isn’t a lawyer in Europe who won’t laugh his head off when he hears about this.”
“Well, Marguerite,” Robert said, “if you weren’t ruined before, you certainly are now. What shame and scandal you have heaped upon the honorable house of de Saint-Evremond.”
Maggie stood, clutching her wedding veil to her chest. “There doesn’t have to be a scandal if we keep this a family secret, Robert. Please don’t do anything rash. I really love this man.”
“Do you?”
Connor rose unsteadily to his feet. “I would appreciate it if you’d get that torch out of my face. I have a splitting headache.”
Robert involuntarily retreated a step at the sight of the tall, blond Scotsman towering over him. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to make the best of it,” he said quietly. “I daresay Bernard would have called off the wedding once he learned of her criminal associations.”
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