How to Blackmail a Highlander

by Michelle McLean

  “Aye, that was a mistake, too.”

  “And the third?”

  “There willna be a third.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly at the gruff tone of his voice, and he was sorry if he offended her. But one of them had to keep their wits about them. For her sake.

  “I know I’m not the only one who feels something between us,” she said, moving close enough she could run her hands up his chest.

  He grasped them, squeezing them tightly to take away the sting of rejection before he pushed her away. He didn’t want to hurt the lady. But he had no intention of doing anything else with her, either. Best she understood that.

  “Someday, lass, in the very near future, when ye’re tired of rough living and wish to return to yer palaces filled with silks, and jewels, and all the creature comforts ye’ll no’ find with me, ye’ll thank me for having the presence of mind to keep ye intact.”

  She scoffed. “The only thing any man at court will care about is that my fortune is intact and there’s no babe brewing in my belly that I might try to foist off on them. As long as we are careful, we can avoid that. Truthfully, a few of the older, more incapable gentlemen desperate for an heir would not even mind the babe. So your gallantry, while appreciated, isn’t needed. Or wanted. There is something else I desire.”

  She drew a finger down his chest, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from leaning in to her touch.

  He stopped her hand when it reached his waist. “I have no interest in what ye have to offer.”

  Her eyes glanced downward. “The arrangement of your pleats say otherwise.”

  Philip scowled, well aware that his kilt did little to hide his arousal. “Ye should be thankful that I’m no slave to my urges.”

  “Hmm, I find it a pity more like. And a surprise, to be honest. I didn’t expect a rough Highland laird to be so…virtuous.”

  He snorted. “Too much like your suitors at court for your liking?”

  She laughed. “On the contrary. Most of the courtiers of my acquaintance would have had my skirts around my ears at the first invitation. As long as we were discreet about it.”

  “And did ye also expect me to woo ye with songs and posies? Because I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint ye on that as well.”

  She waved him away. “I spent my formative years on the Continent and have been in Charles’s court since he returned. I’ve been surrounded by his Cavaliers for years. Those overly devoted Royalist remnants from his father’s court, whose ranks have swelled with their new Cavalier King’s return. With their exhausting and all-consuming love of wine, women, and king, frankly, I’ve been romanced to death. I’m done with romance. And foppish men who are more interested in peacockish posturing bedecked in couture and cosmetics than actually pleasing a woman. What I want is a big strong man who flatters no one yet knows what to do with his hands.”

  He knew what to do with his hands, all right. Keep them to himself. No matter how much he wanted to rip open her bodice and fling her skirts aside. “Again, my lady. I’m sorry to disappoint ye.”

  She sighed deeply. “You are taking this far too seriously.”

  He raised an eyebrow at that. “Marriage? Ye think I’m taking holy matrimony too seriously?”

  “There’s nothing holy about our matrimony until it’s blessed in the eyes of the church. Which neither of us has any desire to do. Regardless, yes. You’re taking it far too seriously.”

  He laughed at that. A great, rolling belly laugh that he hadn’t experienced in more time than he could remember.

  Her eyes narrowed but shone with amusement. “Laugh all you want. I’ll seduce you yet, husband.”

  He grinned at her. “Ye’re welcome to try, wife. But I’ll think ye’ll find my virtue not so easily won.”

  “Hmm. We shall see.” She gave him a smile that hit him right in his core. “The sun has set. Perhaps you’ll be more inclined to perform your husbandly duties on our wedding night by the light of the moon.”

  He snorted. “There will be no wedding night.”

  “That’s not strictly true. After all, we were wed, after a fashion, and darkness has fallen. Hence, a wedding night.” She stared up at him through her lashes, looking for all the world like an innocent angel.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “If you wish to call it so.”

  “I do.” She sauntered over to the bed and sat down, leaning back on her hands. A position which put her tightly encased bosom on delightful display. “So, what shall we do to wile away the hours? I’m not a bit sleepy.”

  At the moment, a refreshing dip in the freezing ocean sounded like a fine idea. Not very practical, though, as they were miles from the shore.

  His new bride was going to be a handful.

  “Sleepy, or no, ye’ll rest for a few hours. We’ll leave before the sun rises.”

  She frowned at that, all trace of teasing gone from her face. “Why so early?”

  “Because yer Mr. Cravens has seen fit to depart the inn in the dark of night, which seems a verra peculiar thing to do. At best, some urgent business called him away. More likely, he is off to make yer whereabouts known to yer family. And what yer family kens, Ramsay will soon find out. It’d be best if our whereabouts changed before that occurs. We need to reach Glenlyon before our enemies.”

  Sometime in the night, Philip was woken by the sound of thrashing on the bed. A muted keening had him jumping up from the cold floor. Alice lay tangled in the sheets. The heartbreaking sound broke from her lips again, and her face puckered as if in pain.

  “My lady,” he said, sitting carefully beside her.

  She didn’t wake. He touched her shoulder and she thrashed again, her breath coming in heaving gulps.

  “My lady,” he tried again, trying to restrain her movements. It seemed to make her terror worse. “My lady. Alice.”

  She calmed slightly at the sound of her name. He climbed in beside her and gathered her in his arms, unable to stand the sight of her torment any longer. “Alice. Shhh. I’ve got ye, lass. Rest easy. Shhh.”

  He cradled her, softly rocking her until she stilled. A sudden stiffness in her limbs alerted him to her wakefulness. But she didn’t pull away. If anything, she snuggled closer.

  “Are ye all right, my lady?” he asked.

  She nodded, but kept her head pressed again his chest. The damp warmth of tears soaked through his shirt. He held her closer.

  “What is it?” he asked, softly stroking her back.

  “It was my fault. They were dead. Elizabet, John, all of them. And it was all my fault,” she said, sobbing against him.

  His stomach twisted at the despair in her voice. “Dinna fash,” he said, holding her closer still and rocking her gently. “It was naught but a dream.”

  She burrowed in closer, and he kissed the top of her head, whispering to her until she calmed. He held her until she drifted back into an uneasy sleep, praying that he was right. If Ramsay were to find their friends, it wouldn’t matter whose fault it was. The devastation would happen all the same. But he feared she’d blame herself for the rest of her days. As he’d be blaming his own failures. God willing, they’d all remain safe from Ramsay’s enraged vendetta.

  When he tried to release her to return to his post on the floor, she stirred, her forehead crinkling into a frown even in her sleep. He knew he should extract himself from her arms. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave her. And so, he lay beside her, wrapping his body around hers.

  He might not be able to keep her safe in the future, though he’d give his life trying. But for one night, he could hold her close and keep her demons at bay. And maybe his own, as well.

  Chapter Ten

  Some of the tension Philip had been carrying with him eased when the castle came into sight. Home. Still standing strong on the banks of the loch. People went about their daily chores in the small village spread out around it. The sight filled him with a warm comfort that eased the weight on his shoulders.

  The last severa
l days as they’d traveled through the countryside had been strained. Philip had assumed Alice would try to take advantage of the fact that they’d woken up in bed together that night at the inn. Instead, she’d seemed…bewildered. She’d kept more to herself as they’d traveled, at least for the first couple days. Something he’d expected he’d appreciate.

  Instead, he found himself sticking close to her side, especially at night. For safety and warmth, it was practical to sleep close. However, they invariably found themselves tangled up together in the morning. A circumstance that merely served to increase the building tension and confusion between them. Especially as with each morning that she woke in his arms, Alice seemed more and more happy to be there. And determined to make him admit he enjoyed it, too.

  So it was with great relief that they rode into the courtyard of Glenlyon. One of the stable lads ran to take their horses. Philip helped Alice dismount and turned the reins over with a nod of thanks.

  “Where’s the laird, Hamish?” he asked him.

  “In the library, sir, with milady.”

  Philip ruffled the lad’s hair and sent him on his way. Then he jerked his head at Alice and marched into the castle. To her credit, she marched right along with him. Her eyes took in everything—the tapestry-lined halls, the castle folk bustling to and fro, signs of health and prosperity everywhere.

  Pride swelled within him. The castle hadn’t always been so. Before the Lady Sorcha had married his laird and kinsman Malcolm MacGregor, the castle had been falling down around their ears. Not for lack of love, but the MacGregors had spent so much time locked in a centuries-old feud with Sorcha’s clan, the Campbells, that they had not time or money to spend on their home. Everything had been put into the skirmishes against their rival.

  Once the king had forced Malcolm, or The Lion as his people liked to call him, to marry Sorcha, the daughter of the Campbells’ chief, the war between the clans had stopped, though the animosity would always be there. And there were remnants of their feud. Ramsay, for one. The son of the old Campbell chief, Ramsay had decided to take matters into his own hands and had attempted to both overthrow his father when the laird had called a truce and defeat the MacGregors. It had not ended well for him. He’d been sent to England with his tail between his legs where he’d set himself up as a smuggler. And again, a MacGregor had been his downfall.

  John MacGregor had gone and fallen in love with Lady Elizabet, the daughter of Ramsay’s partner in crime, Lord Dawsey. While Lord Dawsey and Ramsay had managed to get John arrested for being a highwayman, his punishment hadn’t been what they’d hoped. As the king was a friend, John had managed to escape with a sentence of exile. Dawsey was in disgrace, and Ramsay’s smuggling enterprise had been dismantled. Nowhere near good enough a punishment for either of them in Philip’s mind. But naturally, too dear a price in theirs.

  And Ramsay would love to exact retribution for his change in circumstance. Exiled, John shouldn’t be back in Scotland. But as long as he stayed out of England and kept a low profile, the king would be happy to look the other way. However, were Ramsay to discover John’s whereabouts, the king would be forced to take action against the former highwayman.

  Not that Philip thought it would get that far. Ramsay wasn’t the type of man to wait on the king’s pleasure. He hated the MacGregors with a passion that would give the Devil himself pause. The MacGregors were a fearsome clan—strong, skilled, and brave. They did not fear Ramsay or the fight that would come were he to attack Glenlyon again. But the casualties on both sides would be great, and Philip, for one, would rather avoid unnecessary bloodshed.

  Something that would be impossible if Alice’s rash actions were to bring Ramsay back to their doorstep.

  He watched her as she looked around the keep and was surprised at the hint of anxiety he felt as he waited for her reaction. He wanted her to like his home.

  She smiled at him, and more of the tension that he’d been carrying eased.

  Though, her opinion shouldn’t matter to him. She shouldn’t be here. Her presence was a danger to them all, and her methods of persuasion were nothing short of criminal. She was a thorn in his side, not a damsel to be won over.

  He frowned and turned his back on her, striding toward the library. He didn’t wait to see if she followed or not. He knew she would.

  He nodded at those he passed but kept his pace brisk and determined. None stopped him, though many stared in open curiosity at the lady trailing him. He took the stairs two at a time and stopped only when he’d reached the library door. As it was slightly ajar, he pushed it open and entered with a brief knock to announce his presence.

  Malcolm sat behind a desk set near one of the large windows. One of the changes Lady Sorcha had made to the keep was to enlarge the windows in this room. Philip had never approved. Larger windows were nothing but easier targets, in his mind. But the additional light that now streamed into the room made reading a much easier task.

  Malcolm gave him a brief glance, then looked again, eyes round, as he registered Philip’s presence. He set down the papers he’d been reading and stood, spreading his arms wide in welcome.

  The slight gasp behind him made Philip grin. Malcolm was an imposing figure. They didn’t call him The Lion for nothing. His halo of red hair would spread around his head like a mane if he didn’t keep it tied back, and he stood head and shoulders above most men. His build betrayed years of hard work and fighting. He could swing a broadsword as though it were made of nothing more than wood. Philip would never want those amber eyes glaring at him in disapproval.

  Which was why when he greeted his kinsman, it was with a healthy dose of trepidation considering the extra baggage he’d brought to their doorstep.

  “Welcome home, Philip,” Malcolm said. “Ye’ve been gone so long we’d begun to think ye’d deserted us.”

  Philip grinned. “Never, Cousin.”

  He turned to his cousin’s wife, who hurried toward him from the opposite side of the room where she’d been reading by the fire.

  “Philip,” she said, wrapping him in a warm hug. “It’s so good to see that face of yours again.”

  He kissed her cheek, truly happy to see her. Her English accent was now tinged with a slight Scottish brogue that brought a smile to his lips. Sorcha, a fiery beauty with raven black hair and piercing blue eyes that he thought could see through a man’s soul, looked more like his blood kinswoman than her husband, and Philip felt a deep and genuine affection for her. She may not be family born, but she had the heart of a MacGregor.

  “And who is this?” she asked, leaning around him to look at Alice.

  Alice gave her a beaming smile. “Lady Alice Chivers,” she said, with a slight head bob. “Or, MacGregor, I suppose is more appropriate now that we are wed.”

  Sorcha and Malcolm looked at Philip, their jaws on the floor. He opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head and marched straight for the whisky decanter. He took a healthy slug right from the bottle, and Malcolm nodded. “Aye. I know the feeling, laddie.”

  Sorcha glanced at him, one eyebrow raised.

  Malcolm snorted. “Dinna look at me like that. Ye ken very well that ye drive me to drink on a regular basis.”

  “I’m fairly certain you’d be driven to drink regularly even without my influence.”

  Malcolm grinned and grabbed his wife around the waist, hauling her to him for a sound kiss. “Aye. But ’tis more fun to place the blame on you.”

  She swatted at him and pushed away, though she exuded happiness with her blushing cheeks and wide smile.

  Alice pointed at the decanter Philip held in a death grip. “May I?”

  Sorcha’s face fell. “Of course! You must be exhausted and starving as well. And here we stand, yammering away.”

  She shooed Philip away from the whisky and poured Alice a glass herself, then rang for a servant to bring up some refreshments. In short order, Sorcha had everyone seated comfortably, with a drink and a bite to eat in their hands.


  Malcolm drained the last drop from his cup and sat back to study his cousin. “Well, how did all this come about?” he asked, nodding between the two of them.

  Alice looked at Philip, her lips slightly turned upward, her eyes shining with amusement as if she were daring him to tell the truth. But she didn’t know Malcolm. No one lied to The Lion.

  Philip sat forward and straightened his shoulders, hating the words that were about to come from his mouth. He took a deep breath. “Lady Alice wished to visit the Lady Elizabet and asked me to take her.”

  Malcolm’s eyebrow rose. “And ye agreed?”

  The rest of Philip’s breath rushed out with exasperation. “Of course not. The wee she-devil blackmailed me.”

  Both Sorcha’s and Malcolm’s eyes widened at that and glanced at Alice, who merely shrugged with a proud smile. Sorcha bit her lip to hold back her own grin and Philip pushed on, determined to get the whole story out.

  “Once the ship docked, I arranged straightaway for her to be returned to her family, as her threats of blackmail were much diminished once we reached Scotland. And I never promised to take her farther than Scotland’s shore in any case. But she…tricked me—”

  “You tricked me first.”

  He ignored that and continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “And hid in the wagon. I didna discover her until later that night when we arrived at the inn.”

  Malcolm sat back. “I see,” he said, rubbing his finger over his twitching lips. Philip scowled at him.

  “So,” Malcolm continued. “When were ye wed then?”

  “Almost a week ago,” Alice said with a smile, cutting in before Philip could say a word. “Did you know that by proclaiming you are wed before witnesses, a couple is considered legally married?” She glanced back and forth between Malcolm and Sorcha but continued on before they could answer. “That would have been a good piece of information to know beforehand, I must say. Though, truth to tell, I’m delighted with the situation.”

  Philip bit back a groan, though his scowl deepened at the growing amusement on his cousin’s face.