Megan laughed. “You can’t seriously be proposing marriage.”
“I am,” Lachlan assured her. “Is that no’ what you’re here for?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Marry me. I swear you’ll no’ regret it.”
Megan was loath to disappoint the charming fellow, but disappoint him she must. “I—”
“This absurdity has gone on long enough,” Devlin cut in tersely. “The lady is marrying me, Mr. MacDuell, with her father’s blessing.”
Lachlan came slowly to his feet. Devlin was tall, but the Scot had a good four inches on him and a lot more brawn. And he likely thought his sheer size ought to make Devlin back off. It should have, but it didn’t.
“That’s Laird MacDuell tae you, English. And what does the lass have tae say about it?”
Megan jumped in before Devlin answered that for her, too. “He’s right, Lord MacDuell. I struck a deal of sorts with him that is binding.”
“But do you love him?”
“That, sir, is none of your business,” Megan retorted indignantly.
Lachlan laughed heartily. “But I’m making it my business, darlin’, and I’ll interpret your answer as I see fit. You’re needing more time tae rethink the matter, and that I can give you.”
Megan frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“Nay, I’ll be begging yours, I dinna doubt, for stealing you away. Now, Gilleonan.”
Chapter 29
Megan was so angry she could spit. They were thieves, highwaymen—Scottish reavers, as they termed themselves. What transpired after Lachlan MacDuell’s startling statement proved it beyond a doubt. Pistols had been immediately drawn, and Devlin’s purse had been demanded.
But Lachlan had surprised his companions in crime in the last instance. “Leave the rest,” he’d ordered as he tossed a struggling Megan onto his mount. “I’ve found all the treasure I’m needing today.”
“But what about the horse?” the one called Gilleonan had protested. “There’s a fortune tae be made in selling an animal like this.”
Lachlan had stared at Caesar for a long moment before he chuckled. “Leave him. I’m feeling generous today. But spread the sand, Ranald. I dinna want tae be disabling vehicles I’m no’ here tae plunder.”
Devlin had known what was going to happen, had tried to get Megan out of notice and harm’s way before the reavers owned up to what they had come for. But she’d stood there and argued with him until it was too late, until she’d drawn the leader’s amorous attention. Laird MacDuell indeed. A pretension, no doubt, and irrelevant under the circumstances. She’d been abducted. Devlin and the coachman had been bound hand and foot and rolled down the ditch.
Devlin’s one bit of resistance, slamming a fist into young Gilleonan’s face, hadn’t got him shot, thank God, but it did get him a good-sized headache from Ranald’s pistol butt cracking against the back of his head. A hard head, since the blow had merely dazed him, rather than rendering him senseless, and his shouted curses and promises of retribution could be heard as they rode away, again irrelevant, since he couldn’t give chase any more than Megan could get loose of the thick arms locked about her waist.
She was indeed furious, abduction a new experience she could have done without. There was nothing romantic or exciting about it. The wild ride over rough terrain that did not include roads quickly became quite torturous, especially since Megan absolutely refused to relax against her abductor, and was also sitting at a twisted angle in front of him. When he’d make a sharp turn, the breath would be squeezed out of her—damned Scot didn’t know his own strength—but she said nothing, saving up her complaints to let him have them with both barrels once they alighted—if they ever alighted.
She became quite cold after the sun set. The horses were merely plodding along now considering the speed they’d given throughout the afternoon. She was beginning to wonder if the Scots meant to run their animals to death when they finally stopped and dismounted by a small stream. In quick order a fire was started, some food was dug out of saddlebags, and blankets were tossed on the ground. Camp. They actually meant to sleep—outdoors.
Megan groaned as she was lifted off MacDuell’s horse, the stiffness in her joints screaming to attention. But even though she could barely stand on her own, she immediately slapped away the hands that had helped her down. Lachlan was amused by that and even chuckled. Megan stepped back so she could better scowl at him.
“You won’t get away with this,” she said.
“I already have,” he replied cheerfully.
“Just where do you think you’re taking me?”
“Home.”
A lot that brief statement told her, so she tried a different tack, warning him, “I won’t stay there, wherever it is.”
“You’re no’ getting into the spirit of the thing,” he complained. “I’m doing you a favor, giving you this opportunity tae devote a wee bit more thought tae your choice of husband.”
“What you’re doing is showing me that I prefer an uncouth Englishman, who isn’t the least bit stuffy, by the way, to an uncouth Scotsman.”
He clucked his tongue at her. “You’re angry wi’ me, I take it?”
“Absolutely.”
“But you shouldna be, darlin’. How else can you make the right choice unless you get tae know me better?” She just stared at him, prompting him to add, “Dinna fash yourself, lass. You’ll no’ be hurt, I swear it.”
“I already hurt all over. Do you Scots always run your horses to ground?”
He grinned at the direction in which her complaints had turned. “They’re sturdy mounts, bred for endurance, no’ like your fat English horses. It’s sorry I am that you’re a wee bit sore, but the speed was necessary.”
“You don’t really think you’re going to be followed, do you?” she scoffed.
“For you, darlin’, oh, aye, he’ll come—at least he’ll try tae find you. No mon in his right mind would give you up wi’out a fight. But I promise you he’ll no’ be having any luck. There isna a Scotsmon who can find me when I dinna want tae be found, much less an Englishmon.”
Which made Megan want to sit down on the ground and cry. She was supposed to have been married by now. Granted, nothing would have changed with Devlin insisting they’d be married in name only, but still, she couldn’t not marry with a baby on the way.
Lachlan was spreading a blanket on the ground for her. His two companions, neither as big as he was nor as finely turned out, were bemoaning the loss of Caesar loudly enough for Lachlan to hear—and disregard. He bowed, offering his hand to Megan to help her to sit. She pointedly ignored his hand and dropped stiffly to the blanket on her own.
“You’re no more than a common thief, aren’t you?” she asked boldly when he started to sit next to her.
He paused, but it was only a moment before he started laughing so hard he fell to his knees in front of her. “Common? Never, darlin’. There’ve been reavers in my family for generations gone by. So who am I tae deny such an honorable undertaking?”
There were hoots and snorts from his friends over that answer, which got them a scowl that lasted no longer than it took Lachlan to gaze at Megan again with another of his engaging grins.
“You actually see nothing wrong with stealing?” Megan ventured curiously.
“Och, now, I didnae say that. But you must know it’s been many centuries that the Scots and the English have had the pleasure of raiding each other. I’ve merely started up the practice again.”
“You’re saying you only steal from the English?” she demanded, indignant on behalf of her countrymen.
He shrugged indifferently, pointing out, “We willna be reaching my home until tomorrow afternoon, so as you can see, I go out of my way tae make sure it’s only English pockets I’m emptying.”
“How patriotic of you,” she sneered. “There are no English near where you’re from?”
“A few. But can you no’ see my dilemma in that? I’d have tae stop ev
ery carriage tae demand, ‘Are you English, mon, or Scottish?’ But Scotsmen dinna like tae be detained for silly reasons like that, you ken. So ’tis much easier tae go where I’m guaranteed a great many English will be roaming, and that’s near the border.”
“To my own misfortune.”
“Nay, dinna say so, darlin’. You’re upset, naturally. I’m confused and amazed myself at the feelings you provoke in me as well. But dinna think I make a habit of absconding with bonny lassies. You’re the first.”
“Lucky me.”
He laughed at her continued sarcasm. “Nay, I’m the lucky one. You canna imagine how long I’ve been searching for a woman like you.”
Since he didn’t appear to be that old, no more than in his mid-twenties or thereabouts, it couldn’t have been all that long, but Megan merely said, “You still haven’t gotten lucky, MacDuell, since I’m already spoken for.”
Which didn’t daunt him in the least. “You canna really want that sour-faced Sassenach,” he admonished with firm conviction.
“I most certainly can.”
“But you dinna love him,” he replied confidently. “That was as plain as—”
“Of course I love him. I love him so much I’m going to have his baby.”
He smiled, humoring her. “A fine goal that, tae have a mon’s bairn.”
“You mistake me,” she told him. “It’s not something intended for the future—well, it is, but it’s also an accomplished fact.”
She said that without the embarrassment she’d expected to feel. And his expression of surprise was worth all the discomfort she’d experienced in that race across the wilds of Scotland. Only it didn’t last long, and suddenly he was laughing uproariously. It took her a moment to realize the man didn’t believe her.
Now what?
The devil if I know. I thought you were convincing, by the way.
Then why didn’t he believe me?
Maybe because he doesn’t want to.
Well, that’s just dandy, isn’t it? He didn’t believe my lies either.
What lies?
Notice I’m not laughing.
But Megan was frowning at herself. Lachlan noticed and thought her displeasure was directed at him—which it would have been if she hadn’t gotten distracted by her deluded inner voice.
“I’m sorry, darlin’, but you must see how unlikely it is for a fine young lady like yourself tae be having a bairn afore you’re wed, especially the bairn of a mon you dinna even like.” Then suddenly he wasn’t amused anymore, his expression turning dark with suspicion. “Unless he—”
Megan caught the drift his thoughts had taken and cut them off before they were completed. “He didn’t, and I resent your even thinking it!”
“Och, now, there’s nae need tae be losing your temper,” he said with a degree of embarrassment.
“Losing it? I lost it this morning, you dense man. You had no right to steal me away from my fiancé. I was to be married today!”
Lachlan actually squirmed a bit, thinking she was getting near to tears, which he couldn’t abide. “You still can be. I’m sure we can find a kirk around here somewhere.”
“I won’t marry you! In fact, I demand that you take me back right now!”
“Courtin’s no’ going tae well, Lachlan?” Gilleonan asked straight-faced, though it was obvious the man was fighting not to laugh.
“I could’ve told ye kidnapped brides are a passel o’ trouble,” Ranald added.
Megan joined her scowl to Lachlan’s until both his friends turned back to face the fire. He then tried to smile at her, but she wasn’t having any more of that.
“Charm has its place, but this isn’t the place,” she said shortly. “Now, I’m sure you’re a nice man for a reaver. You might even make some girl a fine husband if you ever give up thieving. But it won’t be me.”
“Why dinna we sleep on it?” he said, as if her little speech wasn’t to be taken seriously.
“Why don’t you take me back instead?”
“Have a heart, lass. The horses couldna manage it even if I was of a mind tae let you go so soon.”
“So soon? Just how long will it take you to understand I mean what I say?”
He did grin this time. “After you admit I’d make a fine husband, reaver or no’.”
“Incorrigible,” she said in exasperation. “Absolutely beyond redemption, too. And I thought Devlin was pigheaded,” she added in a mumble for herself.
“What was that?”
“I’m not speaking to you anymore, so don’t say another word to me.”
“Then let me feed you and—”
“I won’t eat your food either.”
“Och, now, I willna let you starve, darlin’,” he said quite firmly.
Megan’s eyes narrowed, warning him clearly to forget whatever good intentions he had about forcing her to eat. “Just try and stop me.”
“Faith, but you’re a stubborn lass,” he said with some exasperation of his own, but then he sighed. “Verra well, but when you get hungry, just tell me.”
She snorted and turned her back on him to lie down, hitting the blanket as if it were a soft mattress, regretting that bit of temper instantly as her hand throbbed. Damn, damn, damn. This had to be Devlin’s fault. If she gave it enough thought, she was sure she could find some way to blame him for her sorry plight, or at the very least, for not rescuing her. Never mind that he had been tied hand and foot. He should have been resourceful enough to get out of that and come after her.
Why don’t you consider getting out of this one on your own?
How?
You aren’t bound hand and foot. Once they’re asleep, you can just walk away.
Are you under the mistaken impression that I know where the devil I am? I don’t, you know. I could wander about lost indefinitely and really starve.
Or you could find help just around the corner.
What corner? I’m out in the middle of nowhere, if you haven’t noticed.
You won’t even consider it?
Certainly I will. I’ll be stuck in Scotland forever if I wait for Devlin to rescue me. But if I get lost and starve, it’ll be your fault.
I didn’t just refuse food when my tummy was already growling.
That was a matter of principle.
What has principle got to do with escaping?
“MacDuell, I’m hungry.”
Chapter 30
“Are you sleeping, lass?”
“Would it matter?” Megan grumbled, keeping her back to Lachlan, whose voice was coming unnervingly from directly behind her.
He ought to be sleeping. She’d been waiting patiently for what seemed like hours to hear some sign that he was. His two companions were snoring away. But Lachlan had been suspiciously quiet, and Megan wasn’t taking anything for granted in her bid for freedom. She’d been determined to wait until she was positive he was asleep, so it was beyond aggravating to find him most definitely still awake.
“I’ve been thinking—”
“That’s a bad habit you have, MacDuell,” she cut in dryly. “You ought to give it up.”
“And that’s a bad habit you have, trying tae provoke a mon’s temper.”
“Is it working?”
He didn’t answer for a moment, tempting Megan to turn over and look at him. She resisted. And then she heard his soft chuckle. Was there nothing the man wouldn’t find amusing? He was as bad as Devlin, not taking insults to heart, but worse, always being in such infuriating good cheer. It was almost impossible to stay mad at a man who was constantly grinning or laughing—almost.
“It’s come tae me, lass, that you might be thinking I’m no’ sincere in my desire tae wed you.”
“Not at all. Being tossed up onto a horse is quite clarifying.”
“I didnae toss you,” he protested.
“My bottom disagrees.”
There was a long pause, then: “I’d be happy tae massage the—”
“Don’t…even…think…i
t!”
Another chuckle had Megan gritting her teeth. “Verra well, but you should know I wouldna make that offer tae just any lass.”
“Is that supposed to tell me I’m special to you?” she scoffed. “After all of a few hours’ acquaintance, you find me special?”
“After all of a few seconds. I warned you that you’d stolen my heart.”
You’d better redirect his thoughts real quick. Hearing things like that is liable to turn your head.
My head isn’t turnable, and stay out of this.
“I don’t happen to believe in love at first sight, MacDuell.” Which was a lie, since Tiffany was proof that it was definitely possible. “Lust, now—”
“You’re wounding me, darlin’.”
“About time.”
He burst into laughter. “I wish you could see as clearly as I do how well we’ll deal together just as soon as your temper calms down.”
“What makes you think my temper’s up? It’s not, you know. This is how I always am, perpetually disagreeable. It comes from being spoiled rotten, which I also am. Just ask Devlin—well, it’s too late to ask him, but he would have told you it’s true. He even calls me brat.”
“Och, it’s nae wonder you dinna like the mon,” Lachlan replied in an I-just-figured-it-out tone.
“I told you,” Megan bit out, rolling over in her frustration to castigate him royally, “I love—”
His mouth swooped down the moment she was on her back. She’d forgotten how close his voice had sounded, but he’d merely been biding his time, waiting to provoke her into facing him, in the perfect position to kiss her once she did.
Megan was shocked, not that he was kissing her—she wouldn’t put anything past a damned thief—but that it was so nice, almost as nice as—no, not quite that nice. She didn’t feel the surge of exciting sensations that she did when Devlin kissed her. Which wasn’t to say she felt nothing, it just wasn’t overwhelming.
“That’ll be enough of that, MacDuell,” she said as she pushed the Scotsman back.
Man of My Dreams Page 19