The Pursuit

by Johanna Lindsey

And then he stopped.

  It took her a while to realize he’d gone perfectly still, had removed his hands from her skin, was just holding her now, albeit a bit tightly. Her breathing calmed down somewhat, but her thoughts began a frantic whirl.

  Had she done something wrong? Was her inexperience more than he wanted to cope with?

  It was probably going to embarrass her terribly, but she had to ask: “Why did you stop?”

  “Because I want your father to have a good opinion of me, not want to break my neck.”

  He’d tried to inject a light note into his voice, but his own breathing hadn’t quite calmed down yet. “Is that the only reason?” she ventured.

  “No. Because I want to do this right. And stealing your virtue before I’m absolutely sure that I’ll be allowed to make you mine would make me the worst sort of cad. It’s my intention to marry you, Melissa, not dishonor you if the unthinkable should occur and you be forbidden to me.”

  Such warmth filled her heart, she wanted to squeeze him until it hurt. If the unthinkable should occur. Well, she simply wouldn’t let it.

  Twenty-Three

  MELISSA was amazed, looking at the clock in her room when she got back to it that night, that it was no longer night, that dawn would be arriving within the hour. Of course, Lincoln hadn’t taken her right home after deciding he wouldn’t dishonor her. He had been loath to end what would probably be their last moment of privacy for a very long time. She’d been equally reluctant, for that matter. So they spent some time just talking about the things young couples talk about when getting better acquainted—which included no further mention of her family—and holding each other.

  The holding part was so very nice. He took pains to keep it impersonal. If they thought about any more kissing, they kept these thoughts to themselves. Though he did kiss her good-bye, and very passionately, before he gently swatted her behind and pushed her toward her door.

  She wasn’t exhausted, however, even after being out all night. She still had too many things on her mind. So she was quite surprised to find she had fallen right to sleep as soon as she climbed into bed, and not a bit surprised that she didn’t wake until noon.

  Dressing hurriedly, she went immediately in search of her youngest uncle. She found him having lunch in the formal dining room and not alone. Justin was there as well. They’d been arguing, or at least Justin had been raising his voice, since she’d heard him from down the hall.

  They sat at opposite ends of the table. It was a very long table. That could be why Justin’s voice had been raised, but she doubted it. When they noticed her arrival, they fell silent, both offering her a smile as if they hadn’t just been scowling at each other.

  “I’m verra glad your mother isna here tae witness this, Justin.”

  He blushed to his roots. “We were merely having a difference of opinion.”

  “I dinna mean that, I mean this,” she replied and picked up a very pretty flower arrangement in the center of the table to throw at Ian.

  Her uncle leaned out of the way of it. His reflexes were very good. Fortunately—at least in her opinion, though probably not in his—there were other things at hand, and a plate went flying at his head next. He ducked that, too, and was on his feet by then, raising his hands toward her in a conciliatory manner.

  “Now, Meli, I can guess what this is aboot, but if ye’ll be giving me a moment tae explain—”

  “Two seconds you have, until I reach that water pitcher,” she huffed.

  “I wanted tae tell ye!”

  “Did you? Well, since you ne’er got around tae it, that doesna count for much, does it now?”

  “It was Ian One’s decision!”

  “As if I havena figured that oot? And since when do you do everything he says?”

  “When he makes sense.”

  “Och, sae there was sense tae this?” she said, crossing her arms while she glared at him. “Verra well, I’m waiting tae hear it.”

  “He’s a mon capable of severe violence, Meli. There’s no way we could allow him tae continue courting ye.”

  “Severe, eh? D’you realize the same can be said o’ you and every one o’ your brothers?”

  He blushed. “There’s a difference. We’ve ne’er gone crazy like he has.”

  “Rubbish,” she replied with a snort. “He’s no more crazy than you or I.”

  “He has no control o’er his temper.”

  “I’ve yet tae see him angry. But I’ve seen every one o’ the MacFearsons demonstrate a fine temper. Does that make the lot o’ you crazy?”

  “Ye dinna know what he did,” Ian insisted.

  “Now, there you’re wrong,” she returned. “I do know. He told me, all o’ it, which, as it happens, is probably more’n you know.”

  “But was it the truth?”

  “Do you realize it doesna matter, Ian? He’s no’ like that now.”

  “Ye canna know for sure, Meli, that it willna happen again. How could we trust him wi’ ye, knowing what he’s capable of?”

  “Sae you thought tae protect me? That’s fine. That’s acceptable. I even thank you for your intentions. But I’ll ne’er forgive you for no’ explaining that tae me and giving me a chance tae find out if your protection was warranted or no’. Do you ken what it’s like tae want tae see someone sae bad, you canna think straight? Tae listen for and get hopeful at every footstep you hear, then die inside a wee bit when they dinna belong tae who you’d hoped? Tae wait and wait, unaware that you’re waiting in vain? Do you?”

  “I told you it was too late,” Justin said to Ian in a half-accusatory, half-smirking tone. “She’s already in love.”

  Melissa rounded on her younger friend and spared a glower for him as well. “I’ll be getting tae you next, Justin St. James, since I know that you were also aware o’ what they’d done and didna share that wi’ me. But I’ll be hearing from m’uncle first, about why I’m the last tae know about what they’ve been up tae on m’behalf.”

  “We thought it for the best,” Ian said. “We took into account that yer da isna here yet tae put his foot down, and that ye might be doing as ye please in the meantime. Yer running off wi’ him was one o’ our fears. We also wanted tae prevent ye getting any more attached tae the mon, sae it wouldna hurt sae much that ye canna hae him. And when did ye see him, tae find oot aboot all o’ this?”

  “I snuck out in the middle o’ the night like a common criminal!” she said hotly. “But what other choice did you leave me, when you prevent him from courting me in the traditional manner?”

  “Ye saw him alone?” Ian demanded, red-faced, imagining the worst.

  Melissa narrowed her eyes on him. “Aye, and he was the perfect gentleman—for the most part.”

  “What do ye mean, ‘for the most part’?”

  “I mean there was some kissing, which I would’ve started if he didna, since I absolutely adore his kissing. And dinna be preaching tae me about what I can or canna do, Ian. I’m going tae marry that mon.”

  He shook his head at her. “I dinna hae the heart tae deny ye, hinny,” he said, giving her a moment’s hope before he added, “I’m going tae fetch Ian One.”

  “Gather all the reinforcements you need,” she grumbled. “You’re no’ going tae change m’mind. And dinna think m’da will side wi’ you either. He wants me tae be happy—unlike the rest o’ m’family.”

  “I’m thinking he’d rather ye be safe.”

  Twenty-Four

  LINCOLN didn’t try to delude himself that Melissa’s uncles would see the error of their ways and back off from the stance they’d taken. They’d given him warning. He’d ignored it, had even told the youngest Ian that he would. Melissa had also said she’d be talking to them, so there’d be no doubt in their minds that he’d defied them.

  He expected them to retaliate—and soon. He was braced for it. He even stayed away from home the next day because he didn’t want his family to witness the ensuing violence. Knowing the MacFearsons, he anticipated no
thing less than the worst from them.

  He left word where they could find him, though. Avoiding them was out of the question. Oddly, he was even looking forward to the confrontation. He couldn’t win, he knew that. There were simply too many of them. But they weren’t going to escape unscathed either.

  It seemed as though he’d been preparing most of his life for this one confrontation. He was in supreme condition. He’d sought out some of the best fighters in the realm over the years to teach him their tricks. Never again was he going to be at such a disadvantage, as when he’d last butted heads with the MacFearsons. He’d made sure of that, even though he’d never really expected to run into them again.

  Three or four at a time he could take on easily now. More than that, though, and he’d succumb to sheer numbers—which was how the MacFearsons fought. They didn’t know the meaning of the word “fair.”

  Ah, well, he’d go through it as many times as he had to, if it meant Melissa would be his in the end. That was, if he survived. There was always the chance he wouldn’t.

  They showed up at his private club late that afternoon. He’d bored himself most of the day playing billiards with a couple of the older regulars, so he was actually relieved when the MacFearsons got there. They couldn’t get inside, not being members, but he was informed of their arrival and went outside to meet them.

  Only half of them had come. Well, eight was still a few too many to handle, but only a few, since it seemed only the younger MacFearsons had come, though the youngest Ian and Lincoln’s ex–best friend, Dougall, weren’t among them. The elders were getting a bit old for this sort of thing, he supposed. But the younger brothers were more likely to lack the skill, at least up to his standards, which was something in his favor.

  So as not to draw too much notice, he was going to suggest they adjourn to a sporting club, since there happened to be one handy just down the street that should still be open, even though evening was approaching. Londoners frowned on public exhibitions of fisticuffs in their streets. The streets in good neighborhoods anyway.

  Lincoln never got a chance to open his mouth. He was pushed, shoved, and otherwise tossed into the large coach they’d brought along. They had a plan, apparently, and it didn’t include playing nice. Before they were done, he was bound hand and foot, gagged, even blindfolded, and left to stew on the floor of the coach at their feet.

  Amazingly, they’d said not a word to him, nor did they even after he was fully trussed and helpless. He gave them credit for surprising him. Considering their numbers, underhanded tactics like this weren’t called for and hadn’t been anticipated. But they did have a plan, obviously, since they would have been arguing about what to do if they didn’t. They just weren’t sharing it yet. And whatever it was, he knew instinctively he wouldn’t like it.

  It was perfectly natural, as the hours passed, for Lincoln to start imagining the worst. They’d bribed a jailer to toss him in prison and keep him there, and they were just waiting for the rest of the prison to be asleep before they snuck him into it. Who, after all, listened to a prisoner’s plea of innocence? Or…they’d already dug a hole somewhere and were going to summarily execute him and cover him up in it. They were just having trouble locating it now that it was getting dark.

  Tying him up was one thing, merely a way to keep him from fighting back. But the gag? Simply because they didn’t want to hear his opinion of what they were doing? Or didn’t want anyone else to hear him? The blindfold also wasn’t necessary to restrain him. In fact, he couldn’t think of very many reasons that one would be needed. So he couldn’t see where they were taking him? So he couldn’t see who was helping them, if anyone was? More likely so they couldn’t see the extent of his fury.

  Oddly, he wasn’t angry—yet. Uncomfortable, yes. A bit worried, certainly. But mostly curious. This just wasn’t like them. They never avoided fights. If they wanted to do him serious harm, they were more apt to do it with their fists. If they merely wanted him out of the way so they didn’t have to deal with him anymore…

  Wherever they were transporting him, it was taking a very long time to get there. Scotland came to mind. They could be taking him to their home to confine him there indefinitely, he supposed. They were a close-knit clan, after all. None among them would question it. And they could keep him confined until Melissa forgot about him and married someone else.

  Or perhaps they weren’t actually leaving the city. He was reminded that he’d had his driver circle around last night with Melissa, just to be on the move, not to get anywhere. They could be doing the same thing, simply to kill time. But he’d lost count of the hours. His best guess would be that it was nearing midnight, or even later. And waiting until the wee hours of the night couldn’t bode well for him. It meant secrecy was needed, because whatever they were about wasn’t lawful.

  They still hadn’t spoken, not once, not even to argue among themselves, which wasn’t a good sign either, since they liked to argue among themselves. He would almost think he’d been left alone in the coach if he didn’t occasionally hear the shuffling of their feet.

  His own feet had gone numb, his hands, too, tied behind his back. Lying facedown, his cheek against the cold floorboard, he probably had a few splinters by now from being jostled by the occasional deep rut.

  When the coach finally came to a halt, he stiffened—and soon regretted it as life came back to his sleeping limbs. He was pulled out of the coach and helped to stand on his feet, but only for a moment. One of them tried to get him up onto his shoulder to carry him, but that didn’t work out well. Some were as tall as he was, but most weren’t as hefty. He was solid weight and muscle, and broader than any one of their shoulders could manage.

  He was put back on his feet clumsily, but not to be untied so he could walk. He was lifted by two of them now, feet and shoulders, and they were even having trouble with that because of his weight—and his unwillingness to make it easy for them. But they carried him along for a while, and finally they were no longer outside. The abrupt end of a salty breeze he’d felt indicated that.

  He was thankful for being indoors, wherever it was. He’d been able to smell the water on the way. Though he couldn’t tell if it were river or ocean, he had seriously thought he was going to be dumped into it. That would certainly solve the problem, as they saw it, that he presented. And he wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing to save himself.

  But they weren’t murderers. He hadn’t really thought they were. Savages, yes. A law unto themselves, yes. But though they wouldn’t hesitate to join forces to beat him to a pulp, they drew the line at killing—at least intentionally. Accidentally, on the other hand…

  Whatever he was laid down on was hard, but not solid hard, and not flat. It was rather lumpy actually. He waited to be untied. He wasn’t. And he could hear them leaving. They had delivered him and were just going to leave him, still trussed up. Without any explanation. He had an idea now where he was—the sounds around him were rather distinct—but no confirmation was forthcoming from them.

  But one of them was still there. He tsked, and said in a complaining voice, “Ye wouldna listen, arranged tae see Melissa anyway, though we warned ye tae stay away. She’s here tae get herself wed. We’re here tae make sure it isna tae ye. Wi’ any luck both will be accomplished afore ye find yer way home. Pleasant sailing, Linc.”

  More hours passed. Lincoln slept at some point. He’d been left completely alone, closed into the hold or storeroom of some ship. His bed could be sacks of grain or flour. In London Harbor or some harbor down the coast, he had no idea which. And what was going to happen come morning? Would he be released and put ashore at the next port of call?

  Not by the sounds of that parting comment. Nor by the remark of the fellow who showed up at some point late the next day to let him out.

  It was a storeroom he’d been dumped in, rather than the hold. Fewer rats to contend with, at least. And the chap had apparently been paid to assist in his being shanghaied. Whether the ship was
short of crew or not, Lincoln was going to be added to its ranks.

  “There’s no point in complaining about it, so don’t,” he was told by the big lout as he was untied. “We’re at sea, on our way to China. You won’t be seeing land for several years. Get used to it, mate. Do your work like the rest of us, and you might even get to like it. It’s a healthy life, that of a sailor.”

  With all restraints gone, and feeling finally returned to his limbs, Lincoln got to his feet and decked the fellow. Now he was angry, but it was contained, like the quiet before the storm.

  Twenty-Five

  “WE took care o’ it.”

  Ian One was greeted with this announcement as soon as he left his dressing room. In the short time it had taken him to have his morning shower, all his brothers had arrived in his room for breakfast as they usually did. No stragglers, though. They’d apparently collected each other on the way there so they’d show up together.

  “Breakfast?” he hoped Charles meant.

  “Nae, Lincoln.”

  He’d been afraid of that. Charles had sounded too smug with his remark. But he wasn’t the only one yet to be informed of how they “took care o’ it.” Half his brothers were staring at Charles, waiting to hear more.

  “How?” Ian asked simply.

  “Ye dinna want tae know,” Neill said. “I tried tae talk them oot o’ the plan they’d settled on, but they’d no’ listen tae me.”

  “What did ye do wi’ him?” Adam demanded in an alarmed tone.

  “It’s no’ what ye’re thinking,” Callum offered quickly. “He’s still alive.”

  “Then what did ye do?” William asked.

  “Sent him tae China.”

  “I’m really hoping ye mean a china shop, though I wonder why I doubt it,” Ian Three said dryly. “D’ye e’en know where China is?”

  “On the other side o’ the world, ye dafty,” Ian Two added. “And though that may no’ sound sae far away, it takes years just tae get there.”