The Pursuit

by Johanna Lindsey

  Ian One answered, “I sent them a note, that due tae a lack o’ good judgment on the part o’ several people, ye were sent tae China for a number o’ years. Ye havena seen them yet tae find that oot?”

  “I only just got back a few hours ago. I wanted to know if I would have the authorities to deal with or not, in case they had reported my absence.”

  Ian nodded. “They may not have believed the note and summoned the magistrate anyway. Are ye implying ye’d rather no’ deal wi’ the authorities o’er this?”

  “It’s a personal matter that I’d as soon keep that way,” Lincoln replied.

  They’d thought as much, knowing him, or thought at least that having the law to answer to hadn’t been one of their worries. His retaliation was, though, and his display of calm was making more than one of them nervous.

  “Ye didna like the sea at all?” Jamie asked with genuine curiosity.

  “Is he serious?” Lincoln said to no one in particular.

  “Aye,” Adam replied. “It was his idea, ’cause he has a hankering tae sail.”

  “Then he should have got on that ship instead,” Lincoln replied simply.

  “I’m wishing I had,” Jamie mumbled.

  “How’d ye know we’d be here—or was it Meli ye came tae see?” Johnny asked.

  “I gave my word that I’d stay away from Melissa until her father arrives. Whether you believe it or not, I tend to keep my word.”

  “Had some of us known that ye had agreed tae stay away, we wouldna be having this conversation right now,” Malcolm said with a frown sent toward Ian One.

  Ian One explained to Lincoln, “Melissa did inform me o’ that. Whether I believed it doesna matter. I’m afraid I wasna quick enough tae let the rest o’ m’brothers know.”

  “Which exonerates no one,” Lincoln replied in the same quiet tone. “Be that as it may, to answer your question, I went to your hotel first. It took me less than an hour to find your name in the register. I had a feeling I’d find you here. I assume that you haven’t told Melissa about the little trip you planned for me?”

  “Nay, we told her,” Ian Four said. “She’s taken to her room e’er since.”

  Lincoln shook his head in disgust, the first bit of emotion he let show. “You don’t tell her when you should but do tell her when you shouldn’t. Is there no end to the idiocy that runs in your family?”

  Usually the MacFearsons wouldn’t stand for an insult like that. Usually they’d all be leaping to their feet and swinging fists almost immediately. Not one of them moved, however, likely because they’d said as much to each other more than once in the last few days.

  “Frankly, it will be m’pleasure tae let her know ye somehow cut that trip short,” Johnny said. “How did ye, by the way? It’s only been five days.”

  “I was put ashore in France. I would have been back sooner, but it took an extra day to find a harbor with a ship departing immediately for London.”

  “Aye, but how’d ye talk yer way off the China-bound ship?”

  “A bit of extreme luck that you picked a ship captained by an old schoolmate of mine. I’d only just run into the chap a few days prior to hear how he’d taken to the sea. He was rather put out that one of his men was taking on crewmen against their will. Almost dumped the fellow overboard.”

  “We still canna let ye court our niece, but ye’re due retribution if ye’re wanting it,” Adam remarked.

  Lincoln surprised them by saying, “I want none.”

  “Then what are ye doing here?” Ian Four asked warily.

  “I spent quite a few boring hours on that ship with nothing to do but consider my options. Dealing with my bride-to-be’s parents is expected, part of the process, as it were. Dealing with the rest of her relations is not. And there’s only one thing that you MacFearsons actually understand. So here’s an address,” Lincoln said, tossing a card onto the table. “Be there tomorrow morning at nine, the lot of you. I want you off my back.”

  Twenty-Eight

  CURIOSITY prompted the MacFearsons to arrive early at the address they’d been given. The name of the establishment would have given them a clue—or not—to what Lincoln had in mind, but it hadn’t been included with the address. A sporting hall, complete with a roped-in ring for fighting matches and three sides of the large room filled with bleachers to accommodate a great many spectators. There was also a training room with an assortment of equipment in it and another room for fencing. Out back was an archery range.

  They arrived so early, at 8:00 A.M., that they were there long before Lincoln, and even a few minutes before the owner of the place arrived to open the doors. But they were informed, grouchily, that they couldn’t enter unless they were there to rent the hall. Apparently it was rentable at a hefty fee between the hours of eight and noon each morning, for the use of discerning gentlemen who preferred to train in private, then open to the general public for the remainder of the day.

  They guessed that Lincoln planned to rent the place, so, rather than wait outside for him, they paid the fee. They also guessed that he’d gone crazy again. To invite them, or rather insist they come to such a place, could only mean he meant to take them all on again. They even began to relax. Dealing with the crazy Lincoln was actually much easier than dealing with the quiet one that had showed up last night. He should have been foaming at the mouth. He should have been railing at them. That he’d shrugged off their blunder just wasn’t…natural. At least for him.

  However, they had time to discuss what they were each expecting and how to handle it. The brothers spread out on the bleachers, some sitting backward to face the rest, some stretched out, since there was lots of room. Ian Six even fell asleep. He wasn’t used to getting up so early, being on the “season” night schedule since he’d come to London.

  “We should refuse tae fight him,” William said to start the discussion.

  “That’s been tried. It doesna work.”

  “He was a child when it didna work. He might be made tae see reason now.”

  “Him?” Said with a snort.

  “I’ve no desire tae hurt him. I feel bad enough aboot the shanghaiing.”

  “Sae do we all, but what are we supposed tae do when he starts throwing punches, eh? If you havena noticed, he’s no small laddie now. I’ve no desire tae get m’self hurt either, trying tae keep him from getting hurt.”

  “Is there something else he could hae in mind in a place like this?”

  About seven naes came in answer, but Ian Three suggested, “He could be verra good at fencing and have guessed correctly that none of us are.”

  “Tae take us all on is crazy or stupid, which doesna say much for him thinking of an advantage like that, does it now?” Charles replied.

  “Linc isna stupid,” Dougall remarked in his ex-friend’s defense.

  “Exactly, and crazy folk dinna think of advantages,” Ian Three said.

  “There’s crazy and there’s desperate,” Malcolm pointed out. “Hae you considered he just wants Meli sae much he’s willing tae try anything?”

  Charles scoffed, “He hasna known her that long tae want her that much.”

  “What’s time got tae do wi’ it?” Callum wanted to know. “Malcolm didna say ‘love,’ he said ‘want.’ Personally, I’ve ne’er wondered if I want a lass or no’. If I do, I’m knowing it immediately.”

  There were a few chuckles before Malcolm added, “Aye, but there’s more’n that involved, when ye’re wanting a lass for wife, as he wants our Meli. If he was only lusting after her, we wouldna be having a problem. She would’ve told him tae get lost, and that would’ve been the end o’ it.”

  “I wish that was all he was wanting,” Ian Two said. “Then I’d hae good reason tae smash his face in.”

  “And ye dinna now?”

  “Nay, ’cause he’s done nothing tae warrant a good face-smashing yet. In fact, he’s been doing everything right, more’s the pity. E’en making sure Meli knew what was going on was the right thing tae
do.”

  “We’ve been trying tae avoid fighting him, which may hae been a mistake,” George said. “Gives him the impression we’re no’ serious.”

  “I know Linc,” Dougall put in. “He merely wants tae deal with her da, no’ all o’ us as well.”

  “But will he listen tae Lachlan?” Ian Five asked. “I’m guessing he’ll still try tae pursue Meli, e’en if her da turns him away.”

  “Guessing isna productive,” Adam said. “Until that actually becomes a fact—”

  Adam was nudged to silence as their nemesis came through the door. Lincoln had already removed his coat, had it hooked on a finger over his shoulder. With his other hand in his trouser pocket, he looked too nonchalant, certainly not a man anticipating a serious beating.

  When he stood below the bleachers where they had gathered, Johnny was the first to ask, “Sae what’s this aboot, Linc? Ye canna be thinking o’ taking us all on again.”

  “Can’t I?”

  “Ye’re fighting for her?”

  “Correct,” Lincoln said.

  “All of us?” Ian Five wanted clarified.

  “Yes—but there’s a catch,” Lincoln replied. “We’re going to use the ring here, but there’ll only be two of us in there at once. Line up if you like, pick your own order. The only time anyone else comes into the ring is to carry the loser out if necessary. And I’ll have your word on it. One at a time. There’s no excuse for ganging up on your enemy now, no disparity of age or size as there was when we were children. To do so would be cowardly, and you know it.”

  “Let me get this straight,” William said. “Ye’re willing tae fight each o’ us, one after the other? Ye’re no’ asking for a break tae recover?”

  “I won’t need it.”

  There was a round of laughter. Ian One cut it short, saying, “Ye realize how crazy this is, Linc? Ye willna last verra long. Sae what’s the point?”

  “The point is, you lose, you bother me no more. I’m willing to pay for that in blood.”

  “We’ll likely be going home as soon as the MacGregor gets here,” Johnny pointed out.

  “He’s not here yet, so that’s not soon enough for me,” Lincoln replied. “And besides, I’m not talking about the immediate future, I mean permanently. I never want to see any of you again, for any reason—ever.”

  “Now, that’s an unrealistic expectation, for a mon who wants tae marry into our family.”

  “Not unrealistic a’tall. I live in England. You stay in Scotland. We all live happily ever after.”

  Ian Six had been poked awake when Lincoln arrived, and he chuckled now. “That would be fine wi’ us, if ye’re giving up on Meli.”

  “I’m not.”

  “I didna think sae,” the youngest Ian continued. “But what ye havena found oot yet, or just havena considered, is how close she is tae her family. E’en if the unthinkable should happen and ye manage tae marry her, ye canna keep her away from her relatives for verra long. And I’m no’ saying they willna stand for it. She willna herself.”

  “I didn’t say I’d try to keep her away from her parents,” Lincoln replied. “You MacFearsons, however, would never be welcome in my house.”

  “Enough talk,” Charles said in an annoyed tone. “Let’s just oblige the mon and get this o’er wi’. And ye start, Ian Two. That will put an end tae this nonsense afore it gets messy.”

  Lincoln smiled and climbed into the ring. His smile unnerved a few of them. Sending in their best fighter first was a good strategy. Lincoln even knew that Ian Two was their best fighter. It should have put a dent in his confidence, but if it did, he wasn’t showing it.

  They faced off in the ring. There was no one there to start the match—or break it up. Ian Two was known for quick, brutal jabs that could demolish an opponent within seconds. Lincoln never gave him a chance to get one off. Few of them even saw the blow to Ian’s throat that laid him out flat on the floor, it was so swift.

  “Next?” Lincoln said.

  Johnny was angry enough now to climb into the ring, while another brother pulled Ian Two out. “Sae ye mean tae fight dirty, eh?”

  Lincoln grinned. “Is there any other way against the lot of you?”

  “We’ll be on tae yer tricks soon enough,” Johnny said with a snort.

  “We shall see, won’t we? Now, are you going to fight me or bore me to tears?”

  Johnny raised his fists, but the blow came in a wide arc and caught him squarely on his ear. The pain was momentarily excruciating, dropping him to his knees. He was coherent enough—just—to roll quickly out of the ring before any more blows fell on him.

  Ian Five climbed in next. He was Lincoln’s age and a few inches taller. He said not a word, was more prepared, went immediately on the offensive. He landed the first blow to Lincoln’s cheek, which staggered him back. That gave him the advantage, but he lost it when Lincoln plowed into his belly, headfirst, and tossed him over his shoulder. Ian Five landed hard, winded, dazed for a second, and didn’t even see the punch coming that finished him off.

  George entered next. Thirty-three, he was a little overweight due to his new wife who spoiled him with extravagant cooking. That, added to his normally stocky build made him a hard one to topple. So Lincoln went for the area George had recently been pampering, his belly. He had to land a few blows, though, to set up the punch to where it would be least anticipated and so do the most damage. It worked. Bent over, breathless, George was at his mercy. Lincoln didn’t bother to finish him off, merely signaling for someone to help George back to the bleachers.

  Dougall surprised everyone by moving to enter the ring next. Neill tried to stop him but was shrugged off. Many wore a worried frown. This was the pairing that had started it all, the two friends who had been so close. Lincoln’s expression turned inscrutable for a moment, but then he actually grinned—whether with real humor, though, it was hard to tell.

  “So you think you can do more’n swat flies with those fists now, Dougi?”

  Hot color began to climb up Dougall’s cheeks, but his loss of consciousness kept it from getting very far. The blow had been incredibly fast. Dougall had seen it coming but hadn’t been able to block it in time.

  “If his nose isn’t broken, it wasn’t for lack of trying,” Lincoln said, and then he looked directly at William, who had been there that eventful day at the pond, to add, “And be sure to tell him when he wakes up—this time was deliberate.”

  The remark managed to get most of the brothers angry. They even argued over who would be next into the ring, each wanting a piece of Lincoln now, all guilt forgotten for the moment.

  Anger might work against some men, making them careless. It was usually a good tactic to use, to get your opponent enraged to the point of stupidity. That wasn’t the case here. An angry MacFearson was a man who ignored pain, as Lincoln found out during the next four rounds. If he didn’t get in a lucky early punch to knock each of them out, or at least disable them, then he started taking some serious blows himself.

  Lincoln was no stranger to pain, though. And he had such self-discipline he could almost will himself not to feel it. However, the damage he was taking was still wearing him down, not in clarity of thought so much as in simple exhaustion. The irony was that, just as before, there were still too many of them. He’d defeated nine, but with seven to go and its becoming an effort just to get his fists up now, his confidence that he could finish this was pretty much gone.

  And he still had to fight Ian One, who appeared to be saving himself for last. The eldest MacFearson brother was no clod when it came to fighting. He hadn’t been the one they all deferred to just because of his age. He wasn’t as fast as Ian Two, but he was known to hit twice as hard due to his heftier build.

  Charles was up next, the wisecracker, the one voted most likely to get his mouth smashed. Even his brothers were known to have that urge on occasion—well, quite frequently, actually. But Charles got lucky. He landed a blow to Lincoln’s left eye, which was already half swo
llen shut from another punch he’d taken there. It dazed him for a moment, letting Charles get in two more solid blows, one to Lincoln’s midsection, one to his jaw. Lincoln recovered enough to retaliate by grabbing the hair on Charles’s temples to slam his head down on the knee he shot up to meet it. The maneuver didn’t smash his mouth, but it did knock him out.

  After that round, Lincoln needed a few minutes—or more—to get his mind clear, but he’d called it himself. No breaks. And although he was willing to go until he couldn’t stand on his feet any longer, the anger he’d incited in them had petered out enough that when Jamie reluctantly started to climb into the ring, Ian One stopped him.

  “I’m thinking we’re done, Linc, if ye are,” the eldest told him. “Ye got much, much further than any o’ us expected. Ye dinna see us laughing now. But enough is enough. There’s no point in going on, when ye canna finish it. Show some reason this time and admit defeat.”

  “Defeat? No, I don’t admit defeat until I am defeated. But I do admit this wasn’t such a good idea after all and, yes, enough is enough. Dare I hope that at least those of you who lost will go home now?”

  Ian One chuckled. “Now, that’s pushing it, when ye didna really win. But afore ye change yer mind, recall ye were told that we’d be going home soon as the MacGregor gets here. That could be today. He’s due.”

  Twenty-Nine

  MELISSA was still too angry to feel just relief. Megan had brought her the news last night, that Lincoln had returned to London. She wouldn’t have believed it if one of her uncles had told her. But the duchess wouldn’t lie to her. Lincoln was back. The last five days could be forgotten. But they wouldn’t be.

  Her shock had lasted only a couple of days. The anger had set in after that, so much that she didn’t trust herself to speak to anyone. And rather than test her willpower to keep from saying something she’d regret, she had remained safely locked in her room, speaking only to the maid who came by with her meals each day.