Secrets to Seducing a Scot (18 page)

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Authors: Michelle Marcos

BOOK: Secrets to Seducing a Scot
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“Perhaps it’s best if we let Mr. Slayter find him. He is a fugitive hunter, after all. That’s what he’s best at. I’ll pay him handsomely. Come back to London with me, Serena. I’ll take care of all the rest.” He held out his hand.
She gazed at his upturned hand. It was soft and smooth, a gentleman’s hand. Everything she had been taught to believe told her that her hand belonged in his. But everything she felt in her heart screamed that it didn’t. She knew that if she put herself in Archer’s hands, she would eventually slip right through those silky palms.
“No, Archer.” She placed the sheets of paper in his outstretched hand. “Go. Publish your headline. Speak to the world. And forgive me for forcing your proposal. I … am not myself.” It was a fact that she was accepting with growing certainty.
Silently, she made her way back to her room. She sat down on the edge of the bed, cradling the wrapped bottle in her lap.
Malcolm appeared in her doorway. “I’m sorry.” He saw her wipe a tear from her cheek. “He’s a fool. And a yawning bore. I never liked him.”
“That’s only because you’re an excellent judge of character.”
Malcolm cocked his head. “The fool is right, though. Ye would be safer in London.”
“If I hadn’t wanted to go to London so badly, my father wouldn’t be in the mess that he’s in.”
“Eh?”
She squeezed the wrapped bottle. “It’s my fault he’s gone, Malcolm. I caused it. That threatening letter? ‘Sing a song of sixpence,’ like the nursery rhyme?”
“Aye?”
A lump formed in her throat as she formed her next words. “I wrote it.”
Malcolm’s mouth fell open. “Ye? Why?”
“Because I wanted to go home. I wanted our familiar lives back. I thought that if Father believed my life was in danger, he would take us both back to London. But I hadn’t considered the possibility that he’d engage someone like you to protect me. I tried telling you, over and over again, that my life was in no danger. But his was! Don’t you see? All this time, my father was the target, and no one was protecting him.”
Malcolm sat down next to her on the bed. “’Twas a selfish thing to do, Serena.”
“I know.”
“But ’tis yer good fortune it was me who was engaged. If anybody can find yer father, I can.”
Her moist eyes snapped up to his. “Do you mean that? You’ll come with me?”
He sighed. “My place is with ye. And where ye go, there I’ll be.”
“Oh, Malcolm!” She threw her arms around his neck.
“No’ Malcolm,” he said, returning the embrace with a halfhearted smile. “The name is Ubiquitus.”
Darkness.
Flashes of sound broke through Earlington’s nothingness. He stirred, and pain pounded out a staccato in his head. The ache made him wince, but he forced his eyes to open.
He found himself lying inside of a crate. His knees were wedged up against the wooden sides, and his arms were bound behind him. He lay on his right side, rendering his right arm completely numb. Around his head, damp straw lay scattered upon the wooden planks.
From inside the confined space, he heard the turning of carriage wheels. Daylight seeped in between the wooden planks, creating prison bars of sunbeams. He shimmied as close as he could to see out.
The crate appeared to be mounted on the back of a dogcart or trap, and he saw the hills hurtling past the carriage. He heard men’s voices, but he couldn’t make out how many there were or what they were saying.
Within minutes, the carriage came to a halt. He heard the sound of wrenching as the lid of the crate, which had been nailed shut, was pried open. The sun exploded in his face, and he winced. Two pairs of hands lifted him forcefully from the box, and set him on unsteady legs.
“Wake up, Your ’Ighness. Ride’s over now.”
It was a gutter-class English accent. His eyes adjusted on the man’s face. The man’s hair was matted to his head, and his leathery skin was pockmarked. It was the same man he’d seen last night, the one who’d tried to smother him with his own pillow.
“Who are you?” Earlington demanded, the effort of his voice creating a throbbing pain throughout his head.
The man smiled, revealing places where his teeth used to be. “I’m your coachman, sir!” he mocked. “And it is my duty to make sure you’re delivered safe an’ sound to your final destination.” He turned to the other man, who had hopped back onto the driver’s seat. “Right. You can take that coffin back, now. Not too far, mind. We may need it later.”
Earlington spun around and looked with horror at the crate out of which he’d just emerged. It was, indeed, a pauper’s coffin. A small stain of blood was left behind where his head used to be.
“Come with me, Your Majesty.” The man grabbed Earlington around his elbow and dragged him toward what looked to be an ancient castle fort or garrison. The Englishman hollered through the portcullis. A kilted man appeared behind the iron grille.
The kilted man was in his seventies. A thin white beard, at least a foot long, drizzled onto his shirt. “Is that him?”
“Yep. This ’ere’s your prize.” He stretched out his hand. “And now I’d like mine.”
The old man looked Earlington up and down. He signaled to someone in the room above the portcullis, and slowly, the heavy barrier was lifted. “I have your purse of monies inside the bailey. Take the ambassador to the stronghold. Then we’ll settle accounts.” The old man handed the Englishman a ring of keys.
“Right you are.” The Englishman pushed Earlington through a courtyard with an ancient cobbled floor. They entered through a doorway at the foot of the keep, and turned down a set of narrow stone stairs that had been worn smooth from use. They passed through an iron gate and stopped in front of a heavy oak door. He fitted the key in the lock; with a rusty complaint, the mechanism turned.
The Englishman shoved him through the door. The air inside the cell was fetid, and a ghastly smell emanated from what appeared to be a bucket for human waste in the corner. A single small opening served as a window, and it was high above the floor. Against another wall, a cot strung with rope was the only piece of furniture. The floor was nearly black with use, and ground in between the flagstones were things he thought best not to contemplate.
“Kneel down for me, sir.”
Fear shot through him. God only knew what indecency this man had in store for him. His abductor was not a tall man nor a brawny one, but he had the compact strength of a man of violence, and the inclination to use it.
“Why?”
He leaned in and his breath came out in putrid puffs. “You’re going to be knighted.”
Hesitantly, Earlington sank to his knees. His nightdress was still damp, and it clung to his skin in places.
The Englishman pulled out a knife from a sheath in his belt. The blood drained from Earlington’s face. The Englishman went around behind him, and Earlington held his breath.
The Englishman lifted up his bound wrists, forcing Earlington to bend forward. Earlington grimaced. But the man only sliced at the rope that bound his wrists
together. When his hands were freed, Earlington’s elbows and shoulders screamed from the cramping. He wanted to rub the deep ligatures in his wrists, but his hands wouldn’t respond properly.
His captor sheathed his weapon and headed for the door.
“You’re English,” remarked Earlington.
The man chuckled. “Right you are. Glad I’m not being confused with one of these skirt-wearing, thistle-assed barbarians.”
“If you don’t like them, why would you ally with them? Can’t you see that having me abducted is a prelude to war? A war with your own countrymen?”
The man spit on the floor. “Listen ’ere. I don’t give a squeaky fart about politics. Run ’em all through, that’s what I say. It’s the only way to get rid of this Scottish vermin once and for all.”
“Then why would you help them by abducting me?”
His back straightened. “Because Your Lordship is worth two hundred knicker. And their money is just the right color for me.”
“But there is money to be had in England, too. A man with your skills is highly wanted—”
The man broke out into hollow laughter. “Oh, they want me all right. They want me dead. I’m not a soldier. I’m a criminal. And England has become too hot to hold me.”
Earlington held up his hands. “Listen to me. I’m in the middle of peace talks with the Scots. If you set me free, or at least tell someone that I am being kept here, I will make sure that you are not only pardoned, but rewarded for your patriotism.”
The man put his hands on his knees to bring his face on a level with Earlington’s. “If you want my advice,
milord, forget talks of peace. The only peace these savages understand is the pieces they hack each other to.”
He turned around and walked out. The heavy door thudded shut, and the lock ground closed.
Earlington clambered to the cot. He was now just the chess piece that had stood in front of the king, the final chess piece to be toppled before war broke out.
But now he was here, useless, leaving his daughter vulnerable and exposed. He wrung his hands. Had they taken her, too? Or, worse—he shuddered to contemplate—had she been killed? The mystery of it was almost worse than the fact.
He buried his face in his hands in self-recrimination. Why hadn’t he taken her back to London, where she would have been safe? Why had he been so concerned about these people that it blinded him to the needs of his own daughter?
Serena,
he thought,
if you’re still alive, please head to safety.
The household returned from a daybreak search of the grounds with no evidence of Earlington Marsh or his captors.
Malcolm changed to his black kilt and plaid, and began to load up the ambassador’s town coach. The boot took a large basket of provisions provided by Mrs. Walker, a valise of Serena’s, one for himself, and a small case containing some clothes for Serena’s father.
Serena came out of the house. For once, she carried no parasol and wore no bonnet. She was dressed in a simple blue printed muslin dress, with a matching spencer and sensible shoes. Her long blond hair was pinned up, but hastily so. Malcolm couldn’t help reckoning that even in plain clothes and a slapdash hairstyle, Serena was a vision of loveliness. In fact, he liked the look of her even more.
Malcolm attempted to ensconce her inside the coach, but she would have none of it, insisting instead on riding beside him in the driver’s seat. With a flick of the reins, Malcolm urged the pair of grays forward.
“Which of Brandubh McCullough’s holdings will we try first, Malcolm?”
While her intention to search for her father was ill conceived and ill advised, Malcolm would give it this much credit: The two of them alone stood a greater
chance of finding the ambassador than did an entire army of British redcoats marching through the Highlands.
“None of them … yet. It won’t do to go off in the hunt for a needle in an entire field of haystacks. I think we should first narrow down our search to a single haystack.”
“How are we going to do that?”
“I have a friend who lives near Cannich. If anyone knows where yer father’s been taken, McLeish does. And what’s more, he’d tell me.”
“Why?”
“Let’s just say that I’d be paying him in his own coin. McLeish is not yer typical Scotsman. He sort of dances upon the fringe of society, if ye take my meaning.”
“A criminal, you mean?”
“Aye. But I wouldna use that word in front of him. He’s … had his hand in a colorful array of clandestine activities.”
Serena shook her head. “You keep company with strange sorts.”
“I keep company with all sorts of sorts. Even saucy, crabbit scolds like ye.” He cast her a smug look.
She gave him a sidewise glance. “
Quel drôle
. Was that the pinnacle of your wit?”
His smiling eyes looked back out over the horses’ heads. A steady wind pushed onto the coach, and Serena lifted the collar of her blue velvet spencer.
“How long will it take to get there, do you think?”
“Depends on the length of our horses’ legs. But we should be arriving in Cannich by nightfall.”
Malcolm felt Serena tuck in against him for warmth, wrapping her arm through his elbow, and it filled him with a dense happiness. It was such a rare sensation for
him. Her touch aroused more than just his desire. It also aroused his heart.
“I’ll be so happy when my father is found.” She laid her head on his shoulder as she gazed out at the countryside. “He doesn’t deserve what’s been done to him here. It was he who tried to get me to appreciate Scotland. A place of extremes, he called it. When it’s cold, it’s freezing. When it rains, it’s a deluge. And when it’s beautiful, it is sublimely so.”
He chased her gaze toward the horizon. The narrow one-carriage road was intermittently canopied by copper and silver beeches, and sunlight slid through the branches, dappling their path. On one side of the rutted road, the landscape mounded upward toward green hills, which were crowned with layers of fir trees. A clear-water burn ran along the other side of the road. The cool air was perfumed with the green scent of grass and trees, and the grating caw of crows could be heard in the distance.
“It is beautiful.”
And so are you,
he wanted to say. The mosaic landscapes of his homeland were all reminiscent of Serena. The thick yellow gorse reminded Malcolm of Serena’s vivid blond hair, the thistle in bloom reminded him of her regal beauty and prickly nature, and even the vast yellow fields of rapeseed called to mind visions of them both engaged in ruthless lust …
“Perhaps I have been too shortsighted after all,” she said. “With all its beauty of architecture and formal gardens, there is nothing in all of London to match the simple majesty of this scenery.”
The mere mention of London brought forth an angry sigh from Malcolm. He’d never been to that city, but he already hated it because it threatened to take her away. “And yet ye miss it.”
“I must admit, yes. There was an uncompromising elegance about my life there. Did you know that in my home, there are twenty-five sets of dishes? You could stay a whole month and never eat off the same dishes twice.”
He doubted he’d ever get the chance to see for himself. The likelihood of Serena Marsh asking Malcolm Slayter to stay at her home in London was practically nonexistent. “Seems an awful waste, if ye ask me. Ye only need one.”
Serena grew pensive. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps it is ostentatious. It’s the thing, you see. One feels compelled to exhibit one’s wealth. Seems ludicrous now. I wouldn’t trade my father’s well-being for all the place settings in Great Britain.” She sighed. “London has a way of making you feel as though you’re more important somehow. Here, though, you are forced to see yourself as you truly are.” Her voice trailed off.
“And Archer Weston? How did he see ye?”
Her hand in the crook of his elbow stiffened. He turned to look at her, and her countenance had fallen.
“I suppose I was yet another one of those glittering fantasies that vanish once you peer too closely.” She sighed, lost in contemplation. “It’s a great pity, really. I found Archer to be very different from most of the gentlemen I know. For a start, he’s a man of intellect, not of leisure. He’s the first man I’d met who seemed like he could actually change the world if he wanted to. And we were excellent friends. But try as I might, I couldn’t make him love me.”
“
Make
him love ye? Why should ye have to try? Either someone loves ye or they do no’.”
“It’s not that simple. Men see women through the eyes of other men. They’re very competitive creatures. A man wants a woman on his arm who will be the
envy of all the men in the room. He revels in the triumph of having acquired her.”
“That’s no’ a very flattering picture of us.”
“An accurate one, nonetheless. Archer is simply one of those men who needs to feel as if he’s somehow
achieved
a woman.” Serena looked down at her lap. “But this morning, it became evident that I could never be that prize for him. I always suspected that his profession was more of a religion to him, but when he chose the publication of his headlines over helping me find my father, I knew I had failed. I was simply not charming enough, nor popular enough, nor pretty enough to get him to fall in love with me.”
Malcolm was silent for a few moments as he tried to stem the flow of anger. “That’s the biggest load of havers I’ve ever heard. Serena, those things are just trappings. Charm is misleading. Popularity wanes. And even yer beauty will one day fade. What remains is what is the true prize. Ye. Just ye. And that ought to be enough for any man.” He placed his hand on her face. “And if that peacock of a suitor of yers can’t see that, then … yer Archer missed the mark.”
She chuckled halfheartedly at his offhand quip. “One thing I do know. Archer and his words, they’re … invisible. But your presence here with me, now, when I needed someone the most … this is very real.” She placed a gloved hand on top of his.
Mrs. Walker’s advice came floating back to him.
If ye want to get on the right side of Miss Marsh, ye’ve got to show her how ye feel. Not in a way that any man can do, and certainly not in words.
Did Serena understand the depth of his feelings for her?
“Ye’ve got yer besom ways about ye, Serena Marsh. But I care for ye. Just the way ye are.”
Sunlight sparkled on the tiny droplets forming in her moist eyes. “You do?”
He smiled. “Aye.” He bowed his head, touching his lips to hers. So soft, so open. He swept in for another kiss, this one longer, deeper. He closed his eyes to savor the sensation of her lips caressing his. God, what heaven this was, to be kissed by such a woman. It fed something deep within him, as the first drops of rain on parched soil. Serena responded by caressing the hair at the back of his head, which invoked a thread of pleasure that wended all the way down to the area between his legs.
He let his mouth trail down to her alabaster neck. Her skin smelled of rose, jasmine, and lavender, and he inhaled deeply the soft, feminine scent. He kissed the V at the base of her throat, and his lips sensed her heart beat faster. She made a sound, a pleading mewl. She had slipped a hand from its glove and threaded her fingers through his hair. The sensation of her nails on his scalp sparked a powerful hunger for her.
Suddenly the carriage lurched, and he and Serena were shaken from their embrace. The carriage stopped dead.
“What was that?” asked Serena, straightening in the seat.
He didn’t know. He looked around for the reins, which he’d let slip from his hand. Finally, he spotted them on the floor of the carriage. But just as he reached down to pick them up, the carriage tilted sideways.
Serena shrieked, and so did one of the horses. One of the wheels had rolled onto loose ground that now began to collapse. Malcolm looked beyond Serena seated beside him and was chilled at the sickening sight.
The carriage was tipping down a deep ravine.
And below, the steep rocky slope crumbled into the churning water.
Instinctively, Malcolm latched onto Serena. Fear was in her eyes as she looked over the edge down at the dangerous outcropping. The team pawed at the ground, fighting the anchoring weight.
“Serena, don’t look down. Step across me.” But the instant he said it, there was a terrifying crunch as the wheel snapped off, sliding the rear-heavy carriage farther down the embankment.
The horses neighed in panic as they were dragged down with the carriage. Serena lost her foothold and screamed as she dangled precariously over the edge of the dashboard. Malcolm held on to the seat rail above him, holding Serena against his chest.
“Climb over me!” he shouted as he lifted his knee to support her. Every muscle in his body ached with the strain of holding on while hauling Serena up over the side of the overturning vehicle. With all the strength she could muster, Serena lifted herself up along his body, and scrambled onto the edge of the disappearing ground.
He felt an immense relief at seeing her to safety. But now he had to rescue himself. If he fell, he would become part of the Highland scenery forever. His arms and shoulders were drained from the effort of hanging on to the seat rail, and his sweaty palms were making the bar too slippery to hold on to much longer.
He brought both hands together and pulled. He lifted his body closer to the edge of the carriage. The horses’ rear legs were tearing up the loose rocks, kicking stones and dirt into Malcolm’s face as he tried to lift himself over the edge.
Suddenly, one after the other, the shafts snapped, jackknifing the carriage and jarring Malcolm’s hold.
The team and crippled carriage slid farther down the gully. Vainly, the harnessed horses tried to claw their way out, but the immobilized carriage could not roll up the steep incline.
Malcolm braced for the shattering impact on the rocks below. Only one vision filled his thoughts—Serena.
And then he saw her. The carriage had slowed, caught on a fallen tree trunk. Serena was climbing down the brae, hanging on to bushes and tree branches.
“Serena, no!” he screamed. At worst, she’d fall into the ravine with him, and at best she’d watch him die. But she was driven by pure instinct. She gripped the horse’s harness and unbuckled the trace that strapped its harness to the carriage.
“The reins, Malcolm!” she shouted. “Grab hold of the reins!”
He saw one dangling by his side, but if he let go of the rail to take it, he didn’t think he could hold on.
“Hurry!” she shouted as she went to release the other trace.
Malcolm’s life depended on whether he could reach the reins. His muscles screamed in pain as he used his leg to bring the leather strap closer. Finally, it was close enough for him to reach.
“Now, Malcolm!”
With supreme force of will, he let one hand go of the carriage and gripped the rein. Once the horses were freed from the weight, they were able to climb. The carriage skated out from beneath him down the rock face just as he was being dragged up the cliff.
Stones and loose debris raked his skin, but he would not let go. The horses continued to climb higher up the brae. A sickening crash on the riverbed below filled his ears. When they were finally on level ground, he let go the reins and let the pair run on.
He lay panting on the ground, grimacing at the sharp pain firing throughout his body. But Serena—he had to find out if she was all right.
He clambered to his feet and staggered toward the edge. Below, the carriage had splintered on the rocks. “Serena!”

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