Her Highness and the Highlander: A Princess Brides Romance Page 10
He knew he was being rude, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Not when she was seated so close, the wildflower scent of her hair and skin teasing his senses and firing his blood.
He’d awakened this morning with that same intoxicating fragrance clouding his brain, the soft warmth of her limbs twined around his own. Instinctively he’d turned toward her, his hand sliding over her hip as if it had a mind of its own.
She’d sighed, a breathy little hitch that had shot straight to his groin. He’d eased closer and begun sliding his hand upward along her body, his thoughts muzzy with sleep and desire.
Mercedes. Her name whispered as if carried on the wind. Mercedes.
Here in his bed.
Here in his arms.
Here because she’d asked for his protection.
His eyes had flashed wide and he’d stared into the darkness.
Bluidy hell, man. What do you think ye’re aboot?
Then, as though she’d suddenly turned venomous, he’d rolled quickly away and flung back the covers. She didn’t wake as he’d stomped across the room in search of his clothes, not even when he’d banged his shin on the corner of a low wooden chest and let loose a screed of hushed, hissing curses.
His eyes had watered and he’d gripped the edge of a nearby table until the pain eased. His arousal had eased as well—at least enough that he knew he would be able to appear in public without giving offense.
Careful to pay attention to his surroundings this time, he’d dressed, then crossed to shake her awake. He knew it was early, before sunrise, but he didn’t care. The sooner they were up and on their way, the more miles they could cover, and the quicker he would be rid of her.
But apparently he hadn’t given enough thought to their traveling arrangements or to the necessity of sitting a hand span away from her hour after hour inside a narrow curricle. He wished he’d been able to hire a post chaise with a coachman and an outrider so he could have ridden alongside on a horse. But in a town as small as the one in which they’d passed the night, this curricle had been the only vehicle available.
Once they reached Edinburgh, he promised himself he would acquire a larger coach that would put a prudent amount of space between them for the rest of the journey to London. Until then he would have to rely on the strength of his willpower.
He studied her out of the corner of his eye, careful not to turn his head so she would know he was looking.
Intriguing?
Yes.
Beautiful?
Unquestionably.
Irresistible.
Absolutely not.
She was just a woman, and a young, naive one at that.
He was a man of experience and battle-hardened determination. He would complete this journey, see his promise through to the end, and satisfy his curiosity about her and her story.
The horse plodded on, the curricle creaking around each curve and winding dip of the road that led through the mountainous Highland terrain. The sun rose higher overhead as full morning set in around them, warming the air. A gentle chorus of insects added their own brand of music to the symphony of birdsong already under way.
And then another variety of song began—a honeyed cascade of notes so sweet and lilting it seemed to put even nature to shame.
Good Christ above, he cursed silently. She’s humming!
And so beautifully, it was as if an angel had flown to earth and landed at his side. Either that or a siren sent to tempt him beyond reason.
Och, an’ it’s gonna be a bluidy long two weeks.
He listened, the sound of her voice seeping into his blood and muscles, perhaps even into his very bones. He could have listened to her all day. He wondered, in fact, how she would sound if she set words to the melody. But her voice was doing something unsettling in the region of his stomach, and he needed it to stop.
“What is that ye’re doing?” he demanded harshly.
The humming ceased.
He relaxed, waiting for her to respond. Instead, she made no effort to acknowledge him, but continued studying the landscape.
Then she resumed her humming.
“Ye’re disturbing the horse, ye know,” he grumbled.
Ye’re disturbing me.
As he watched, she gazed toward the animal. But even though the horse’s ears flicked this way and that, his gait didn’t change, not in the slightest.
Worthless nag, Daniel thought, shooting an accusatory glare at the back of the horse’s head.
Mercedes continued her humming.
He didn’t recognize the tune, but it was lovely.
Haunting.
Steeling his emotions, he strove to resist the lure of the melody. He supposed he was acting like a churl, but frankly, after the night he’d had—and the morning too—he felt justified in his bad mood.
Then again, he supposed it wasn’t her fault she was attractive with the voice of an angel, anymore than it was his fault that he was idiotic enough to notice.
With a stubborn streak he would never have guessed she possessed, Mercedes continued her song. It was only when she reached the last stanza of the melody that she finally fell quiet.
“Hmmph. Silence at last.” In spite of his disdainful remark, part of him wished she would begin another tune. “So, what do you call it,” he asked after a moment, “that song of yours?”
Slowly, she turned her head and gave him an imperious stare. “I beg your pardon, but are you addressing me?”
“Of course I’m addressing you. I have been for the past five minutes, if you’d cared to listen.”
“Hmm,” she mused in a bored tone. “I do recall hearing something, I’ll admit, but I thought it must be a pest buzzing near my ear. Only fancy it was you.”
He had to bite the inside of his cheek to hold back a smile. Obviously, now that she wasn’t afraid, her sense of humor was emerging—and a measure of caustic wit as well.
“Ye’ve not answered my question. What tune were ye humming?”
“One that clearly did not upset the horse.”
This time he couldn’t help but smile. “So ye were listening after all.”
She raised a sable eyebrow and regarded him briefly before returning to her study of the passing scenery. “It was Beethoven. One of his sonatas. Are you familiar with Herr Beethoven’s work?”
“Aye, I believe I’ve heard the name a time or two,” he said dryly. “Although I admit, the tune you were singing is unfamiliar.”
She sent him a sideways glance. “Well, it is one of his newest compositions, so I am sure that is why you have not heard it. I am a great lover of music, you see, and my brother has Herr Beethoven send me copies of his compositions. Once the maestro is ready to share them, of course.”
“Oh, of course.” Daniel said nothing as they continued down the lane. “So you’re tellin’ me that Ludwig van Beethoven himself sends you copies of his musical scores?”
“Well, I believe his wife actually puts them in the post, but yes, he does. My brother, Stefan, is a great admirer and patron of the arts and supports a number of artists and musicians, Herr Beethoven among them.”
A tiny smile curved her pink lips. “Stefan knows how I adore playing, the pianoforte in particular. He is a most kind and indulgent brother and has been in the habit of sending me small treats while I have been from home. He spoils me far too much for my own good.”
“So, where is this brother of yours? Is he in London with your friends?”
Daniel waited, interested to see how she would answer and exactly how far she would take this new tale of hers. He didn’t doubt she had a brother; he just doubted the man was a prince.
A tiny frown creased her forehead. “No, he is in Austria at present. After the Congress of Vienna concluded last year, he decided to stay on in the city for a time. My parents, I know, wish he would cease his more decadent pursuits and return home.”
“To Aldan?”
“Alden, yes.” She paused. “You still do not believe me, do you?”
“Weel,” he said slowly, “ye must admit it’s a bit on the far-fetched side. Music from Beethoven himself. A brother who lives in Vienna, and a prince no less, I presume. I suppose Mozart and Haydn send you handwritten compositions as well?”
Her lips thinned. “That would be rather difficult, Major, seeing that both of them are deceased.”
He paused briefly, then smiled. “I suppose even royal patronage can’t reach beyond the grave. My apologies, Your Highness. I stand corrected.”
“You will stand corrected once we reach London. And I promise I shall play for you and prove that I am telling the truth about Herr Beethoven’s latest sonata.”
“I shall look forward to that day and to the concert.”
“But…” she prompted after a moment.
“But that still will not prove you are a princess. Many young women can play the piano.”
“Yes, but other young women cannot produce letters signed by the composer himself, now, can they?”
“Nae, on that score, ye’ve got me bested. I shall look forward to seeing those letters.”
“I shall enjoy showing them to you and watching you eat your words.”
He chuckled, realizing as he did that his earlier bad mood seemed to have evaporated. Not only was she a siren, he mused, but she was obviously a witch as well, casting her spell over him without his conscious awareness.
He tried to tug the edges of his black humor around himself again, but they refused to budge. It was as though she and the cloudless blue sky above were inextricably linked, the warm sunshine that radiated from them both impossible to resist.
And she was filled with an irrepressible kind of warmth and light. Even if she might be a
tad peeved at him at the moment. Even in spite of the fear he knew lurked just beneath the surface, waiting for some small fright to make it burst forth again.
Whatever it was about this slip of a girl, she drew him in ways he did not understand, evoking one contradictory emotion after the other. One minute he wanted to protect her, the next provoke her, and the third kiss her until neither of them could think properly anymore.
Aye, he thought as he gave the reins a small flick to encourage the horse into a faster gait, these next two weeks were indeed going to be long ones.
And then she started to hum again, another lilting melody so sweet it put the birds to shame.
Repressing a smile, he settled back to listen.
Chapter 12
The inn hummed with noise and commotion, the narrow wooden tables inside the taproom filled to capacity with travelers and locals alike. A bluish haze of smoke coiled like vines along the timbered ceiling, the air pungent with the scents of ale, wood smoke, and human sweat.
A serving maid wove sleekly as a cat through the crowd, delivering drinks and food and taking orders for more. Smeek watched from his spot in the farthest corner—a position that afforded him an excellent view of not only the public room but the main entry beyond through which any newcomers would arrive.
Useless waste of time if you asked him. Then again, he wasn’t the boss, so his opinion didn’t count. He’d been around long enough to know when to open his mouth, and far more important, when to keep it shut.
So he’d done as he was told when he’d been sent here to keep a lookout on the off chance the girl showed up. But what were the odds of that? No one had seen so much as a glimpse of her little satin slippers after she’d vanished into the woods. Amazing, that, really, considering who she was. Who’d have thought some highborn chit like that could give five grown men the slip?
Even now, it made his stomach twist and his skin go all damp remembering how bad it had been when they’d had to tell the boss they’d lost her. Damned lucky they were to still be breathing—’cepting Hicks, of course.
He’d been the second-in-command, but he weren’t no more. He’d learned his last lesson about failure at the end of the boss’s pistol. One shot straight through the head without so much as a word beforehand. One minute Hicks had been explaining his plan to locate the girl again; the next he’d been lying flat on the floor, half his brains splattered behind him.
The boss hadn’t so much as blinked, but had calmly chosen another man to fill Hicks’s shoes. Couldn’t say the bloke had looked too thrilled by his move up.
The boss sure was a cold bastard, and after growing up hard as he had, Smeek had known his fair share of bastards. Unlike most violent men, the boss did not yell, but they’d all started shaking just from the look in his eyes when he’d found out what had happened during the attack.
“What do you mean you had to kill them all?” he’d said in a smooth, mildly accented voice that had sent shivers down Smeek’s back for all its calm. “The plan was to kill only the guards and take the others to the abandoned crofter’s hut. Why were my instructions disobeyed?”
“The old man had a sword, knew how to use it too. He cut Benji down and was going after one of the others when Hicks shot him.”
The boss cast an emotionless glance at the body on the floor. “Ah yes, the unfortunate Mr. Hicks. Were he not dead already, I would kill him for that alone. And the rest? The servants? The princess?”
“Well, the boys got carried away in the thick of it,” said the new second-in-command. “You know how it is.”
The boss said nothing, his eyes black as night.
“A-as for the princess, she got away, like we told you already. But we’ll find her.”
“Yes,” the boss said. “You will find her. But first clean up this mess like you did the other. And make sure you leave nothing behind to draw unwanted attention.”
So, of course, wouldn’t you know, he’d been the one stuck with the job. Not that he hadn’t done things of that sort before, but never so many bodies in so short a time.
They’d all cleaned up after the attack. Luckily the rainstorm had washed the blood from the road. It had also discouraged unwanted passersby from stumbling upon them while they’d put the bodies inside the coaches and driven them to a remote location where no one would think anything of a span of newly turned earth. The remains buried, they’d burned the coaches once the rain stopped, so there would be no trace of their botched plan.
And botched it had been—royally.
He smirked at the pun and took a long pull on his tankard of ale. He’d just drained the last pleasantly bitter gulp, and was thinking about calling the serving maid over to order another, when the inn door opened and a couple walked inside.
He glanced up without much interest, then nearly choked, ale spraying over his front, his eyes straining half out of his face when he saw the young woman.
No, it can’t be, he thought.
Fumbling inside his jacket, he drew out the copy of the drawing that he had been given. He studied the princess’s likeness, then studied the young woman standing a few feet distant.
His heart kicked into an excited rhythm as a slow smile spread across his face. There’d be a reward in this for sure.
He started up from the table, already calculating the best way to get her outside and into a carriage without attracting attention, when he suddenly noticed her companion.
He sat back down.
The man with her was tall and lean, obviously Scottish given the kilt he wore and the deep auburn color of his hair. Despite his rangy build, he looked more than capable of holding his own in a fight and inflicting substantial damage along the way.
Smeek cursed silently, knowing he would have to rethink his original plan to grab her at the first opportunity.
So the little royal had acquired a protector, had she? Smart of her, assuming she could trust him, that is.
Fleetingly, he wondered if the man could be bought, for the right price, of course. But in the next moment, the Scot took hold of her elbow and drew her close with a proprietary gesture that sent an unmistakable warning to every man in the room.
Keep away, it said. She’s mine.
As for the little royal, she didn’t resist the intimacy, appearing comfortably pliant within his grasp while she waited for the Scot and the innkeeper to talk.
Interesting. So there was more to the relationship than mere convenience. Well, it wasn’t any of his business if the little royal had let herself be seduced. The boss had other plans for her anyway.
Which brought Smeek full circle back to his own difficulties.
Retrieving her should have been easy, but no two ways around it, the Scot complicated matters. Smeek could always go ahead and take a try at snatching her, but only look where independent thinking had gotten Hicks.
No, he thought, as he leaned deeper into his corner, better to send word that he’d sighted her and wait for further instructions. A messenger would take a note to the new second and he could be the one to make the decision—and take the blame if anything went wrong. In the meantime, he would keep watch and wait.
Now, or two days from now, the amount of time would make no particular difference in the end. The boss wanted the girl, and once they had her in hand, he would be satisfied. Smeek could collect his pay and head south to more hospitable climes where the luxuries were plentiful and the women as willing as they came. Not like these Highland wenches who charged double to bed an outlander and kicked him out come first light without so much as a parting kiss.
No, once he had the little royal in his grasp, everything would be good again.
Without giving the appearance of watchfulness, Daniel studied the room and the crowds gathered in the common area beyond.
It was a habit he’d developed during the war, an ability to be keenly aware of everything and everyone around him that had kept him on the right side of an attack more than once over the years. It could also be a burden, since the heightened sense of awareness meant he was never able to fully relax no matter his surroundings, never able to just be in a place without first analyzing it for potential threats and strategic advantages.
Maybe after he returned home and had been peacefully settled there for several years, the reflex would cease to function in such an automatic way. Until then he would just have to accept it as a part of himself, rather like blinking or breathing, and use it to his benefit as much as he required.