Her Highness and the Highlander: A Princess Brides Romance Page 3

  Might they still be searching? Might they even now be on their way to this inn, checking one lodging after another in the vicinity in hopes of locating her?

  She met the major’s gaze again and let him see the silent entreaty in her eyes, begging him to stay.

  He studied her for another long moment, then turned to the servant. “An ale for me, rather than the wine, and a hot brandied milk for the lady. She looks as if she could do with some warming up even now.”

  Mercedes released a pent-up breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding, then took a step back to let the maid walk past. Only after the door closed behind the servant did she look toward MacKinnon once more. “Thank you for agreeing to join me this evening,” she said. “I am not in the habit of dining alone and I thought we might both benefit from the company.”

  He gazed at her as though he knew exactly why she had insisted he join her, but to her relief he did not press the point. “Indeed, pleasant company and good food ne’er go amiss.”

  She nodded and gave him a slight smile.

  He continued studying her, a thoughtful expression on his rough-hewn features. “What really happened to you today, lass?” he questioned in a soft, melodic brogue. “Who is it that you fear?”

  She shivered and played her fingers over the edge of her robe. “That’s just it. I do not know who they are. I know only that they want to find me and do me harm.”

  Chapter 3

  Daniel quaffed a mouthful of ale and watched Mercedes tuck in to the hearty mutton stew the serving maid had provided for supper. Although he had to confess that tuck might not be the right word for the delicate way Mercedes wielded her knife and fork. Her precision was almost mesmerizing, as she cut each piece of food into a neat, easily consumable portion before bringing the bite to her lips. She ate and drank and patted her mouth with her napkin with equal measures of refinement.

  Even so, he mused, as he leaned negligently back in his chair, that didn’t mean she was anything more than a good mimic.

  He’d once seen an actress portray a duchess onstage with an elegance that would have impressed an Almacks’s patroness. But when he’d gone backstage with a friend after the performance to meet her, he’d been astonished by the complete change in the woman as she drank and swore and displayed her more than ample physical wares with all the grace of a Billingsgate fishwife.

  Mercedes Wyndom might have excellent table manners, but they didn’t make her a princess any more than they made him a king. He’d listened to her story of danger and murder at the hands of highwaymen intent on harming her, and although he knew there must be some truth to her tale, he wondered if there was more of the Minerva Press about the events than actual reality.

  Someone had threatened her, though, that much was clear. She jumped at every creak and thump that echoed through the inn, and he couldn’t forget the quiet desperation that had shone in her dark eyes, both downstairs and when she’d insisted he join her for supper.

  He wondered again who she really was. A down-on-her-fortune lady’s maid perhaps? Or a squire’s daughter who had run away from home?

  For now, however, he would play along with her Banbury tale.

  “More bread, Your Highness?” he suggested, gesturing toward the wicker basket of rolls and the small brown crock of butter that sat on the table between them.

  “No,” she refused. “I couldn’t possibly.” She paused, her gaze falling on the empty plate he’d earlier set aside. “Are you sure you won’t have any of the stew? It is surprisingly excellent, all things considered.”

  He shook his head. “As I said before, I ate earlier in the taproom and have no appetite for anything more than this ale.” He lifted the tankard in a silent salute, then took a drink.

  “As for your remarks on the meal,” he continued once he’d set the ale aside, “were you expecting to be served something less than palatable? Poached lambs’ brains, perhaps, or pickled tripe?”

  Her eyes widened.

  He rubbed his fingers over his mouth to hide a smile.

  “Well, no,” she ventured. “I did not know what to expect, as I have never before dined in an establishment such as this one. Do some inns really serve”—her lip curled—“those dishes you mentioned?”

  “A fair few might to the unsuspecting traveler. But you’ve no cause to worry. We Scots only serve bad fare to Sassenachs we doona like. We save the rancid haggis for them.”

  She stared, clearly trying to decide whether he was jesting. Slowly she relaxed and smiled. “Then it is good that you agreed to join me at table so that the serving maid wouldn’t ruin the meal.”

  “She wouldn’t have dared.”

  Or risk inciting my wrath, he added to himself.

  Earlier, before he’d come upstairs to check on Mercedes, he’d had another conversation with the innkeeper and the maid. By the end of their talk, they’d been left in no doubt that he would tear a strip off anyone who tried to cause Mercedes further distress, and that they were to see to it she was cared for with the same concern they would give a member of their own family. Between the money he’d pressed into their palms and the none-too-subtle warning, they’d both agreed to do his bidding with alacrity.

  “She seems a kind girl,” Mercedes remarked about the maid as she laid her knife and fork neatly across her plate. “She lent me these clothes and said she’d find a new gown for me to wear on the morrow.”

  Daniel raised the tankard to his mouth again, and decided not to mention that he had been the one responsible for the new gown as well. At his behest, the maid had promised to visit the dressmaker in the nearby village as early as possible, assuring him that, even if she had to roust the woman from her bed, she would have clothes ready and waiting for Mercedes by the time breakfast was served.

  He wasn’t certain why he was going to so much trouble and expense for this wayward young woman. He supposed he couldn’t resist any female who was so clearly in need of help. But once he made sure she was settled sufficiently to manage until her friends or family could be contacted, he would be on his way. He had another four days’ ride to the coast and a fifth by boat to Skye. He’d been away long enough; he had no wish to delay further.

  “Sadly, my gown is an utter ruin,” Mercedes said. “It used to be so lovely. One of my favorite traveling gowns before—” She broke off, swallowing hard. The fear had returned to her eyes, turning them nearly black.

  Picking up a serving spoon with a trembling hand, she reached for the dessert in the center of the table. “Would you…would you care for some of this tart? It’s strawberry, I believe,” she said.

  Daniel set down his tankard and reached out to cover her hand. “You’re safe here. Doona be afraid.”

  She lifted her gaze to his. “What if they are still searching for me? What if they find me?”

  “Shh,” he hushed. “No one is going to find you here.”

  “But they could—”

  “They will no’,” he soothed, humoring her on the subject of her phantom highwaymen. “Even if someone is still looking, it’s highly doubtful he would check this particular inn. It is no’ on the main coaching route. Besides, any newcomer would be noticed the instant he set foot over the threshold. You should be aware of that fact for yourself.”

  He watched as she considered his words; reluctantly she nodded.

  “I’ve also told the innkeeper that if someone does ask for you, he is to tell me instead.”

  Her lips parted on an inhalation of surprise. Daniel couldn’t help noticing how pink they were, and how pretty.

  “You did?” she murmured.

  “Aye.”

  He might not trust the more elaborate aspects of her story, but that didn’t mean it was all a pack of nonsense. On the slim chance that someone really was searching for Mercedes—presuming that was indeed her real name—then he wanted to be there to find out exactly who they were and what they wanted of her.

  “Which is why you are no’ to worry further,” he continued. “Once I retire for the night, you are to lock the door securely behind me so no one can startle you as I so regrettably did earlier.”

  “And where will you be once you leave?” she asked, a quaver still audible in her tone.

  “Right next door. If anything frightens you, you are to knock on the wall and awaken me. I assure you, after ten years of war, I’m a very light sleeper.”

  She studied him again, then nodded once more. “Thank you. You are…extraordinarily kind.”

  “Ha. I doubt you’ll convince anyone else of that, since I’m no’ known for my sympathetic nature. Rather the opposite, or so I’ve been told.”

  “I cannot believe that,” she said gravely.

  “Believe it, lass. I’m as tough as they come.”

  He’d had to be in order to survive; men with soft hearts and weak constitutions didn’t last long on the battlefield. He’d done things that would make her blanch with horror. He’d cut men down where they stood and left them gasping their last breath while he turned his back to slay the next.

  But that was over now, his days of blood and carnage in the past; peace was the blessing that lay ahead.

  Suddenly he didn’t want her to know him for who he was, wanting her to believe he was the hero she seemed to imagine.

  Daniel smiled. “But enough of such talk. You’re safe and have no reason to worry. Are we agreed?”

  Slowly, her lips curved up as well. “Yes. Agreed.”

  “Good.” He gave her hand a light squeeze, noticing how silky smooth her skin felt. Whoever she was, she’d clearly never done a day of manual labor in her life.

  Is she a runaway? he wondered again. If so, who has she run from and who does she fear?

  “On second thought,” he said, “I c
ould do with a helping of that tart. Assuming you’ll join me, that is.”

  She smiled. “I suppose it would be rude to disappoint the cook.” Reaching again for the serving spoon, she began to portion out the sweet.

  Bushes scraped her skin while tree branches tangled in her hair and snatched at her clothes like a hundred bony hands. Her breath burned hot as flame in her heaving lungs, her feet aching as she ran and ran and ran.

  She was lost. Hopelessly lost.

  But not alone.

  The forest echoed with the heavy footfalls of the hunters giving chase, and she knew how the fox felt as the poor animal dashed for freedom.

  If she stopped, they would have her. But how could she keep going when she was so tired? How much longer would she last?

  Suddenly a man’s hot breath whispered in her ear and she screamed.

  “Got you, Your Highness.”

  Mercedes sat bolt upright in bed, a silent scream lodged in her throat. Shaking, disoriented, she gazed around the dark, unfamiliar room, not sure where she was or how she had gotten there.

  The inn, she realized suddenly. I’m at the inn.

  She peered through the low light toward the door, relieved to find it closed and locked.

  At least she assumed it was locked.

  But was it still? What if someone had come in while she was sleeping? What if the man from her dream hadn’t been a dream at all?

  The room looked exactly as it had when she had gone to bed; nothing was different or out of place. And another careful inspection showed that there was no man—only her.

  A nightmare, she assured herself. It was nothing but a nightmare.

  Her gaze went again to the door, her pulse racing fast, her mouth dry.

  Before she gave herself a chance to lose what sliver of nerve she had left, she flung back the tangled covers and hurried across the room. She rattled the doorknob in its frame and checked the iron bolt above.

  Both were locked.

  She dashed back to the bed and climbed in, pulling the covers as high beneath her chin as they would go.

  The single candle the maid had lit earlier had gone out, leaving only a watery moonlight to shine weakly into the room.

  At least the worst of the storm had finally passed, although the wind continued to blow with a low, eerie keening. The wooden building creaked and groaned at odd intervals, its frame shuddering slightly whenever a gust whipped hard against the timbers.

  “It’s only the wind,” she whispered to herself over and over again in a quiet chant. “Just close your eyes and go back to sleep. It’s only the wind.”

  But she lay trembling instead, her eyes squeezed shut, her fingers half numb from their grip on the sheets. She thought about calling for Major MacKinnon, but what a coward he would think her. What a ninnyhammer.

  Five minutes passed.

  Then ten.

  Slowly she began to relax, the exertion and exhaustion of the day rising to draw her back into the world of dreams. She was sliding over the edge into sleep when a high, thin screeching sound raked across the windowpanes like fingernails being drawn across a slate.

  She was out of bed before she even knew she’d moved.

  “Major,” she called as loudly as she dared, rapping her fist frantically against the wall behind her bed. “Major MacKinnon. Major, can you hear me?”

  She heard bedsprings squeak. “Aye, lass. These walls are as thin as paper. What’s amiss?”

  “I heard a noise, like someone is trying to get in. Could you…could you come over?”

  “Don’t unlock the door until I get there,” he told her with commanding urgency in his voice.

  Unlock the door? What kind of idiot did he imagine her to be?

  She waited, afraid to glance toward the window in case there really was someone lurking on the other side.

  In what seemed barely a few seconds, she heard his knock. “It’s MacKinnon. Let me in.”

  With shaking fingers, she hurried to the door, pulled back the bolt, and twisted open the lock.

  Daniel stood on the other side, his thick auburn hair tousled with sleep, rough whiskers shadowing the strong line of his jaw. He’d clearly dressed in haste, attired in a red and green tartan kilt and a loose white cotton shirt that hung open at the throat. He’d slipped on a pair of tall boots as well, the leather supple with use and age.

  She pulled the door wider and stepped aside to let him in, closing and locking it again the moment he was through.

  “Ye said you heard a noise. What sort and where?”

  “From the window. It was a kind of grating, scratching sound that awakened me.”

  He went to the window and peered out, looking down into the inn’s darkened side yard. He made what seemed to be a thorough inspection. Next, he rattled the window latch, testing the metal to make sure the hinge was fastened tight.

  “I’m going below to check the yard,” he told her. “I don’t think anyone is there, but I’ll take a look just to make certain.”

  “But…But what if someone is there? What if they try to hurt you?” She couldn’t help thinking of her cousin and her guard—all the brave men who had died to protect her.

  The expression in MacKinnon’s green eyes was reassuring. “Doona fret yerself. I’m well trained for such situations and this is naught but a precaution. Be sure to lock up after me.”

  “You will come back to let me know what you found, will you not? You won’t just return to your room?”

  “Nay, lass, not without putting your mind at ease that all is well.”

  I’m not sure I’ll ever feel at ease again, Mercedes thought.

  Nevertheless, she followed him to the door, fastening the locks the instant he was on the other side. Alone once more in the darkened room, she trembled, fear creeping back upon her like a shroud.

  Where had the maid left the flint? she wondered, suddenly desperate for light.

  The room wasn’t large, so a quick, careful search allowed her to find what she required to light the candle. As for the candle itself, it had burned down to little more than a stump, but enough usable wick remained that she was able to set it ablaze after a couple of tries.

  The heaviest shadows instantly gave way to the small glow, the light providing a measure of comfort. Shivering, she went back to the bed and perched on the end to wait. As she did, she became aware of a lump of cloth caught beneath her hip. Rising, she pulled the material free and discovered her robe.

  She stared at it for a moment, only then realizing that in her fright she had forgotten to put it on when she’d let the major into her room to check for intruders.

  Warmth crept into her cheeks. Mercy, this is definitely a night for rule breaking, she thought.

  She’d already pushed the bounds of propriety earlier tonight when she invited him to stay for dinner, and now she’d appeared before him wearing nothing more than a thin cotton nightgown. Still, given the circumstances, it seemed foolish to go all missish over a robe. Ariadne, she knew, would laugh to see her blushing over something so inconsequential, especially since the room had been dark at the time. Surely MacKinnon hadn’t seen anything he oughtn’t….

  Had he?

  Her cheeks warmed another degree at the idea before she slipped into the borrowed robe and fastened the buttons to her neck. She perched on the end of the bed again to wait for his return.

  She jumped like a scalded cat when the knock came.

  After confirming that it was indeed the major, she let him inside.

  As he passed by her, she caught the warm masculine scent of his skin mingled with the sweet crispness of the rain that lingered on his clothing. A couple of raindrops clung in his dark auburn tresses. As she watched, he brushed them away with a careless hand.

  Hastily, she closed and locked the door before turning back to face him. “Well? What did you find?”

  He met her gaze. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  She considered his words. “But the sound I heard—”

  “The wind, I expect. There’s a large tree near your window. My guess is you heard the branches brushing against it.”

  “Oh.” She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling foolish.