Her Highness and the Highlander: A Princess Brides Romance Page 5

  The girl walked to the door.

  “One thing more before you go,” Mercedes said, stopping the young woman on the threshold. “Have you seen the major yet this morning? Major MacKinnon? I wish to have a word with him.”

  The maid arched a surprised brow. “Well, then ye’d best not tarry, since he’s fixing to leave. Called for his horse not ten minutes past.”

  He was leaving without so much as a word? He was abandoning her? How dare he? Under ordinary circumstances she would have let him go since he clearly did not wish to remain, but nothing about her situation was ordinary. All her life, she’d been safe and protected both at the academy and her father’s palace. But now she had no one. If the major left, she would be utterly alone and vulnerable. No, galling as it might be to lower her pride, she needed someone on whom she could count, and the major was her only choice.

  “Where is he?” she demanded.

  The servant’s eyes grew wide. “In his room, I think. Seein’ to the last of his packing.”

  Flinging back the covers, Mercedes sprang out of bed and reached for her robe. She was still pushing her arms through the sleeves as she flew out the door and into the hallway.

  Daniel crammed a shirt into his travel-worn brown leather valise, trying to arrange the contents so the latches and buckles would close.

  It was times like these that he missed the practical efficiency of his batman, Fergus, who’d had the uncanny ability to fit any item, no matter how large, into a small, manageably compact arrangement. He’d used to joke that Fergus could have found a way to pack an elephant in a portmanteau if given the task.

  But at war’s end, he’d had no choice but to relinquish Fergus’s excellent services. Not because the other man didn’t wish to continue in his employ, but rather because a retired major and dispossessed laird had little need of a full-time valet.

  The Laird MacKinnon.

  To a few old men at home, he might still be known as such, but it was a worthless title and had been for more than the whole of his life. The land over which his grandfather and his grandfather’s father had once proudly stood guardian was gone, confiscated and divided among the English conquerors after the Jacobite massacre at Culloden.

  The grand stone castle that had once been the seat of their power and wealth was no more than a ruin now—his family luckier than many to have taken up residence in an old crofter’s cottage that they had since turned into a creditable home.

  The one constant in his childhood had been his father’s bitter, unswerving hatred for the English. Daniel could hear him even now as he’d railed red-faced against English injustice, English atrocities.

  When the time came, Daniel’s decision to purchase a commission in the “damned Sassenach Army” had not been an easy one. The fact that he had joined a Scots-only regiment had made no difference to his father at all. Highlanders they might be, his father had fumed, but they were fighting on the English side, and the English side was always the wrong side. No amount of reasoning or persuasion could change his opinion.

  “Traitor!” his father had shouted at him as he’d left. “Dishonorable turncoat!”

  As for his mother, she’d stood by in silent misery, her careworn cheeks wet with tears, her eyes begging him not to leave, even if she understood his reason for it.

  In spite of the rift, he’d held fast to his decision. He had no great love for the English himself, but there’d been nothing for him in Skye. Why couldn’t his father have understood that? The idea of studying the law made him shudder, and the notion of him as a clergyman was so absurd as to be laughable. Fishing wasn’t a gentleman’s occupation; neither was raising sheep. As for farming, one could only manage a few crops for the table, certainly not enough to make a living wage.

  No, in spite of a few lingering regrets—most especially the fact that he had not been able to mend his differences with his father before his death—he knew he’d chosen the right path—the only path that made sense for him.

  But that life was done now too and he had his future to decide. Being home again would help him do it—or at least he hoped it would.

  Pulling the wadded-up shirt out of his valise again, he shook it out so he could attempt to fold it in a more travel-worthy way. As he did, a thick vellum envelope fell out of the luggage and onto the floor. Bending, he picked it up, reading once more the engraved direction on its front.

  Sutton and Sutton, Esquires, Solicitors, London.

  Hmmph. He couldn’t imagine what they wanted with him, and the letter certainly didn’t elucidate what the matter might be about. Likely the summons had to do with another tedious technical detail associated with his father’s will that he’d been dealing with for the past three years. He’d thought the matter concluded, but apparently not. Odd that a new set of solicitors were involved rather than the ones with whom he generally dealt. But he supposed certain types of legalities were referred out to other colleagues as the need required.

  Most annoying of all was the fact that the letter asked him to appear in person at their offices in London; they needed to discuss a matter that was of a “highly important and personal nature.” Experience had taught him that such issues were invariably deemed “highly important” no matter how trivial they might actually prove to be. As for the issue being personal, of course it was personal, since it involved his late father.

  Well, he would pay the lawyers a visit when he felt like making the trip south again. Right now he was northbound, and northbound he would be.

  Tucking the letter underneath an extra pair of trews, he set about once again folding the shirt that was causing him so much difficulty. As he did, his thoughts wandered to the night just past and the young woman in whose bed he had slept.

  A slight smile ghosted over his face as he recalled how delightfully soft she had felt in his arms and how lovely she’d looked when he’d awakened this morning. He supposed he ought to have roused her to explain that he was departing, but after the night she’d had he didn’t have the heart to interrupt her slumber.

  He’d written her a note instead that he planned to leave with the maid before he departed. Inside, he’d included a sum of money that should enable her to purchase a seat on the coach to London, with a bit extra for overnight lodgings and food.

  His years of military service had been reasonably profitable, enough so that he could afford to spare the funds to help an occasional wayward soul.

  As for Mercedes’s fears…well, he didn’t doubt the sincerity of her fright; the cause of her alarm was another matter though.

  Over breakfast in the common room this morning, he’d had the occasion to speak to Mr. McCrawber, a blacksmith who also served as the local constable and justice of the peace. The other man had scratched his thinning patch of carroty hair and scrunched his pencil slash eyebrows in perplexity when Daniel had inquired about highwaymen and an attack on the main road south.

  “Canna say I know anythin’ aboot that, lad,” McCrawber had said. “An I rode here from tha’ direction only this mornin’. Didn’t see nothin’ oot o’ the ordinary. If there’d been murders, I’d’ve known aboot it, tha’s fer sure.”

  “Tetched in the ’ead, is what tha’ lass is,” the innkeeper grumbled from his place behind the bar. “Or else a right fine liar. I’m o’ the liar opinion, if ye ask me.”

  “Then it’s a good thing no one did,” Daniel had remarked in a cold voice.

  He’d thanked McCrawber and inquired no further. The innkeeper had tossed him a withering look, then gone back to drying glasses with a damp rag.

  After his conversation with the constable, he’d felt certain that Mercedes was in no real danger—at least not from murderous highwaymen. He’d aided her as much as he could, but now he needed to continue on his way. She wasn’t his responsibility; she would be fine on her own.

  A frown tightened his forehead as he recalled how she had shaken with terror last night. And how trustingly she had later slept in his arms.

  Pushing aside the memories, he laid the newly folded shirt into the top of his valise and then closed the case, fastening the straps with a pair of hard, satisfying yanks.

  He had just set the valise onto the floor and was scanning the room for any forgotten items when a loud knocking began at the door.

  “Major MacKinnon?” called a lovely feminine voice. “Are you in there? I must speak with you immediately.”

  Before he could respond, the doorknob turned and Mercedes was inside, tumbling across the threshold with her plain white nightgown and robe swirling around her trim ankles and her sable hair cascading in a tousled mass over her shoulders and down to the small of her back.

  “Thank heavens, I caught you in time,” she panted. “The serving maid said you were leaving.” She looked at his valise.

  He did his best to ignore her hurt expression and the twinge of guilt he felt. “That’s right. I only stopped here overnight and must be on my way. I’ve already delayed my departure long enough.”

  “But you cannot go,” she declared, walking deeper into the room. “I have need of your services.”

  He arched a brow. “Services?”

  “Yes. It isn’t safe for me to travel alone, not all the way to London. I require a bodyguard and have decided that your protection shall do nicely.”

  Chapter 6

  Mercedes stared hopefully at Daniel MacKinnon, her heart thrumming fiercely beneath her ribs.

  The attack on the coach had been no random act, of that she felt certain. Whether they meant to kill her or kidnap her, she did not know. But without the major’s protection she would be alone and defenseless. She had no weapons and wouldn’t know how to wield a pistol or a knife, even if she could find some means of obtaining one. But with Major MacKinnon acting in her
defense, she was confident she would come to no harm.

  How she knew this she couldn’t say. Logically, it made no sense, especially given the fact that the men of her own valiant, exceptionally well-trained royal guard had been no match for the ruthless savagery of the brigands. Yet in spite of this, she sensed that the major would keep her safe. He might be only one man, but there was a steady confidence to him, a calm, almost single-minded efficiency and razor-sharp intellect that made her trust him implicitly.

  “Your bodyguard?” he repeated with an unfathomable glint in his moss green eyes.

  “Yes,” she confirmed, encouraged that he hadn’t instantly dismissed her request. “You were an officer in Wellington’s army, so I know you must have the training and experience necessary to be a more than able protector. Your duties would require that you accompany me on the journey south to London, making sure, of course, that I arrive safely and without harm.”

  “Of course. I should think that goes without saying,” he drawled, folding his arms over his chest.

  She paused, wondering if she’d heard an inkling of sarcasm in his tone. Deciding she must have been mistaken, she forged ahead. “It would also be your responsibility to secure suitable lodgings for our overnight stays as well as a comfortable conveyance in which to make the journey.”

  “Would you prefer a Whiskey for speed, Your Highness? Or perhaps a curricle with a fine leather top for greater shelter from the elements? It might rain, after all, during the long days of travel. Mayhap I should hire a coach-and-four instead with a driver and full complement of footmen?”

  Her brows furrowed as she considered. “Well, I am used to traveling with a number of servants and outriders, but that hardly seems necessary under the circumstances. I should think a curricle will do, especially since I no longer have any belongings of which to speak.”

  Come to think of it, she wondered what had happened to all her trunks and bandboxes and other personal items. For that matter, what had become of the coaches, to say nothing of the bodies of those slain? Surely someone must have found it, and them, by now.

  “Yes, a curricle with a good, solid top,” she murmured thoughtfully. “As you say, it may rain, but it is not worth the bother of hiring a closed coach and delaying our departure in order to find a suitable coachman.”

  “Och, aye, no point in going to unnecessary trouble or expense. While we’re on such a subject, though, might I ask who will be paying for all of this while I am acting as your bodyguard?”

  She linked her hands at her waist, her frown deepening. “Oh. You are right that there will be expenses along the way. I suppose you will need to pay for the carriage and lodgings and meals and such. I assure you, though, that every farthing will be recompensed. You have only to keep an accounting and my friends will be more than happy to reimburse you on my father’s behalf once we reach London. I will make sure you receive a handsome reward as well—I promise. My family will be most distressed when they learn what has happened to me and my retinue, and most grateful to you for coming to my aid.”

  “Your parents. The king and queen?”

  “Yes. I told you of them, and of my country.”

  “Of course, your country. Odd that I have never heard of it.”

  “Alden is very small. There are many people who are not aware of its existence.”

  He murmured something under his breath that she couldn’t quite hear, then lowered his arms to his sides. “Look, we could continue this all day, but I really do need to be going.”

  “Oh, well, yes, of course. You are right that we shouldn’t continue to delay. Pray allow me to change my attire, and then we shall depart. The serving maid should have my new garments ready by now.”

  He drew a long breath, then met her gaze with an implacable look. “We are no’ leaving. I am leaving. I’m on my way north, to my home in Skye. I’ve no interest in changing my plans.”

  Her lips parted. “But—”

  “As for serving as your bodyguard, I must refuse that as well and no’ simply because my soldiering days are over. The fact is you doona need a bodyguard. You’ll be perfectly safe traveling to London on your own.”

  No, I won’t, she thought as her pulse gave a hard kick.

  “I spoke with the constable this morning,” he continued, clearly unaware of the panic squeezing like a suffocating hand around her throat. “He traveled the main road himself and there was no sign of highwaymen or abandoned coaches—and no dead bodies. I am sorry, Miss Wyndom. I doona know what may or may not have happened to you, but I seriously doubt that you are in danger—certainly no’ from armed men. You have no need of a bodyguard.”

  Turning, he reached back and picked up an envelope. “I was going to leave this with the maid for you, but I’ll give it to you now. There’s money in there. Take it and buy yourself a seat on the coach to London. The coach doesn’t stop at this inn, but I’ve arranged for one of the stable hands to drive you over to a coaching inn where you will be able to proceed on your way. Do not worry about repaying me. I’ll not miss a few pounds.”

  She grew still, her fear turning first to fire, then to ice. “You do not believe me,” she whispered. “Like all the others, you think I am a fraud.”

  His brows drew close, his words slow and carefully measured. “I think that you have suffered a great fright and that you are confused. Shock can make people believe all variety of things, some of them quite imaginative.”

  Such as claiming to be a princess.

  He didn’t say the words, but they hung in the air between them nevertheless.

  So, he believes I am addled, she mused.

  Which was worse—liar or madwoman?

  He sent her what she presumed was meant to be a reassuring smile. “My advice is that you take the coach and go to visit your friends in London. By the time you reach the city, I suspect things will seem less alarming and far clearer than they do now.”

  Once again, he extended the envelope. “Take it. Let me help you.”

  She shot him a disdainful look and made no effort to accept. “I have already told you how you may assist me and you have refused. Pray do not trouble yourself further.”

  His scowl deepened. “Doona be like that, lass.”

  “I am not your lass.”

  He rolled his eyes skyward. “Just take the money.”

  “Thank you but I am not in the habit of accepting charity from others.” Actually, she’d never even considered such an eventuality, particularly since she had always been the one who gave to those less fortunate, not the other way around. How peculiar to find herself in such straits.

  “Then doona see it as charity,” he suggested. “Consider it a loan.”

  “I would much rather you accept my offer to serve as my bodyguard.”

  To her disappointment, he remained silent.

  And vexing though it was to admit, he was right that she would need money if she had any hope of reaching London on her own. But a loan was every bit as much out of the question as taking charity. She scowled as an idea occurred to her, one that made her sad even to consider.

  “I propose an exchange,” she said. Reaching into the neck of her robe, she withdrew a slender gold chain. On the end of it hung a crucifix, gleaming red and gold in the early morning light.

  “How much would you give me for this? It is quite an old piece, solid gold and inlaid with rubies. It belonged to my grandmother, who received it as a gift from her grandmother.”

  She waited, prepared to unfasten the clasp and hand over an heirloom she had cherished from the day her beloved grandmother, the old queen, had given it to her on her thirteenth birthday.

  His eyebrows arched with surprise. “If that’s real, it must be worth a small fortune.”

  She tilted up her chin. “Of course it is real.”

  “Then I couldn’t possibly pay you what it’s worth.”

  “But—”

  “And why on earth, if you had that, did you no’ show it to the innkeeper last night? He would have been bowing and scraping, offering you his best food and lodgings, rather than threatening to toss you out into the lane.”

  Mercedes considered the question for a moment, then shrugged. “I did not think of it.”

  He gave her an exasperated look, then rolled his eyes again.

  “Well?” she said.