Her Highness and the Highlander: A Princess Brides Romance Read online

  He glanced back. “Well what?”

  “Will you buy this from me?” She brushed a finger over the pendant with undisguised regret.

  “Nae, lass,” he said. “I could no’ take your grandmother’s necklace from you, and certainly not when I could no’ pay you even a fraction of its worth.”

  “Then what am I to do?” she whispered.

  His jaw tightened and he glanced away.

  For a moment her heart beat faster with the hope that he was about to change his mind and accompany her on the journey after all. Instead, he walked forward and took her hand, placing the envelope with the money inside her grasp and curling her fingers over it. “You’re going to take this and no’ argue further about it. Then you’re going to buy passage on the southbound coach, which you’ll ride to Edinburgh, then on to London. The coaches are always jammed full of travelers, and the coachman keeps a rifle at the ready. You’ll be safe so long as you stay with the crowd.”

  Her fingers went cold and numb against the parchment.

  “As for your necklace,” he stated, “I want you to promise me that you will tuck it away and no’ show it to anyone again until you’re with your friends in London. If you try selling it to someone else, you’ll only end up swindled and the meager amount you receive won’t be worth the loss of such a valuable and sentimental piece. Do I have your word?”

  She stared for a moment, then nodded.

  Satisfied, he released his hold, then strode across to retrieve his luggage. Turning, he nodded his farewell. “Fair travels, lass, whoever it is you may really be.”

  “I am Princess Mercedes of Alden,” she proclaimed in a resolute voice that in no way revealed her misgivings. “As I said, I will not accept charity and shall pay you back in full,” she stated, referring to the money in the envelope. “Where may I direct its repayment?”

  He arched a single red-brown eyebrow. “There’s no need, but if you insist, send the money to me in Skye. I’m the only Major Daniel MacKinnon there, so it’ll get to me right enough.”

  She nodded and then turned away so he wouldn’t see her distress.

  His steps nearly soundless, he turned and strode to the door. A moment later, he was gone.

  Chapter 7

  Nearly an hour later, Mercedes exited her room and walked along the inn’s narrow corridor toward the staircase. She was attired in the new brown linsey-woolsey dress the maid had obtained for her—a hideous combination of materials she had decided no human being ought ever be forced to wear, particularly in the summer.

  As she walked, she did her best not to squirm against the rough texture of the fabric, or give in to the urge to pull and tug at the inexact fit of the dress. Without exaggeration, it was quite the plainest and most ill-made gown she had ever worn—a far cry from the luxurious silks and satins and downy soft muslins and gauzes to which she was accustomed.

  She hoped she wouldn’t end the day with her skin chafed bright red from the itching. Bad enough that she had to suffer all the scrapes, scratches, and bruises that she’d collected during her flight through the woods.

  When she’d stripped off her nightgown earlier in order to wash and dress, she’d been appalled to see the results of yesterday’s escape, her skin bearing nearly as many shades as a rainbow. But there was nothing for it except to let time heal her wounds. Just as there was no choice but to endure wearing the uncomfortable dress for as long as it took to reach Emma and Nick’s town house and the reassuring familiarity of their protection and friendship.

  Assuming I make it to London alive.

  She was still disappointed that Daniel MacKinnon had deserted her, even if he had been gracious enough to lend her the coach fare.

  Well, good riddance, she thought, especially since he too refuses to believe that I am telling the truth. How had he put it? She was…confused. Insane, he meant.

  Well, she was far from insane, although she might very well find herself driven mad by this gown if the wretched itching didn’t soon abate.

  Reaching the staircase, she started down, feeling suddenly more alone than ever. And afraid.

  Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away. She had refused to cry after Daniel MacKinnon had turned his back and ridden away, and she would not cry now. She was alone, true, but that did not mean she was helpless. She would make her way to London even if she must draw on a strength she’d never thought she possessed. But first, she needed to be on her way.

  The maid had told her earlier, as she’d cleared the breakfast of which Mercedes had been able to eat no more than a bite, that Mercedes should ask for Stewart once she was ready to depart.

  “It’s all fixed,” the girl had informed her. “Just go out in the yard an’ tell ’em ye’re ready tae leave. Stewart’ll be along with the gig in a tick.”

  Mercedes couldn’t recall ever before traveling in a gig, but considering all the shocks and surprises she’d experienced in the past twenty-four hours, it seemed a rather minor inconvenience.

  She descended the stairs and stepped into the spacious public room. Unlike the evening before, it stood shadowed and empty, tables wiped clean and chairs straightened.

  To her relief, the innkeeper was nowhere in sight. Deciding to take advantage of her first piece of good luck that day, she strode toward the door and out into the summer sunshine.

  Put her from yer mind, Daniel ordered himself nearly half an hour later as he guided his horse along the road north. She’s no’ your responsibility and you’ve nothing tae feel guilty aboot. The lass will do just fine on her own.

  But try as he might, he couldn’t stop thinking about Mercedes or remembering the stricken expression on her lovely face after he’d refused her offer that final time. She’d tried hard to mask her reaction, but he’d caught a glimpse of her anguish and fear before she’d turned away.

  She has a vivid imagination, that’s all, he told himself again. She’s no’ really in any danger.

  Perhaps she was one of those young women who read too many lurid novels where the heroine was always being chased by a dastardly villain. Obviously she’d cast herself in the role of tragic heroine—or in her case, tragic princess.

  And yet there was that necklace she’d offered him in trade.

  He’d gotten a good enough look at it to know it was genuine. During the war, refugees and itinerant camp followers had often tried to trick unsuspecting soldiers into parting with their cash in exchange for all manner of fraudulent goods, including fine jewelry. Daniel had seen enough paste rings and necklaces in his time to have learned how to spot a fake.

  So where had she gotten the necklace?

  She said it had been a gift from her grandmother, which was entirely possible, he supposed. Then again, she could have stolen it.

  Was that why she was being chased? Assuming she was being chased?

  Was she a thief fleeing from an outraged victim? A former employer? A neighbor? A husband?

  His hands tightened involuntarily on the reins, and his horse slowed its gait.

  Nae, he thought. She canna be a thief. I don’t…I won’t…believe that of her.

  As for being married, she seemed far too naive ever to have been a bride. Last night when they’d shared a bed, she’d curled against him with absolute trust, acting more like a frightened child than a self-aware woman. He doubted she’d ever even been kissed. Unless she was the greatest actress ever to walk a stage, she was a complete innocent, who clearly knew little of the world.

  And he’d sent her off alone, prey for any unscrupulous blackguard who pegged her as an easy mark. Guilt roiled unpleasantly in his stomach; he worked to shake it off.

  He was on his way home, and home was where he was going. She wasn’t his concern and he had no time to make unnecessary detours so he could act as her bodyguard.

  He urged his horse forward. Yet even as he did, it seemed as if each foot he traveled was taking him in the wrong direction.

  She’ll be fine.

  But what if she isn’t?

  Her friends would look after her.

  Assuming she makes it safely to London.

  No one was pursuing her.

  But what if someone is?

  Yet did it really matter if he believed her story or not? Was it important whether she actually was a royal princess from some small kingdom of which he’d never heard, or just a girl with a vivid imagination?

  She was frightened and had begged for his help, yet he had walked away and left her.

  Alone.

  Friendless.

  Defenseless.

  The world was full of countless dangers, but she would find a way to make do. Even so, her fate weighed on his conscience. If he continued home, he would always wonder what had become of her. She didn’t need a bodyguard. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t use a man’s protection.

  His protection.

  And truthfully, what did he have waiting for him at home? An empty house and an uncertain future. His family was dead except for a few distant cousins who were scattered here and there. He had friends, but he hadn’t seen them in years; no doubt they had changed as much as he had himself over the past decade.

  Considered in that light, was it really so urgent that he press northward now? Whether he arrived in five days or a few weeks, he’d been away so long that another small delay could hardly matter. And if he traveled to London with Mercedes, he could see what those solicitors wanted so they would stop sending him letters.

  Scowling, he forced himself to ride another quarter of a mile before he slowed his mount to a stop.

  “Och, I’m naught but a bluidy fool,” he cursed aloud.

  Without giving himself more time to consider, he wheeled his horse around and began riding back the way he’d come.

&nbs
p; Stewart, the stable boy, proved to be a surprisingly pleasant young man who liked to chat and tell stories. He regaled Mercedes with one tall yarn after another during their nearly five-mile ride to the coaching inn.

  It was a good thing he was such an amiable companion, since the dimensions of the gig were even smaller than she’d expected. But she’d found she didn’t mind, his stories making her laugh more than once, so that by the time they arrived, she had all but forgotten her fears. They rushed back upon her, though, only moments after he helped her out of the gig and showed her inside the inn.

  “Ye buy yer passage over there,” he said, pointing helpfully toward a small wooden sign perched on the far end of the bar. It read COACH in rather homely white printing.

  “First time traveling on a stagecoach?” Stewart asked.

  Obviously, he’d noticed the worry in her expression. She nodded.

  He smiled understandingly. “Och, an’ there’s naught to it. Jest stick tae yer route and keep a sharp ear peeled fer the driver tae call time on the stops.”

  “The stops?”

  “Aye. There’ll be stops tae change the horses and give the passengers a chance tae stretch their legs and get a bite tae eat. Ye’ll need tae be quick aboot it, though, since sometimes the breaks can run short.”

  “What happens if you’re not quick?”

  He raised a pair of jet-black eyebrows skyward. “Weel, they’ll drive off withoot ye. The coaches keep tae a timetable and by Gad they stick to it.”

  Mercedes gulped.

  Stewart laughed. “’Ere, now, why doona ye let me help ye buy yer passage? That way I’ll know ye’re set.”

  Glad for any assistance he might be willing to offer, Mercedes agreed.

  Nearly twenty minutes later, her fare had been paid and her name entered onto the official list of passengers who would be departing on the next coach.

  “Weel, I’d best be off or else they’ll skin me fer taking too long aboot the task,” Stewart told her, his thumbs tucked in the waistband of his trews. “The coach’ll be along soon. Ye might want tae buy somethin’ tae eat to take along on the trip. It gets long sometimes between stops.”

  “Have you made the journey to London, then?”

  His eyes grew wide and he shook his head. “Me? Och, no. Took the coach all the way tae Glencoe once to see me dyin’ uncle, but I’ve ne’er been farther south than that.”

  “Ah.” She laced her fingers together in an attempt to keep them from trembling. He would be leaving any moment now, and once he departed, she would be completely and irrevocably on her own.

  There was a certain novelty to the situation, she admitted, since until yesterday, she had never really been alone in her life.

  While at school, she’d taken an occasional stroll around the academy grounds, but even then there had been a teacher or a lady’s maid nearby to keep watch. She’d walked by herself in a few gardens, but again, there had always been others so close at hand that she couldn’t really say she had been alone. Not alone in the way she was now. Not alone in an unfamiliar place, doing unfamiliar things, with unfamiliar people who gazed at her with either cool disinterest or calculating regard.

  I should never have agreed to this, she cried inwardly. What on earth was I thinking?

  But what choice did she have? Nothing had changed since this morning when she’d considered all her options and decided on her present course. If only she could return to the academy and ask the headmistress for help, but the school was closed for the summer holiday and there would be no one there by the time she arrived.

  Her family would be horrified, of course, when they learned that she had made the journey on her own; women of good family simply did not travel without a suitable male escort.

  Herr von Hesse, an older, rather humorless, distant cousin had been her escort—the royal emissary sent to serve as her guardian during the trip home. But he too had been killed.

  Her breath grew shallow as the echo of his cries, of all their cries, repeated now in her memory.

  But it did her no good to dwell on such things at present,

  How proud Ariadne would be of her newfound practicality and disregard for societal rules. Ariadne was a rebel at heart who loved flouting social convention—or at least she loved the idea of flouting it. To her knowledge, Ariadne had never done anything more extreme than reading a few forbidden books and taking an occasional stolen sip of brandy.

  Well, there was no doubt who the scandalous one was now!

  How unfortunate that of the three of them—Ariadne, Emma, and herself—she was the least inclined toward adventure. What she wouldn’t give to turn back time and return to the safe, sheltered confines of her world. She might occasionally chafe against the restrictions required by royal protocol, but she had never longed to be anyone other than herself.

  Now look at her, standing in a shabby inn in a backwater Scottish village, wearing an ugly, itchy gown that must surely be the work of the devil. She was tired, poor, hungry, and scared as she prepared to board a stagecoach full of strangers and travel hundreds of miles on her own. Oh, and she was likely being pursued at this very moment by a band of ruthless assassins.

  She drew a deep breath and inwardly prepared herself for whatever might lay ahead, her mind racing over the possibilities. “Stewart,” she said, “how would you like to take a trip? A young man such as yourself must long for a bit of adventure. Why do you not accompany me on my journey to London? I shall gladly pay your way there and the return fare as well. Once we reach London, I promise you will receive a hefty bonus. Twice your usual salary perhaps? Or no, three times. That way you shall suffer no financial loss during your absence. What do you say? Shall I buy you a seat on the coach too?”

  She smiled broadly, unsure if she had enough money for the two of them to make the trip. She had the coach fare, but food and lodging might be problematic. But she would deal with those pesky details later. This boy might not be as strong or commanding as Major MacKinnon, but he was male and would lend her some small measure of security—even if it was little more than emotional support.

  The stable boy frowned and locked his thin arms across his equally thin chest. “Weel, I doona know. Mr. McTavish would be mad as a hornet if I dinna come back to tend the horses.”

  “But I said I would pay your way and reward you for your trouble.”

  “Aye, but there’s me mither to consider as well. I’m the oldest of seven and she needs me to help out with the bairns. She wouldn’t be able tae do without me, not if I were tae go off on some long trip. Besides, London’s full o’ Sassenachs and I doona think I’d be able to abide ’em—no disrespect meant, miss.”

  Why do they all assume I am English? she mused with faint exasperation. Although, to be fair, she had been taught to speak English by an Englishwoman and had lost the last traces of her native accent long ago. It was what came of living abroad for so many years, she supposed.

  She studied the boy again and remembered his refusal. His mother might need him, but as far as Mercedes was concerned, her need was greater at present.

  “So you will not accompany me?”

  What was the matter with these Scotsmen? Clearly the tales of their chivalrous daring was greatly exaggerated.

  She shot the stable boy a frown of regal displeasure.

  A slight flush crept up his fair cheeks. “N–nae, miss. I canna go. Me mither—”

  “Yes, I know, she needs you.”

  “Aye, that she does.”

  “Your pardon,” interrupted a voice, “but mayhap I might be of assistance?”

  Mercedes and the stable boy glanced around at the same instant to see who had spoken.

  Seated on a nearby chair was a distinguished-looking elderly man with a head of thick silvery hair and a pair of clear blue eyes. From the excellent cut and quality of his garments, he appeared to be a gentleman. The ebony and silver walking stick with its gem-encrusted falcon’s head that he held in his gloved hands only added to the impression.

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” he continued. “Sir Lionel Onley at your service.” Rising to his feet with a smoothness that belied his age, he swept the fine black hat from his head and made Mercedes a short, yet unmistakably elegant bow.

  She met his gaze but did not return either his greeting or his smile.

  “Forgive me,” Onley said as if he hadn’t noticed her reserve. “Ordinarily I wouldn’t dream of intruding on other people’s privacy, but given the close proximity of our surroundings, I could not help overhearing your conversation. This young man, it would seem”—he nodded at Stewart—“is unable to accompany you on your journey south. That being the case, you find yourself put in the most unfortunate position of having to travel alone. Is that correct, Miss—?”