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

  He paused, waiting for her to supply her name.

  She did not give it, but could see no point in denying what he already knew. “Yes, that is correct.”

  Onley smiled warmly. “Well, it just so happens that I have secured passage on the same coach as yourself. We are to be fellow travelers as it were. I hope you will not think it too forward, but I should like to offer you my companionship and protection on the journey.

  “As you can readily see, I am an old man and good for little more than a spate of conversation. I can lend you the security of my presence, however, against rogues whose intentions might be less than honorable toward a lovely lady such as yourself. We shall tell anyone who asks that you are my granddaughter. That ought to keep the blackguards away.”

  He smiled again and this time she warmed toward him.

  In truth, he did remind her ever so slightly of her own grandfather. Not in looks, but in the benevolent twinkle in his eyes and the warmth of his face.

  “Well, what say you, miss?” he asked, leaning slightly forward on his cane.

  She considered him and his offer for a long minute. Was she being foolish to turn down his kind gesture?

  “I am Prin…” She paused, catching herself before she gave her real name. Given the reaction she’d received the previous day, perhaps it would be wiser not to admit her true identity.

  She squared her shoulders. “My name is Wyndom.” Surely it would be safe to use her family name? “Miss Mercedes Wyndom.”

  “Well, Miss Wyndom, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  “And you, Sir Lionel,” she replied, politely inclining her head.

  “Forgive yet another impertinence, but did I hear correctly that you are making the long journey to London?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Well, providence must be shining upon us, then, since I too am on my way to that same great city. I daresay we shall get to know each other quite well during the next fortnight.”

  He was right; it would take that long to reach the city. She’d never minded the trip in the past, but then, she had always ridden in complete comfort inside a luxurious, well-sprung coach, her every need seen to, each of her wishes anticipated and carried out. But not this time. This trip would be unlike any she had ever experienced.

  She met Sir Lionel’s expectant gaze, sending him a smile. “My thanks, sir, for your kind regard. It is my pleasure to accept your offer and I look forward to furthering our acquaintance.”

  Grinning, Sir Lionel offered his arm and led her toward a pair of empty seats.

  Confident that she had found a reliable champion, she exchanged cheerful good-byes with Stewart, then settled in to wait for the coach.

  Chapter 8

  “Och, aye, she were ’ere. A bonnie lass with big brown eyes and dark hair. ’Ard to forget, that one,” the proprietor of the coaching inn told Daniel just before noon that day. “Wrote her name down on the passenger list meself. Wyndom, it were, as I recollect.”

  Daniel nodded. “Aye, that would be her.”

  So Mercedes had decided to use her real name instead of her “royal title,” had she? Apparently she’d had the sense to realize that she would manage far more easily if she didn’t go around trying to pass herself off as a princess.

  “Is she still here, by chance?”

  “Nae, lad. Left on tha coach this hour past.”

  Daniel exhaled in frustration, although he wasn’t really surprised that her coach had departed. If only he hadn’t taken the time to stop and ask after her at the inn where he and Mercedes had spent the night, he might have caught up with her by now. But just as he’d advised, she had used the money he’d given her to buy a seat on the southbound stagecoach. He was the one who had veered away from the original plan by changing his mind and coming back.

  He tapped his fingers on the wooden countertop that stood between him and the innkeeper.

  “What is the coaching route for the first day? In which towns will it make stops?” he asked.

  “Weel, I know the first three o’ four, but after that I’ll ’ave tae get oot the map tae make sure.”

  “Yes, do that.” Daniel slid a pair of coins across the counter that made the innkeeper’s eyes gleam with appreciation. “Have a fresh horse saddled for me as well and a meal made ready that I can eat quickly and then be on my way.”

  “Goin’ after ’er, are ye?”

  “Aye,” Daniel said with certainty. “That I am.”

  Mercedes didn’t know which was worst—the hot, scratchy dress that continued to abrade her skin or the constant jolting and swaying of the public coach as it sped along the turnpike.

  If one could call this a turnpike. More a road from perdition, Mercedes thought.

  Seconds later her opinion was confirmed when the coach hit a particularly large rut. All of the passengers bounced up and down against the hard, thinly upholstered seats. She shifted her weight with a silent groan, searching for a comfortable spot.

  There wasn’t one.

  Truly she could not fathom how she had ever made this journey before. Then again, the coaches in which she was used to riding actually had springs! And they had thickly stuffed, luxuriously upholstered damask silk seats with a small, padded footrest that could be brought out should she wish to prop up her feet and sleep during the trip. Until this moment, she had never fully appreciated all the little things that made her life so pleasant and easy. Seeing the world from the perspective of those less fortunate made her realize how truly lucky she had always been and what an extraordinary life she lived.

  For now, she must do as others were accustomed to doing. Clearly, there would be no sleeping on this journey, not even if she’d felt safe enough to close her eyes and make the attempt.

  Her fellow passengers seemed no worse for the experience—including Sir Lionel, who was seated across from her, apparently content to read the book he held in his lap. Beside him sat a burly man she’d decided must be a farmer or laborer of some sort. He wore faded brown workingman’s clothes, a battered straw hat, and a pair of boots that were crusted with dried mud and bits of hay. He leaned back in a low slouch with his meaty palms clasped over his rounded stomach. Every so often she would find him staring at her, his eyes too dark and much too direct for her liking.

  She did her best not to glance in his direction. Truthfully, she was relieved that Sir Lionel had offered his protection and that she was no longer traveling alone.

  The last passenger riding inside the coach was a thin, sour-faced woman, who hadn’t spoken a single word since she’d climbed aboard and squeezed into the narrow space next to her. Despite their both being slender, the woman’s bony elbow jabbed into her side every few minutes, no matter how she tried to shift away.

  At first she had assumed the pokes were accidental, caused by the bumps and jostling of the rough road. But after nearly an hour of such abuse, Mercedes had begun to wonder if the woman was doing it deliberately in order to gain more room for herself. With that in mind, she had sent her several cool, pointed looks, and said a few meaningful your pardons and excuse mes, but the woman had simply ignored her and continued on with her jabbing.

  She’d considered confronting her, but clearly the other woman had no manners and Mercedes refused to engage in base behavior no matter the provocation. So she pressed herself into the corner of the coach as fully as she could and did her best to ignore the woman in turn.

  Being royal, she had always been assured a certain amount of personal space wherever she went. No one except close family members and dear friends ever dared to actually touch her without asking her permission. This coach ride had changed all that, forcing her to realize just how many things she had taken for granted.

  A wave of sadness swept over her, not for the creature comforts she was having to do without, but rather for the people she was missing. Her family and friends, and her dear maid, who had been a constant in her life since she had accompanied her from Alden so many years ago. She couldn’t bear to think of her and her cousin gone along with all the rest.

  How could it be only yesterday that so much tragedy had occurred? That a few minutes of a single day could shatter her life so completely? Suddenly she had gone from being Princess Mercedes, cosseted daughter of the Aldenian royal family, to a young woman forced to travel alone, who didn’t dare admit what had happened to her or who she truly was for fear that she would not be believed. How ironic that she had been sent abroad to school in order to protect her from the dangers of the war raging on the Continent, yet now that the war was over she was in the worst danger of her life.

  It was so dreadful as to be almost funny. But not funny enough to make her laugh. She did not think she’d be able to laugh again for a very long time.

  “How are you faring, my fine young miss?” Sir Lionel asked, intruding on her thoughts.

  She looked across at the baronet, ignoring the watchful gazes of their fellow travelers. “Well enough.”

  “For my part,” Sir Lionel remarked, “I shall be relieved by the opportunity to stretch my legs. The next stop shouldn’t be too much farther. These roads are hard on old bones.”

  “A break will come as a relief to us all, I am sure.”

  The farmer grunted at her statement and even the sour-faced old woman seemed to agree. The next stop could not come soon enough.

  Five hours later, Mercedes climbed gratefully out of the coach. This was the third stop they had made that day and she was thirsty, hungry, and more tired than she could ever recall being.

  Having been too anxious to eat breakfast that morning, she’d waited barely an hour into the journey to eat the bread and cheese she’d bought at the first coaching inn. As the day progressed, though, she realized that she ought to have time
d her meal a bit better.

  At the first stop, the passengers had been given only twenty minutes to eat, drink, and take care of any personal needs they might have. By the time she returned from the ladies’ facilities, which had not been at all up to her usual standard, there hadn’t been time to do anything more than order a cup of tea before the horn sounded. After managing a single, hasty sip, she’d had no choice but to reboard the coach or be left behind.

  Matters at the second coaching inn had proven no better, and after watching one of the serving maids drop a meat pie on the dirty floor before serving it to a thoroughly unsuspecting customer, Mercedes had decided to forgo dining there.

  Now here she was at yet another inn, the yard noisy and crowded with travelers, as the afternoon sun shone down from a cloudless blue sky. Her skin felt sticky with a light film of perspiration and travel dust and she wanted nothing so much as a long, cool drink followed by an even longer, cooler bath. But that was impossible; she would simply have to abide the discomfort until the coach reached the inn that would be that day’s final stop.

  She supposed she would be lucky if there was enough time to drink a cup of tea and eat a slice of bread and jam before they had to be on their way once more. Trailing Sir Lionel through the cluster of patrons gathered inside the common room, she let him find them a table. Wearily, she sank into a seat opposite him.

  Sir Lionel gave her a long, considering look, then smiled consolingly. “Forgive the observation, my dear, but you seem a bit done in. I must agree that this pace of travel is grueling for even the heartiest of souls.”

  “You seem to be bearing up well,” she replied, unable to keep the hint of self-derision out of her voice.

  “To the contrary. I only appear at my ease, when in actuality I am a mass of aching joints and stiff limbs.”

  She regarded him. “Then if you will forgive a question? Why are you traveling on a public conveyance rather than in the comfort of your own coach? I should think a man of your years and stature might appreciate some privacy.”

  “Thought of that, did you?” he said, a twinkle in his gaze. “Well, it is not from a lack of funds—”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Of course you did not,” he assured with all seriousness. “No, you see, my barouche met with a rather unfortunate accident. Reckless driver, don’t you know. The roads are far too full of them these days. To my great dismay, I was informed that the repairs would take more than a week to complete. Rather than delaying my return to England, I left my man to take care of the matter. I could have hired a post chaise, but the only one to be had was a shabby affair that looked as likely to break down as my own had just done. So the stagecoach it was.”

  Bracing one hand on top of his cane, he used the other to massage his leg. “I believe I may have erred in regard to the issue of comfort. Our present conveyance leaves much to be desired.”

  “On that point, I can only agree,” she said with a rueful smile.

  Just then, a harried-looking serving maid rushed past, her tray filled with tankards of ale for one table while a group of men at another table bellowed for her attention. “Keep yer breeches on,” she told them as she set down the ales and disappeared behind the bar.

  Mercedes watched the exchange with wistful resignation, knowing there would be no possibility that she and Sir Lionel would be served in the small amount of time remaining before the coach departed again.

  She met his gaze and read the understanding in his eyes.

  “What would you say to an early dinner?” he asked. “There must be a private parlor where we can enjoy a fine meal and some much-deserved comfort and quiet.”

  Her brows arched high. “But what about the coach? It’s leaving in only a few more minutes.”

  “There will be another along soon. We shall take that one.”

  “But will we not lose our fare?”

  “Oh no, not so long as we continue on the same route. People get on and off the coaches all the time, to eat and rest. No one shall remark on our absence. Unless you cannot face the idea of being separated from our two inestimable traveling companions, that is. I know how much you have enjoyed getting to know them both.”

  She struggled not to laugh. “Indeed, the loss will be great, but somehow I believe I shall manage.”

  Sir Lionel grinned, then stood and extended his arm. “With your permission?”

  Suddenly happier than she had been all day, she rose to her feet and accepted his offer.

  Chapter 9

  The last golden rays of sunlight were shining in the sky as Daniel rode into the inn yard that evening. According to the coaching route he had been given, this was the final stop for the day.

  After hours of hard riding, he had caught up at last. Now it would be a simple matter of locating Mercedes inside the inn and satisfying his conscience that she had come to no harm during her day’s excursion.

  “Weel ye be stayin’ the night, then?” asked the hostler who hurried to take the reins of his horse.

  “Aye,” Daniel said. After handing a coin to the boy with instructions to take good care of his tired mount, he strode inside the inn.

  Half an hour later, he strode out again, lines of deep worry creasing his forehead. Mercedes was not at the inn and although she had been seen on the coach, no one, including the driver, had a clear recollection of exactly where she had disembarked.

  When confronted, the coachman had shrugged. “Aye, I remember ’er, but it’s not up tae me to nursemaid the passengers. Folks come and go as they like an’ I doona trouble ’em so long as they’ve paid their fare.”

  The other passengers who had been on the coach with Mercedes weren’t a great deal of help either. One claimed she had left the coach two stops back, while another said it was only one. The single point on which they both agreed was the fact that she had been accompanied by a man, a silver-haired gentleman who they’d assumed was a relation.

  Daniel scowled, unsettled by the information.

  A silver-haired relative who had shown up at just the right moment? He didn’t believe it for an instant.

  “Saddle me a fresh horse,” he called to one of the hostlers. “And be quick about it.”

  Swinging up onto the mount that arrived less than five minutes later, he wheeled around and set off back down the road.

  “It must be growing rather late,” Mercedes said as she laid her knife and fork across her dinner plate. “Perhaps we ought to go below and check again on the departure time for the next coach.”

  Sir Lionel waved a negligent hand. “I’m sure we still have plenty of time. The servant will be along again soon. We’ll ask her. In the meantime, why don’t you try some of this Scots crowdie? It’s quite an excellent cheese, in spite of the oatmeal they insist on rolling all over the outside of it.”

  “Thank you, but no.”

  She was more than well satisfied—the chicken stew, buttered bread, and fresh berry tart she’d eaten having turned out to be surprisingly good. Although she had been so hungry she suspected nearly anything would have tasted good.

  “Another glass of wine, then, my dear?”

  Mercedes shook her head. “Again, no.”

  She gazed out the parlor window at the waning rays of sunshine, knowing that twilight would soon be upon them.

  A frown creased her brow. Just how late do the coaches travel?

  She’d wished more than once already that there was a clock in the room. Despite the lack, she knew they needed to end their meal and be on their way.

  “I must thank you again for the lovely dinner,” she said with ingrained politeness. “It was most delicious.”

  Sir Lionel smiled. “I am so pleased you enjoyed it. I could not have asked for finer company.”

  She inclined her head. “I too enjoyed our conversation. But now I really do think we ought to be on our way. The coach will be arriving anytime now, surely.”