How to Ensnare a Highlander (The MacGregor Lairds) Page 2

  She should return before she caused more trouble. “I haven’t seen any lightning in a while. I suppose it’s safe enough to return now.”

  “Aye,” he said, still staring deep into her eyes, her hand cradled in his. “I suppose it is.”

  But he didn’t release her hand or make any move to stand. Instead, he wrapped his hand more firmly about hers, slowly drawing it to his chest, and her with it. He brushed a damp ringlet from her forehead.

  “Forgive me, my lady,” he murmured, “but I dinna believe I’ve ever seen a lass so beautiful as you. Ye’ve quite robbed me of my senses.”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she fought to keep her wits about her. “I thought you were supposed to be robbing me.”

  “Aye. That’s the usual way of it. Though ye dinna seem to have much in the way of valuables on ye. Perhaps I should steal a kiss instead.”

  He brushed a thumb across her lower lip and leaned in closer. Her heart pounded at the proximity of his lips.

  The sound of horses coming through the trees gave them only seconds warning of visitors.

  “Well, this is a cozy scene.”

  The highwayman jumped up and had a pistol in his hand aimed at the intruder before Elizabet could blink.

  Fergus Ramsay, the man most likely to become her husband, unless she succeeded in talking her father out of it, calmly drew his sword. How in the world had he found her? She thought about ignoring him. Perhaps even doing something really shocking and wrapping her arms around the highlander to show Fergus that it wasn’t him she desired. The temptation tore at her, urging her on. But the images of her parents’ faces decided her. The looks of horror she already faced at being found in the innocent company of another man, let alone what she’d face at the discovery of the identity of her current company, were enough to keep her from acting.

  She shook out her skirts, her movements unhurried. Fergus fumed quietly, his fury betrayed by the obvious set of his jaw, the hard, dark eyes that watched her every move, the white knuckles that squeezed the reins in his hand, the nervous shifting of his horse beneath him. His gaze flickered to her every few seconds, but he kept most of his focus on the man beside her.

  She should probably be afraid. Do something to calm the situation. Assure Fergus that she wasn’t harmed. That nothing had been exchanged between her and the highwayman but words.

  But truthfully, she didn’t care what Fergus thought of her. He didn’t own her. Yet. Annoyance and disappointment coursed through her more than any other emotion. Her heroic, dangerous stranger had been seconds from kissing her. And now that the possibility no longer existed, she wanted his kiss more than anything she’d wanted in a long time.

  Damn Fergus! He would probably be the bane of her life for a good many years. Why did he have to start so soon?

  “Mr. Ramsay,” she said, her voice as flat and emotionless as she could make it. “However did you find me?”

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “My dear Elizabet, you speak as though you didn’t want to be found.”

  She gave him a cold smile. “Not at all. I’m simply surprised you were able to, considering I’m not even sure where I am.”

  “Oh?” he said, his gaze moving to the highwayman. “You seem to be keeping strange company. Did this…gentleman spirit you away?”

  “Of course not. The storm caught me by surprise, and my horse bolted. He rescued me.”

  “Rescued you? I didn’t think highwaymen were in the business of rescuing fair maidens.” Fergus looked her highwayman up and down, his scowl deepening. He gripped his sword tighter. “I suppose I should be grateful I found you before the ransom note arrived.” He turned his attention back to the highwayman. “Or were you merely going to rob her of anything worth taking and then leave my betrothed to the wolves?”

  “Not betrothed yet,” Elizabet reminded him.

  “Soon enough,” he said, the steel in his voice brooking no argument.

  The highwayman retook his place by her side, not touching her, but standing close enough to offer his support should she need it. He kept his weapon trained on Fergus. “I dinna believe ye answered the lady’s question.”

  Fergus’s expression turned thunderous, but to her surprise, he kept a tight rein on his anger. “Her horse returned without her. I was already saddled and ready to begin a search when the mare wandered back to the stables. I simply followed the direction from which she came. And a good thing I did. Who knows what sort of mischief might have befallen her?”

  The highwayman gave him a tight, mirthless smile. “I would have kept her from harm. In fact, I planned to return her to the manor as soon as the rain let up.”

  “Oh? Planning to attack your victims in their own homes now?”

  “Nay. My prey is carefully chosen. Men who deserve my wrath. Not innocent women and children huddling in their homes. That seems to be something you’re more familiar with. Mr.…Ramsay, is it?”

  Fergus glared at him. “If you were any sort of gentleman, I’d call you out for such an insult. But as you are nothing more than a common criminal, I wouldn’t bother to sully my blade with you. Elizabet,” he said, turning to her. “Come.”

  Her eyes narrowed. Come. As if she were a dog under his heel.

  “My lady,” the highwayman said, his quiet voice for her alone. “If ye dinna wish to return with him, I’ll see ye safely home.”

  His words sent her stomach careening about, and she wished nothing more than to take him up on his offer. But she already had enough trouble awaiting her. Fergus spoke the truth. He was her intended. Minus the official paperwork. For all intents and purposes, she’d be his bride in the near future. Angering him and her parents would only make her life worse.

  She sighed. “Thank you. I appreciate the offer. However, I should probably return with him.”

  He nodded, his face closed down, not revealing anything he might be feeling. He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Thank you for a most diverting afternoon, my lady.”

  He lingered over her hand until Fergus snapped. “Elizabet. Your parents are waiting.”

  She sighed again, gathered her skirts in her hands, and flounced over to the horse held by one of the grooms who’d accompanied Fergus. Her highwayman chuckled quietly, and when she mounted and turned back to him, he gave her a jaunty little wave with the hand that didn’t have a pistol trained on Fergus.

  “Robert, escort Lady Elizabet back to the manor. I’ll be along shortly.”

  Elizabet frowned and looked back, concern for her rescuer filling her. He winked, and the flirtatious gesture brought a smile back to her lips. She nodded her head at him and then turned her horse to follow the groom back to the manor.

  She wasn’t sure who her highwayman was or how he knew Fergus, but she wanted to find out everything about him.

  Being scared out of her wits had never been so invigorating. She could almost hope to do it again.

  Chapter Two

  While John MacGregor wished nothing more than to accompany the delectable Elizabet back to Barrington Manor himself, he needed to find out what in the seven blazes of hell Fergus Campbell, or Ramsay as he appeared to be calling himself, was doing so far from his father’s lands in Scotland. Or why he was so far from London, where he’d been sent after the skirmish at Glenlyon.

  Fergus, it seemed, shared his eagerness. Fergus looked him up and down with a sneer that had John clenching his fists for control.

  “Well, well. The Highland Highwayman.” He spat the name out as though it left a foul taste upon his tongue. “I must admit I’d assumed the tales of your deeds were merely bedtime stories to amuse children. And yet, here you are. Quite far from your home, it would seem. I must admit, I find you…disappointing. I suppose most fantasies fail to live up to reality.”

  “Aye, as yer fantasies of assuming leadership of the Campbell clan never lived up to reality. I didna think to see ye again after the MacGregor Lion sent ye scampering back to yer mother after yer ill-advised campaign.�
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  Fergus’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You give yourself away. You must be one of Malcolm MacGregor’s lapdogs. Only a MacGregor would believe the lies he has spread of our little skirmish. And his prowess. A failure I shall remedy the next time we meet.”

  “I’m sure he looks forward to that day, Campbell.”

  Fergus’s expression darkened, and John couldn’t keep a satisfied smile from his lips. “My apologies,” John said, though his tone betrayed no such remorse. “Ramsay now, is it?”

  “My mother’s name, and the only one I claim.”

  John raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure yer father might disagree…”

  “I have no father,” Fergus spat. “A man who would betray his only son, turn him in like some criminal—”

  “Ye are a criminal,” John said, raising the pistol a bit. “What else do ye call waging war on a neighboring clan against the orders of yer father and chief?”

  “I did what my father was too weak to do. I kept our clan safe, made it strong.”

  “You ransacked villages with no cause, maimed and killed innocents, stole or destroyed crops and livestock, and devastated countless lives. And were sent to London for appropriate punishment. Which, I see, ye managed to weasel yer way out of.”

  “And how do you know so much about it?”

  “I keep my eyes open and my ears to the ground. The charges against ye were grievous.”

  Fergus gave him a sneering smile. “It helps to have sponsors who will vouch for you. Oh, you needn’t worry. I spent a few weeks languishing in that hellhole they call a prison. But, as I said, the word of a few well-placed men who know the right people goes a long way.”

  “And where did ye get the money to buy yerself such support? I know yer father wouldna have helped ye.”

  “How would you know anything about my father? Have you switched loyalties? Abandoned your MacGregor master for a Campbell? I suppose it matters little. Sending a masked coward to prance about the forests at night would be a likely thing for either of them to do.”

  John’s grip tightened on his pistol, his finger itching to pull the trigger.

  “I dinna work for anyone. But I make it my business to ken what is going on.”

  “Yes, well isn’t it fortunate to have two parents? The inheritance from my English mother bought my freedom and will buy me a highborn English wife. And I’ll use her to breed the Scottish taint from my blood once and for all.”

  The thought of Fergus laying one hand on Elizabet filled John with a rage so strong it soured his stomach. He pulled a second pistol from his belt and leveled them both at Fergus.

  “Get off yer horse before I shoot him out from under ye.”

  Fergus cocked a brow.

  “Willing to fight a duel for a bit of skirt you don’t even know? I didn’t realize you were so foolhardy. I’m one of the best swordsmen in the country.”

  “Maybe so, but that is relevant only if I were intending to use a sword. Or fight a duel. Which I’m not. I’m merely giving ye the opportunity to die on yer feet. Now, get down,” he said, giving each pistol a little shake.

  Before Fergus could answer, the sound of another horse approaching filtered through the trees, and both men stopped to see who approached.

  Philip, John’s friend, distant cousin, and right-hand man slowly entered the clearing.

  He reined in his horse and took in the scene before him, his masked eyes glancing at John for silent orders. His appearance returned some semblance of sanity to John, though he gripped the pistols so tightly his joints ached. While he’d love nothing more than to ensure Fergus never left that clearing, it would solve nothing. Well, actually it would solve a great deal. But it would also cause more complications than John had the time or desire to deal with. He finally gave a slight shake of his head and stifled a sigh.

  Fergus briefly glanced at Philip, his face twisting in a grimace before turning back to John. “We will have to settle this another time. I must return to the manor. Elizabet’s father and I still have a few points to finalize. And I’m suddenly very eager to claim my bride.”

  His lecherous smile had John taking a step toward him, his guns raised again. Philip moved his horse closer, keeping his distance, though obviously ready to intervene, if needed.

  “If I were you, ye wee bastard, I’d be sure never to cross my path again,” John said.

  Fergus didn’t even bat an eye. “You’re awfully eager to see my blood spilled. Not that I care one wit about your pathetic vendetta. But I am curious as to what has spurred such an ungodly hatred.”

  John’s chest heaved with the effort it took not to kill the piece of human filth before him. “I have vowed to avenge my brother’s death. I’ll not rest until you are in the ground with him.”

  Ramsay’s eyebrows rose at that. “Oh? Did I kill him?” he said, his tone as happily casual as if he were asking if he might have another cake at tea.

  John’s finger itched to squeeze the trigger. “He was a soldier, killed while attempting to apprehend a band of smugglers.”

  Ramsay shook his head with a tsking sound. “Such dangerous times in which we live.” He smiled down at John. “My condolences to your family.”

  “Ye filthy, murdering bastard!” John lunged, but Philip moved his horse to block him.

  Ramsay glared at him. “What makes you think I had anything to do with the death of some obscure soldier on a godforsaken moor?”

  John smiled, though he knew the expression was as cold as the ice running through his veins. “There have been rumors about your involvement. And as I never said where my brother was killed, I’d say you just confirmed those suspicions.”

  Ramsay’s face paled, but he maintained his arrogant attitude. “I’m sure the word of a highwayman will hold up nicely in court,” he said, his smug smile turning John’s stomach.

  John swore and took aim over Philip’s horse, but Fergus laughed and wheeled his horse about, disappearing into the trees before John could say anything else.

  John rounded on Philip. “Why did ye stop me? He killed Angus! He all but admitted it.”

  Philip dismounted. “Maybe so. Or maybe he was merely trying to rile ye into a temper. Either way, there’s naught ye can do about it now. Killin’ him would have brought ye more trouble than ye need.”

  John shoved his pistols back into their holsters, his lungs burning as though he’d run ten miles. The death of his brother still festered, raw and unforgiving. Having Fergus throw it in his face was a bitter pill to swallow.

  “What was Fergus Campbell doing here?” Philip asked.

  “Fergus Ramsay, he’s callin’ himself now,” John all but spit out. “I’m no’ sure what his plans are, but I dinna think he’s up to any good.” He tore his eyes from the spot where Fergus had disappeared into the trees and looked at Philip. “How did ye find me?”

  “I was watching the manor as ye asked. As far as I can tell, Lord Dawsey is planning on leaving in the morning, so I’ve sent word to the men to ready themselves for daybreak.”

  John nodded his agreement and waited for Philip to continue.

  “There was a great uproar when the girl’s horse turned up without her. I saw Fergus and recognized him. Thought I’d follow and see if I could discover what the wee bastard was doing here. And found you.”

  John rammed his hand through his hair and kicked some dirt over the fire before mounting his own horse. “He’s up to no good. He’ll bear some watching.”

  Philip regarded him until John nearly squirmed under his gaze. “What is it, man?”

  Philip shrugged. “Ye think he had something to do with what happened to Angus?”

  “How else would he know of the death of an obscure soldier? If he wasna standing on that moor with the smugglers, he wasna far away.”

  “So, this is about yer brother then? Not about this girl?”

  John was about to argue, but Philip wouldn’t believe him anyway. “Not entirely, but aye, I’d pity any woman bound to that
bastard.”

  “Aye,” Philip agreed. “But there’s no law against it, John. Like it or not, she’s not our concern. Ye need to keep yer distance. Or all our plans will be for naught.”

  John clenched his jaw until his teeth ached, and he wheeled his horse around without answering. Philip was right. He couldn’t risk everything they’d worked toward because he had taken a passing fancy to some girl. And while he was certain Fergus knew more about his brother than he’d said, he was also certain Fergus wasn’t the man in charge of the operation. As much as he ached to slide a blade between Fergus’s ribs, he might be their best chance at taking down the bigger game.

  Besides, he might be able to spear two rabbits with one arrow and prevent Fergus from marrying Elizabet by taking Fergus himself down. Whatever he was doing in England, John was sure he was up to no good.

  Discover that, and he could bring Fergus the justice he richly deserved, avenge his brother, and save Elizabet from a life of misery.

  …

  Elizabet leaned back against the cushions of the carriage bench, her head pounding with frustration. After a token exclamation of concern at her adventure of the day, her parents had spent the better part of the afternoon berating her for risking the match with Fergus Ramsay. The only match likely for her now that her reputation was jeopardized, and that was if he’d still have her. Servants talked. By the time they reached London, half the town would likely know she’d been found in intimate circumstances with an outlawed highwayman.

  She seriously doubted anyone in London would care, as most of them had done far worse. Then again, most had the wherewithal not to get caught. And the fact that the man was a notorious criminal didn’t do her any favors. Had he been anyone else, her transgression would hardly have made a ripple.

  Under the circumstances, her parents had thought it best to promptly pack their bags and head back to London, despite the doctor’s advice for Elizabet to rest for the night and postpone journeying until the next day, at least. They’d bundled her into the carriage before they’d had a chance to digest their dinner, hoping to beat the gossip to town.