Alec Mackenzie's Art of Seduction

  He sketched Alec a bow. Alec shot him a salute and turned to run after Will.

  He saw his brother flitting from shadow to shadow, as agile as ever, thank God. Alec’s brain hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that he’d accomplished his mission, but his blood was pounding, his exhilaration high. Celia would be waiting at the boat, as would Jenny, all prearranged and planned to the last detail.

  Alec heard a shout. He turned as the carriage, its lamps flaring, surged along the narrow drive to the old house. Alec saw the large frame of the regimental colonel drop from the box, along with what looked like Celia’s brother. He then saw Lord Chesfield emerge from the carriage, followed by the Duke of Crenshaw.

  The colonel and Chesfield yelled for the sentries, bellowing orders and curses. The duke slammed the carriage door but remained behind, arguing with someone inside the coach, not noticing Wilfort approach him.

  The carriage door opened again, and Alec went cold as he saw his wife emerge and climb to the ground in a flurry of skirts.

  “Papa, you have to stop them,” Celia cried as she sprang from the carriage’s lower step, clutching at her father to keep from slipping. She’d found and restored her shoes, but they were useless in the churned-up mud.

  The duke steadied her with concern. “I see no sentries or soldiers—something is wrong. But do not worry, my dear, I won’t let them execute the men tonight. I will see that they’re conveyed to London, where they’ll have a proper trial.”

  Her father did not understand it had gone far beyond that. Uncle Perry and his pet colonel were crazed with hatred.

  Celia clutched his sleeve. “Alec is in there—I mean Mr. Finn. He’s gone to find his brother. You can’t let them kill him, Papa—please!”

  The duke’s eyes widened. “Child, what are you saying? Why would Mr. Finn’s brother …?” He trailed off as realization grew. “Mr. Finn is a Highlander? But—I thought he was Irish.”

  Celia was too anguished to worry about explaining. “You have the power to stop them. Please do not let Uncle Perry kill my husband!”

  The duke gaped at her for a moment longer before he squared his shoulders, turned, and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Perry! Chesfield! Come back at once!”

  Colonel Kell and Edward returned to the carriage before the others, the colonel with his pistol out. “They’ve gone—escaped,” Kell snapped. He took in the duke’s expression and abruptly trained the pistol on him. “You did this.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Celia said heatedly. “My father didn’t even know the prisoners were here.”

  Uncle Perry rushed into the light thrown by the coach lamps. “What are you doing, Kell? Get out there and hunt them down.”

  “No,” the duke said in a hard voice. “Let them go.”

  Uncle Perry spun to face his brother-in-law. His dark eyes held the same chill as Celia’s mother’s. “And let them burn and pillage their way through the countryside, raping and killing as they go?”

  “They are broken wretches who will flee the country,” the duke said. “If they even live to reach the coast.”

  “Have you lost your mind, old man?” Uncle Perry roared. “I’ll tell Freya to declare you insane, and I’ll take over your command. You are a bloody, weak fool, and the sooner you step aside, the better.”

  “I believe I am my father’s heir,” Edward said with quiet fury. “When he is gone, you will answer to me.”

  “I made you, Edward,” Uncle Perry’s eyes glittered with triumph. “You are mine.”

  “No one made me.” Edward’s voice was quiet but strong. “I have listened to you disparage my father and sister for long enough. You are nothing, and now you are finished.”

  Uncle Perry’s eyes burned first with fury then calculation. “No matter. The Highlanders have escaped, and they are murdering as they go. What a pity the duke and his son were caught in the melee.”

  He aimed his pistol at Edward, and gave the colonel, who still had his gun aimed at the duke, the nod to fire. Celia shouted and lunged for Perry.

  Two horses charged out of the darkness. One bowled right into Colonel Kell, sending him into Edward, who grappled with him as they went down. The second horse skimmed past Uncle Perry, a fist coming down to slam into the side of Uncle Perry’s head.

  Uncle Perry dropped, the pistol falling uselessly from his grasp. The duke cried out and threw up his hands in defense, but Alec galloped past him and then wheeled his horse and returned, reaching down for Celia.

  “Are you mad?” she shouted at him. “I can’t possibly—”

  Edward and Colonel Kell continued to wrestle. The colonel rolled on top of Edward, and now the pistol pointed at Edward’s head.

  The man on the first horse leapt from it, tackling the colonel. Edward grabbed at the pistol, but Colonel Kell held on to it as he clawed and kicked and fought both Edward and the very dirty and battered man who’d landed on him. The three men tumbled and tangled, the battered man gaining his feet again, just as the pistol went off.

  “Edward!” Celia screamed.

  Alec slid off his horse. He caught Celia as she rushed to her brother, moved her gently aside, and ran to Edward himself.

  Alec and Will rolled Colonel Kell from Edward. Edward grunted and pushed the colonel away, coming to his feet, his wig hanging from the epaulette on his shoulder. His white cravat was now scarlet, but Edward stood upright, breathing hard.

  “Bloody hell,” Edward said. “Bloody, bloody hell.”

  Colonel Kell, the man who’d violated Lady Flora’s daughter, who’d caused Sophia’s death and Lady Flora so much grief, was dead, a bullet from his own pistol in his chest. Lady Flora now had her revenge.

  The Highlander who seized Uncle Perry by the collar and hauled him up was tall and grim, and had eyes so like Alec’s Celia knew at once who he was. Those eyes held impossible fury as he shook Uncle Perry until Perry woke with a gasp.

  Uncle Perry gazed at Will for a stunned second, and then a look of terrible fear came over him. “No,” he croaked, before Will Mackenzie’s fist caught him on the side of the face once, twice, thrice.

  Again and again, Will hit him, until Uncle Perry’s face was covered with blood, and he collapsed once more into a senseless heap.

  Will let him drop, kicked the man’s ribs, spat on him, and turned to Alec, fierce satisfaction in his eyes.

  “There. Now, I’m ready.”

  Will flowed up onto the horse and turned it, nudging it forward. Alec once more held out his hand to Celia.

  The duke gave Celia a look of such distress that her breath caught. She went to her father and took his hands.

  “I’ll come back, Papa. One day, I promise. But Alec is my husband. I pledged myself to him with all my heart—and I love him.” There, she’d said it.

  The duke’s eyes moistened. “But how will you live? He’s an outlaw …”

  “I will provide well for her,” Alec said. “My real name is Alec Mackenzie, and my father’s a duke. I have a fair bit put by, all safe in France and the Low Countries. She’ll live like a princess. My da’ and brothers would let me do nothing less.”

  The duke swallowed, blinking back his tears. “Go then, my dear. I’ll deal with your Uncle Perry. And your mother.”

  He lifted his chin as he said this last. The worm had turned, Celia decided. She knew her father was stronger than he let on—a learned man, preferring his books to people, he nonetheless had power, and he knew it. To keep the peace he let others do as they wished, but Celia had a feeling that peace had come to an end. She almost wished she could see her mother’s face when the duke confronted her.

  Almost. Alec was her husband, and she was leaving with him.

  “I’ll look after him,” Edward told her. He caught Celia in an embrace. “Be well, sweet sister.”

  “Thank you.” Celia kissed his cheek. She turned from him and seized her father’s hands again, pressing a kiss to each one. “I love you, Papa. Come and visit me in Paris.”
r />   As usual, her father looked embarrassed at her open display, but his smile was warm. “I will be there, daughter.”

  And she knew he would be.

  “Come along, my love.” Alec guided her with his arm around her waist to the horse. “Before my impatient brother drags me off by the hair. Ah, here he is.”

  Will had galloped back, a pistol gripped in his hand. “Time and tide, brother.”

  Alec swung onto the horse. He reached down for Celia, who had to kick off her brocaded slippers to put her foot on his boot and let him haul her upward. Her skirts billowed, making the horse dance. She wished she’d been able to change to the more sensible clothes she’d planned to wear to the boat, but it couldn’t be helped.

  “What are you doing?” Will demanded as the horses sprang forward. “Carrying her off, are ye? Isn’t that going a bit too far?”

  “She’s my wife, ye ass. I’m not leaving her behind.”

  Will whirled around, barely missing a low-hanging limb. “Your wife?” His eyes widened as he took in Celia, Alec holding her close. “Good Lord, you’re quick off the mark. It’s only been a month since I last saw you. When did you find time to get yourself married?”

  “’Tis a fine tale,” Alec said. “One to tell to while away a sea voyage. If we ever get there.”

  Will gave Celia one last amazed look, then he turned and urged his horse onward.

  Alec laughed as he followed, holding Celia rock steady on the saddle. She relaxed back into him, curling her stockinged feet in the cool air, knowing he’d never let her fall.

  Chapter 28

  Gair’s ship, waiting in the Thames, was small and ramshackle, but Celia, who’d voyaged to and from the Continent several times in her life, recognized it as a seaworthy craft. The ropes were firm, the sails whole, and the boards of the ship, while not polished like a naval craft’s or a grand merchantman’s, held no holes or rot.

  Celia found herself surrounded by Scotsmen, all of them injured in some way, many of them too ill to lift their heads. Gair, a slightly built, evil-looking man with a thin queue of hair hanging from a mostly bald head, complained incessantly that his hold was taken up with filthy, stinking Highlanders, but Celia noted that he found a hammock or pallet for every man and made sure they were tended.

  During the trip, Celia assisted in nursing them, bathing wounds, helping men shave themselves, or covering them with warm blankets at night. Her heart went out to these Scotsmen, hurt, starved, a long way from home and journeying even farther from home to save themselves. They didn’t complain, they made jokes—usually bawdy ones—and settled in to heal.

  Will Mackenzie recovered quickly, as did his friend Stuart Cameron. The big men were rough speaking and joined Padruig in toasting their freedom with Scots whisky—the ship seemed to carry many casks of it.

  Gair gave over his captain’s cabin to Alec, Celia, and Jenny, but not, he warned, from the goodness of his heart. The cabin would cost them extra. Alec only nodded and promised the money when they reached shore.

  “Never pay Gair up front,” he explained as he and Celia sat in the bow, Alec wrapped in a dark green plaid he’d brought out as soon as they sailed. “If he finds a cargo that will make him wealthier halfway to your destination, he might send you off in a skiff and take on the more lucrative cargo.”

  “Would he truly do that?” Celia asked, glancing at the man chivvying one of his sailors up a mast. “I’d think no one would trust him after a time.”

  “No one does. I exaggerate to make the story better, but not by much. Gair prides himself on being underhanded.”

  They’d slid down the Thames under cover of darkness, Gair competently avoiding naval ships at Gravesend and Southend, slipping through marshland and mist, heading to open water as the sun rose. The Channel tossed the boat wildly, and the freed men groaned, seasickness not helping their weakened state.

  Alec slid his arms around Celia, holding her close, as the wind of their passage chilled them. They could have hunkered below, but Alec had said he wanted clean air, and Celia agreed.

  Will found them, dropping onto the board seat opposite them, wineskin in hand. “Now is time for that story, Alec.” His eyes were alight, his jaw clean and shaved, showing a sharp Mackenzie face, albeit one bruised and cut. “Rescuing a pack of Highlanders and finding yourself a bride in the space of a few weeks? Tell me everything.”

  Alec shrugged. “Why don’t we wait until we reach home? I’ll only have to explain all over again to Dad and Mal and Mary.”

  He teased—Celia had sensed the lightness in him since they’d made it on board. Will scowled. “I can always beat it out of you, little brother.”

  “Ye can try, ye mean. Why don’t you tell me why the devil you were so angry at me for turning up to free ye? Did ye enjoy being prisoner of British soldiers ready to flay ye alive? And why the devil did ye spring up in front of a troop and tell them ye were Prince Teàrlach?”

  “So they’d capture me, of course.” Will took a pull from the wineskin, which Celia knew held whisky—Mackenzie malt, Alec had told her.

  “Of course,” Alec repeated with a scowl. “Who were ye protecting? Teàrlach himself?”

  Will shook his head. “I never saw the man. He’s gone to ground well and good in the western Highlands somewhere. Good luck to anyone trying to find him. Of course, the soldiers were certain I knew where he was, so they took me to their special interrogation prison, which was all to my plan.”

  Alec spoke into Celia’s ear, his breath warm against the sea wind. “He’s a madman. Only explanation.”

  “Only a little mad,” Will said. “I’d heard rumor of men high-placed in Prince Teàrlach’s army who were being kept in a secret prison. They’d vanished—no one knew what had happened to them, not even their own families. Stuart Cameron was one of them, and he’s an old friend, for his sins. Also Mackenzies who didn’t get themselves murdered on the expedition looking for French gold.”

  Will paused, his expression bleak. Celia had heard the story of a ship carrying gold from France and other weapons and supplies that had landed in the north of Scotland, the gold and goods immediately seized by Highlanders loyal to King George. Jacobites who’d gone to find the gold had been cut down nearly to a man. The gold had been the last hope of the Jacobite army, according to Edward, and that hope had died, making their defeat at Culloden inevitable.

  “I heard that rumor too,” Alec said. “Which is why I was looking for you. But I stayed in a comfortable house and questioned people instead of jumping in front of a troop to get myself captured.”

  Will shrugged. “I like to be more direct. Anyway I found the prison. They moved it about, from house to house, so if anyone got wind of it, they’d be gone before the area could be searched. The men running it were very aware that they risked their careers, because it wasn’t sanctioned by King Geordie or even Cumberland, as much of a bastard as he is. The plan was to ferret out everything these men knew and present it to the king, in hopes he would lavish them with rewards, money, whatever a greedy man wishes for. Your uncle is ambitious, lass. He also very much enjoyed thinking of ways to torture us.” He rubbed the side of his head, which was crossed with contusions under his scraggly hair. No wonder Will had punched Uncle Perry so thoroughly.

  Celia nodded glumly. “He has always been envious of my father, always pushing in on everything he did. My father let him, because he is generous. I suppose Uncle Perry wanted power of his own—perhaps he thought the king might give him a title. Being brother-in-law to a duke isn’t the same as being a duke himself.”

  “And ye couldn’t find this out skulking around and listening at keyholes?” Alec demanded of Will.

  Will opened his eyes wide. “Is that what ye think I do?” His face was different from Alec’s, narrower, his nose longer, but they both had the dark red hair, smattering of freckles, and the Mackenzie golden eyes.

  “All right, there’s some of that,” Will conceded. “But I wanted to know exactly wh
at Lord Chesfield and the Honorable Perry Waterson were up to. What better way than to make them think me in their power? You can find out much about interrogators from the questions they ask.”

  “Ye can also get your head bashed in,” Alec growled. “Here I am, running up and down England looking for ye, while you’re sitting all cozy in a cell gathering information.”

  Will’s expression cleared. “And I am grateful, Alec. I wasn’t quite sure how we’d all get away—I knew I could, but I did not want to leave the rest of those men to their fate. I planned to use the grand ball at the duke’s to my advantage, but I had no idea you’d decided to use it for yours.”

  “Alec planned the ball in the first place,” Celia said, rising to his defense. “He had Lady Flora convince my mother to hold it, and then he arranged for the horses and carriages, and for Gair to be waiting with his boat. Mrs. Oswald—Josette—assisted us.” Celia watched Will as she spoke this last, gauging his reaction to the name.

  To her satisfaction, Will’s eyes softened. “Ah, Josette. How is she?”

  “She appears to be well,” Celia answered when Alec remained silent. “She was quite worried about you, and a great help.” Celia wasn’t quite sure all Josette had done, but the woman had been genuinely concerned about Will. She’d have to write her and tell her Will was well and free. “Alec and all his acquaintances spent a long time planning your rescue,” Celia went on. “He even married me as a part of it all.”

  Alec laughed, the sound rich. “No, lass, marrying you was a selfish ruse.” He kissed her neck, his mouth hot. “To get ye all to myself.”

  Celia flushed as her skin tingled. Will watched them, then his face softened and he lifted the wineskin in a toast. “Ah, Alec, ’tis good to see you happy again.”

  “’Tis good to be so, brother mine.”

  “What did my Uncle Perry want to find out?” Celia asked Will, curious even as she warmed to Alec’s touch. “Did he think you had Bonnie Prince Charlie hidden away somewhere?”