The Taming of a Scottish Princess

  I should be satisfied, for this quest was my greatest. Still, there is one more issue to resolve . . . and it might be the most difficult of all.

  They returned to the inn, and Ammon took the horses to the stables.

  Michael and Jane found Mrs. Macpherson had prepared a stew for their dinner and was too busy setting the table by the fireplace to notice their impatience.

  The box weighed heavily in Michael’s pocket. His curiosity was stirred, but he was far more focused on Jane than on the amulet. He had the amulet now and it was his. But Jane? That was a far less certain matter altogether.

  As they waited for the landlady to finish, Michael reclined in a chair by the fire while Jane straightened their cloaks on pegs by the door. It was amusing just to watch her. No other woman was as unconscious of her charms as Jane, which made her an even more enjoyable companion. It was also another reason why he needed to keep this newfound desire tamped to a manageable size.

  Yet he couldn’t help but enjoy her lithe stretch as she reached the top peg, causing the fabric of her gown to press over her small breasts and hips. Instantly, he could picture her naked, the intriguing hollows and dimples that would demand their own exploration, preferably with his tongue—

  “Will that be all?” Mrs. Macpherson asked.

  “Yes, thank you,” Jane said immediately, picking up an apple as she walked past the table. “It was quite kind of you to have dinner ready when we returned. The stew smells delicious.”

  “I can bring some more bread if ye think—”

  “No, no.” Jane gently herded the innkeeper toward the door. “There’s plenty of bread on the platter.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Thank you so much. If we need more, we will call for you.”

  With that, Mrs. Macpherson allowed herself to be escorted out the door.

  “Whew,” Jane said as she returned, taking a bite of the apple.

  “She was determined.”

  “But so was I.” She took another bite, her even teeth sinking into the white flesh with glorious enthusiasm.

  He couldn’t look away.

  “You know what we should do now?” Her voice tripped with energy and excitement.

  Fall upon the floor and slake our lust? danced upon the tip of his tongue. With effort, he forced his imagination down and managed a sedate, “Eat?”

  She dropped the apple on her plate and pointed to his pocket where he’d tucked the metal box. Slowly, he drew it out. The box was old and battered, made of hammered metal. Dirt traced every nick and dent, and he pulled out his handkerchief to wipe some of the filth away, but then paused.

  Jane was leaning over his shoulder. “Wipe it clean. I wish to see if there are any markings on the surface.”

  He folded the handkerchief and put it back in his pocket, then took one of the napkins Mrs. Macpherson had left with their dinner and used that instead. “There are no markings.”

  “Which is a great pity. I was hoping for some clues as to how it came to be buried in a Viking grave.”

  “We may never know the amulet’s full journey.” He placed the box on the table and wondered that he should be so close to the amulet and yet so loath to even look at it.

  He should be panting to open the box, but he wasn’t. Instead, he felt a growing desire to put it away.

  Why did he feel like that? This was the moment he’d been working toward for so long, and the satisfaction of returning the amulet to the family had been his dream since he’d first learned of it. Why, then, was he hesitating?

  His gaze moved from the box to Jane. Her lovely brown eyes met his, and in that second he knew . . . knew what he wanted and why with a clarity that was almost painful. I don’t wish to open the box, because once I do, this is all over—the quest, the adventure, and other things I’m not willing to let go.

  “Open it!” Jane said impatiently, moving to sit beside him.

  “I will.” He slid the box on the table so that it rested between them. “This is the end of our quest.”

  Her brightness dampened a bit. After a moment, she said, “Yes. It is the end.”

  Something about the way she said that made him look at her sharply. “You make that sound permanent.”

  She waved a hand. “We can talk about that later. Open the box.” She reached for it, but he caught her hand and held it.

  “No. I don’t want to open the box yet. I want to know what you meant by what you just said.”

  She looked down, her lashes obscuring her expression before she gently tugged her hand free. “Fine. We’ll talk about this now.” She turned so that she faced him and wet her lips as if nervous. “This is . . . this is all so new for me. For you, too, I think.”

  “New is sometimes a good thing.”

  “Perhaps. Things have changed. I wasn’t going to say this until we were back in London, but I can’t go back to just being your assistant.”

  He didn’t have to ask her why; he couldn’t imagine her being his assistant again, either. But he didn’t know what she should be, or how to address it, or—

  She forced a smile. “We will discuss that later. Now, open the blasted box.”

  His heart weighed in his chest like a block of stone, but he was no match for the sparkle in her eyes as she looked at the box. Over the last few weeks, their relationship had indeed changed . . . or had he changed? He wasn’t certain; all he knew was that he was aching to touch her again, to taste her, to bed her until she begged to be allowed to catch her breath. Being enclosed in the small inn had done little to defuse his passions. Looking into her upturned face now, he was aware that the dull ache he’d been experiencing all day was growing with each second.

  Damn it, what had happened to the times he used to spend in her company and never notice what she wore or said? The times when they’d spend all twenty-four hours of a day together while they were traveling or setting up a camp, and it caused none of this uncomfortable emotion?

  Oblivious to the havoc she was causing, Jane poked at the box. “Open it!”

  He leaned forward, still painfully aware of her, of the sweet scent of her hair. He couldn’t quite name the scent, but it drove him mad.

  She pushed a silky strand of hair from her cheek as a gradual thrumming on the roof told them it was once again raining. She glanced up and frowned. “That may impede us leaving the island.”

  “I hope so,” he murmured, too taken with watching how the rain tracing down the windowpanes threw shadowed lines down Jane’s cheek, as if the drops themselves longed to touch her.

  Michael marveled at her skin. It wasn’t the pale, creamy color favored by the ton, but a warm tan, made for touching and tasting. She had the sort of skin that made one think of summer, sunshine, and sweet peaches.

  He wondered if she’d taste like a peach if he kissed her right now. Or at least of the apple she’d just eaten.

  His thoughts must have shown, for her eyes widened, her lips parted, her breath came deeper. And then she was leaning toward him, her gaze locked on his mouth, as if she saw nothing but him.

  Slowly, she lifted her lips to his. He knew he should stop this, stop her, but he couldn’t. He was lost, swept away by desire so strong that a sandstorm couldn’t kill it.

  He bent toward her, but then she pressed her fingers to his lips and said earnestly, “Michael, I want to kiss you, but first . . . blast it, we must open that box!”

  Michael had to laugh. But he also understood. “Very well.” He pulled the metal box toward him and, reaching in his pocket for his knife, pried off the lid.

  Inside was a swath of velvet, the edges frayed. Jane leaned forward, watching as Michael flipped a corner of the velvet out of the way and revealed the Hurst Amulet.

  Her breath caught. It was large, about the size of the palm of her hand, and made of heavily chased metals, gold intertwined with silver until it looked like neither. Ancient runes were carved into the amulet, which was studded with precious stones. The crowning jewel was a large
piece of amber that glowed as if from within.

  Michael left it in the box, but pulled out his spectacles and examined it.

  “It’s the Hurst Amulet?”

  “Yes.” He tilted the box so that the amulet caught the light from the fire. “There is a portrait of Queen Elizabeth wearing it, and much of this is the same. This large piece of amber is the exact size and shape, and it’s very, very rare. Also, the runes are exactly like the ones in the painting.” He set the box down and removed the amulet from the velvet, holding it toward the firelight. “The amber is warm. I can almost . . .” His voice trailed off as he stared at the amber.

  “Hurst?”

  He continued staring into the amulet, his gaze flickering, as if he were looking at a huge field and not a piece of amber.

  She frowned and placed a hand on his arm. “Hurst? Are you—”

  He gasped and threw back his head, sucking in air as if he’d been underwater. He practically threw the amulet into the box and slammed the lid closed, pieces of velvet sticking out the sides.

  Jane stared at the box, almost mesmerized by the thoughts running through her head. “Did it . . . did it—”

  He stood, towering over her a moment, before he scooped her up.

  “Wha—” She impulsively grabbed the box, the metal warm in her hands as he turned and carried her toward the stairs. “Michael, what are you—”

  “We’re going to bed.”

  “To— But why?”

  He glinted down at her, his blue eyes framed by his spectacles, a determined smile on his lips. “Because I’m going to solve this attraction between us once and for all.”

  “The amulet. It told you—”

  “It didn’t tell me a damn thing.” He’d reached the top of the stairs, and he paused by her bedchamber. “Furthermore, I don’t need a damn piece of glass to tell me what I already know.”

  “But it—”

  He kicked her door open.

  Her body was already tingling in anticipation. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t do this, but what did the amulet—”

  He silenced her with a kiss, but not any kiss. He kissed her as if she were air and he were a man drowning. He kissed her as if his entire life depended upon it. And as he laid her upon her bed and removed her clothing, tasting each inch of bared skin as he uncovered it, neither of them noticed when the box fell from her fingers onto the rug.

  Much later, Michael listened to Jane’s slow, even breathing as she slept in the crook of his arm, her cheek pressed to his shoulder. She was amazingly beautiful, all delicate planes and astonishingly feminine, tempting in both thought and action. His gaze traced the graceful line of her brow and cheek, down to her determined little chin and on to the tempting hollows of her shoulders.

  He’d always seen Jane for what she was to him at any given moment—practical and efficient when she’d been organizing his quests, humorous and lively when she’d been his companion on those quests, and comforting and calming when he faced the uncertainty of each new adventure.

  But through it all, she’d always been necessary. He couldn’t imagine his life without her, a feeling that had only increased over the last few weeks. And then when he’d held the amulet in his hand . . . he looked at that hand now. It was still warm, and if he closed his eyes, he could still see the amulet’s colors swirling.

  His chest tightened. When he’d looked into the amber, he’d seen Jane walking away from him. He curled his hand tight, trying to keep the memory from returning, fighting the hollowness the sight had caused. He’d been desperate to erase that horrible feeling, and he’d done so by holding her as tightly and closely as he could.

  He opened his hand and smoothed it over the curve of her hip, caressing her silken skin. She stirred, murmuring before she settled back to sleep.

  He could not—would not—allow the amulet to be right. She was his assistant, his companion, his— He hesitated. She was more than all that, but he couldn’t quite define her new role. Friend, of course. Lover, yes. All that, and more.

  His palm tingled, as if the amulet wanted to remind him . . . It was then that he knew what he had to do.

  Michael ran the tip of his finger over the curve of Jane’s thick lashes where they rested on her cheeks.

  She batted at him in her sleep and then settled more deeply against him, her cheek warm against his chest.

  He did it again, only this time he said softly, “Jane?”

  Her lashes fluttered, but she didn’t move.

  He leaned forward and said a bit louder, “Jane, my love. Wake up.”

  She slowly opened her eyes, their velvet brown settling about him like a warm cloak as she smiled sleepily. “Good morning.”

  “Actually, it’s good evening.”

  “Ah, I remember now.” She lifted on her elbows and stretched. “Our stew will be cold.” Her firm breasts pressed against the sheet.

  He cleared his throat. “Damn the stew. Jane?”

  “Yes?” she said, yawning.

  “You’re dismissed.”

  Her smile vanished, and she sat up so quickly that her hair fell into her face. She brushed it away with an impatient flick. “You’re dismissing me after we just—” Color flooded across her.

  “Yes. As you have so rightly pointed out, things have changed between us. Ammon will be a better assistant for me now. And I know that he’d enjoy the challenge.”

  She clutched the sheet to her, her face a study of bewilderment.

  He added in a thoughtful tone, “I’ll have to hire a new valet, though. I’m hoping I can find a married man.”

  She rubbed her forehead, confusion darkening her eyes. “I don’t— Michael, why must you find a married man?”

  “Because if I can find a decent valet who is married, then perhaps his wife will make a decent maid for mine.”

  “For your . . . wife?”

  “Yes. And that will make our traveling all the easier.”

  Her gaze locked with his. “Wife?” she said again.

  He pulled her into his lap, tucking the sheet about them both. She didn’t try to leave, which he took for a good sign.

  Instead, her breath came out in a long, slow sigh. “Wife. I-I never thought—”

  “Wife or concubine. To be honest, I don’t care which, though I know my parents would prefer the former. They’re sticklers, especially my father. Vicars are like that.”

  She didn’t crack a smile. “But you . . . you don’t care?”

  He captured her chin and lifted her face to his. “Jennet MacNeil, or Jane Smythe-Haughton, or Scottish princess, whatever you want to call yourself, all I care about is spending the rest of my life with you. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.”

  Her eyes grew moist and she bit her lip. “So I get to choose between concubine and wife?”

  “Yes. I must say, being a husband appeals to me more. There are certain”—his gaze brushed over her slender form—“benefits to that position. Benefits that I relish.”

  Delightful color warmed her skin, staining her cheeks a lovely pink. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say a thing except yes. You don’t have to do anything, either, for I’m quite willing to plan it all.”

  “You?”

  “Yes, me.”

  “You’d plan all of it? Even the wedding?”

  “Why not?”

  “You don’t even like to plan your own breakfast.”

  He grinned. “You mean more to me than bacon.”

  “More than bacon? I’m honored.”

  “You should be, my foolish pea brain.”

  “Foolish—oh! Foppish nitwit.”

  “Lazy slugabed.” He grasped her hand and nipped on the tip of a finger.

  She shivered. “Rude sapsku— Oh!”

  He’d sucked gently on her finger and then said in a loving tone, “Most beautiful of all Scottish princesses.”

  “That’s not fair. You changed things right in the mi
ddle.”

  “Get used to it.”

  She smiled, her face alight with happiness. “I’ll do my best.”

  His heart rose, too. “Last night, you said that once my quest was over, then so were we. That you couldn’t return to our past way of life. Neither can I, Jane. So while you were sleeping, I’ve been thinking—and one thing kept occurring to me: I can’t live without you.”

  Jane didn’t know what to say. “I thought you’d grow bored with me once you’d finished this quest.”

  “I can’t believe I’m hearing so much balderdash from such lush lips.” He gave her a lopsided smile that made her heart tighten. “Jane, if I spent a century with you, I’d never get bored. You’re quicksilver and sensible wool. You ensnared me with one, and then wrapped me in the other. I’m beyond smitten.”

  “Beyond smitten. I don’t suppose you’d call that love, would you?”

  “I might,” he teased.

  She splayed her hand and rubbed his jaw. “Do you love me enough to always shave?”

  “Don’t press your luck.”

  “Do you love me enough to tell me what you saw in the amulet?”

  His brow lowered, his expression serious. “I suppose you should know that.” He captured her hand and held it to his chest. “I saw you.”

  “And?”

  “You were going away.”

  Her gaze locked with his and she could feel the thudding of his heart. “Then the amulet didn’t say we were to be together.”

  His hand tightened over hers. “I say we will be together. That will be enough for both you and the amulet.”

  “But how do you know?”

  He gestured to the side of the bed. “Look at it and see.”

  She pulled her hand from his and leaned over the side of the bed and saw the box on the rug. She leaned down and picked it up. She met Michael’s gaze. “Are you sure?”

  His smile couldn’t have been more confident. “Hold it.”

  She opened the box, removed the velvet, and grasped the amulet.

  The second it touched her skin, the amber began to swirl. Her hand grew warm, and even the metal around the amulet seemed to vibrate and become alive.

  Inside the amber she could make out shapes. It was her . . . walking away as Michael had said.