Mad for the Plaid

  Nik nodded. “We will set a double watch tonight, just to be safe.” He turned to Ailsa, and inclined his head. “I should return to camp and help set up for the night.”

  “We’ll join you shortly.” She watched as Nik left, striding through the woods as if he owned them. For a prince who spent a significant amount of time in the ballrooms of Europe, he was oddly at home in the forest.

  She turned to Gregor and found him looking at her with a narrowed gaze. “What is it?”

  “Your hair.”

  She slid her hands over her braid. “Are there leaves in it? I was sitting under a tree—”

  “No.” Gregor laughed, though he looked at her strangely. “There are no leaves in your hair. I was merely going to say your braid needs to be redone.”

  “Traveling as we’ve been, ’tis a wonder ’tis still braided at all.”

  “It has been a far more difficult trail than I expected.” He turned toward the camp, Ailsa falling in beside him. “I fear my back will never be the same.”

  “My legs will be so sore in the morning. I long for a hot bath.”

  “So do I.” His expression grew serious. “It would be best if you didn’t slip away from camp again, not with brigands about.”

  “I was nae alone.”

  “I’m not sure that made you any safer.”

  She came to a stop. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Nothing.”

  She raised her brows.

  He winced. “Fine, fine. I suppose I do mean something. The prince is a known womanizer and you’ve never been exposed to that sort of man.”

  “I’m well aware of his reputation and I’m nae such a fool as to believe his charm.”

  Gregor didn’t look convinced. “Just be careful. Perhaps I’m speaking out of line, but your father is not here, so it’s left to me to tell you to guard your heart around a man like that. The prince is—well, he’s a prince, for one thing. And if the rumors are to be believed, he’s very experienced in seduction. I don’t need to tell you how that would give him an advantage, should he choose to use it.”

  “I appreciate the warning, but I’m nae in danger. The prince and I are on this rescue mission together, but that’s all. Once this is over, that will be it and I’m quite fine with never seeing the man again, believe me.”

  Gregor gave her a searching look and, apparently satisfied with what he saw, nodded. “Good. I’ve no doubt that rakehell has ulterior motives, and I didn’t wish you to be blindsided.” He linked his arm with hers and they continued to the camp. “I don’t trust that man.”

  “Neither do I. He’s nae telling us everything.”

  “He has much to gain if he wins you over to his way of thinking in how to deal with this ransom situation, and he is the sort who would use every weapon at his fingertips to get his way.”

  Ailsa glanced at her cousin. “You think the prince would attempt to seduce me just to win an argument?”

  “I know he would. The two of you have different ideas about how—”

  “—to deal with the abductors. I have nae forgotten that.” At least she remembered it now. It was impossible to remember anything when one was lost in a passionate kiss. Was that why Nik kissed me?

  Surely not. He didn’t even bring up the subject, and we had plenty of time to discuss it. Or we would have if we hadn’t been engaged in other activities.

  She truly believed that, at first, Nik’s reason for being solicitous had been to help ease the pain in her leg and nothing else. She had been the one who’d turned the moment into something more.

  When she thought about it, she was rather proud of herself for that. She’d had no idea she could be so bold.

  Gregor’s brow furrowed. “The prince is a bit of a chameleon, isn’t he? He’s different with each of us. I’m sure we’re all that way to some extent—I’m less formal with you because I know you well, and less guarded about what I say when I talk to MacKean, as he’s a bit of a rougher sort. But the prince is completely different, as if he’s trying to win all of us over.”

  “You’re just now noticing that?” she asked, unable to keep the dryness from her tone.

  Gregor laughed. “It’s as if there are twenty versions of him and he plays the one best suited to the situation.”

  “So he does. And well, too.” Which made her wonder: What are you after, Prince of All Faces?

  “But it’s you I’m worried about. I’d be miserable if anything or anyone upset you.”

  She patted Gregor’s hand. “I’d feel the same aboot you. Fortunately, nothing will happen to either of us.”

  He let the matter drop, complaining instead of their lack of fire and what a dismal blow that would be for their evening meal.

  Ailsa listened with only half an ear. Gregor was right about one thing: she should be more careful around the prince. Only a fool played with fire and was surprised when she got burned.

  But that didn’t mean she had to give up those delicious kisses. In fact, why couldn’t she use them to win the prince over to her way of thinking about the ransom? It would serve him right if I gave him a little of his own medicine. The thought lifted her spirits, and she was still smiling when they reached camp.

  Chapter 13

  Throughout that evening and the next day, Ailsa watched Nik. He was definitely attempting to charm their little group. He was quiet and intent when he spoke with MacKean, louder and jovial when he spoke to Stewart, and then polite and more refined when he spoke to Gregor.

  She paid the closest attention to when Nik spoke to her. Then he was warm and flirtatious, his green eyes intent as if she were the only woman in the world and not just the only woman on their expedition. Even though she didn’t believe his sincerity for a minute, she couldn’t stop her heart from fluttering whenever he looked her way. So he is flirting with me most likely because he wishes to stave off a future disagreement. Well, my dearest prince, it won’t work.

  The realization left her even more determined to use his methods against him. She wasn’t disappointed that his seeming interest wasn’t real, for she’d had no expectations of—well, anything. And it wasn’t as if Nik had changed; on their first meeting, she’d witnessed his rapid switch from stern prince to deferential stablehand to disarming prince. To be truthful, she found him a challenge. The more he hid, the more she wished to know.

  Who was the real Nik? And would she like him? Time would tell. Meanwhile, the attraction between them simmered and grew. They were always together and yet never alone. All day, whenever he’d spoken to her, or helped her on and off her horse, his hands had lingered, his gaze caressed. Each time he’d touched her or even looked at her, her pulse had raced madly and her lips had tingled in memory of their shared kisses.

  And that worried her a bit—her inability to hold back her reactions to him. She still found herself imagining his kisses. How his hands had moved over her. Her own wanton response when he’d touched her, tempted her. And he felt the same. She saw it in the way his gaze darkened when he looked at her, at the way his breath quickened when he touched her.

  She smiled to herself. Tomorrow she’d do what she could to discover his plans. But she was too tired tonight, still drained from the excitement of the day before, and worn from traveling such a distance. While everyone else finished eating their cold meal of dried venison and apples, she excused herself, climbed into her bedroll, and pulled the blankets over her head, hoping to block out all sight and thoughts of the man who even now watched her, unspoken questions in his gaze.

  She slept poorly, awakening at every noise, whether the plop of a large drip on a nearby leaf, the fall of a clump of snow, an animal scurrying in the dark, or the rustle of the wind through the branches. Late at night, Stewart came to quietly rouse MacKean to trade places as watch. Wide-awake, Ailsa thought about joining the watch, but before she could make up her mind, Nik had risen from his bed, wrapped himself in a cloak, and joined MacKean on the trailhead. She watched through half-closed eyes,
listening to them speaking quietly, taking an odd comfort in the deep timbre of his voice, and finally falling asleep.

  To everyone’s relief, the day had dawned bright and beautiful, the sun warmer and the sky an endless, vivid blue. Though they rode all morning, it didn’t seem as much of a chore as other days. In addition to the better weather, the path wasn’t steep.

  As afternoon approached, the trail began to widen and then dropped until it flattened on a low ridge that overlooked a beautiful loch. The afternoon sun danced across the blue waters, while silver aspen and massive oaks raised their branches from the lush, thick grass to bask in the winter sunshine.

  “This land of yours is like no other. Wild, fierce, beautiful.”

  Ailsa’s heart skipped a beat at Nik’s voice. She turned and found that he’d pulled D’yoval even with St. George and now looked past her to the loch below.

  She ignored the way her skin prickled at his nearness and instead followed his gaze to the sparkling waters. He was right; it was a beautiful land and his obvious admiration allowed her to see it with fresh eyes. “There are reasons my people talk of fairy flags and water spirits. It is hard to see this land and nae believe in the mystical.”

  “The Scots remind me more and more of the Romany. No wonder my grandmother loves this country.” At the mention of his grandmother, a shadow crossed his face.

  “It would nae be to anyone’s benefit to harm either the duchess or Lord Hamilton.”

  Nik sent her a surprised glance; he hadn’t expected her to guess his thoughts. “I hope that is true.”

  Her lips curved in a faint smile. “It is.” Her gaze flickering over him in a slow, considering manner, coming to rest where his hand lay on his thigh. “Let me see your hand.”

  “Why?”

  She gave an impatient puff and then reached over and grasped his hand. “The Scots have more in common with the Romany than you think. We read palms as well an any gypsy could.” Her fingers were warm on his wrist as she turned his hand palm up.

  “Do you also threaten to turn people into goats?”

  Her lips quirked. “When necessary.” She leaned from her saddle and looked at his palm. “Hmm. That is interesting.”

  Her thumb brushed over his skin as she spoke and a maelstrom of heat roared through him. God, but he wished she would touch other parts of him in such a way. He cleared his throat, his voice understandably husky. “What do you see, all-knowing one?”

  “Many things. Some guid, some nae.” She released his hand, sending him a look through her lashes. “I daresay I see much more than you’d like.” Her voice, silky and lilting, made him want to scoop her out of her saddle and into his lap where he could taste her.

  “Tell me everything. I am not afraid.” Much. Truthfully, caution was merited with this woman. And yet caution was the last thing on his mind as he watched a smile touch her mouth. She had such lush lips, and he wished he believed it would be safe to lean from his saddle and capture those lips for a kiss. It wouldn’t, of course, not with D’yoval’s uncertain temperament. More than a little irked at his capricious horse, he asked, “What do the lines on my hand tell you?”

  “That you are a great leader.”

  Well. That was something. “What else?”

  “You are also wily and should nae be trusted.”

  He looked at his palm. “Ah. I see what it is; I forgot to wash my hands after breakfast.”

  She chuckled, the sound as sensual as a touch, but even though she laughed, her eyes did not warm, but remained wary. “Tease as you will, you cannae deny a truth.”

  “When palm reading becomes a proven window into the future, I’ll agree to call it ‘truth.’ Until then—” He shrugged. “Meanwhile, I am never wily, and I consider myself utterly trustworthy. I never act without a very good reason, one larger than my own wants and desires.”

  “Even when you kiss someone?”

  His gaze rested once again on her mouth, and he had an instant image of her splayed across his lap—to hell with his lap, he wanted her in his bed, tangled in his sheets, her body damp from their efforts. Bozhy moj, this desire to have her in my bed increases.

  Her fresh-faced beauty was growing on him every day, and he even found himself admiring her commitment to her own cautious take on their mission. But it was the challenge she presented that intrigued him the most. Women always watched him—he was a prince, after all, and a title drew one’s gaze. He knew, too, he was not unattractive, and he often used the attention he received to win information for his cause. But he’d never had a woman look at him the way Ailsa did, as if she were hearing a florid but totally unbelievable compliment.

  It irked him more than he could say. “I get the feeling none of this has to do with the lines on my palm.”

  She didn’t correct him, but shrugged. “You’ve been trying to worm your way into my men’s good graces, and with nae other intent than to influence them as we progress.”

  Ah. So that was it, was it? “I never worm my way anywhere. If I go, I go directly and always with an invitation.”

  She raised her brows, looking singularly unimpressed. “Directly? Then you have shared all of your thoughts on the abduction?”

  He met her gaze for a long moment. “It is not wise to tell you all my secrets.”

  She smiled, which worried him. “Then I am wise to nae tell you mine.”

  Bloody hell, what did that mean? He thought of asking, but couldn’t do so without admitting she’d caught his interest. Frustrated, he found himself abruptly changing the subject. “When will we reach Greer’s camp?”

  “If the weather holds, by tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Tomorrow it will be, then. There’s not a single cloud in the sky.”

  “The weather is nae a certainty here. It changes hour to hour and—”

  Bang! The bark on a tree just past Nik exploded as a bullet embedded itself in the trunk.

  D’yoval neighed wildly and tried to rear up, and it was all Nik could do to calm him.

  “Brigands!” Ailsa yelled. “Disperse!”

  The next few minutes were chaos. Men shouting, horses neighing as they plunged wildly through the woods on both sides of the trail.

  “I see them!” Rurik could be heard behind them. “To the south!”

  Just up the trail, MacKean had turned his horse back and looked at Ailsa, who’d disappeared off the trail, St. George plunging through the shrubbery without hesitation.

  “I’ve got her,” Nik shouted, guiding D’yoval off the trail after her.

  Another pistol shot rang out. Nik’s cloak tugged at his shoulder and he looked down, irked to see that the wool had been sliced as if it had been made of paper.

  “This way!” Ailsa shouted over her shoulder.

  He urged D’yoval after her, and soon they were away, galloping madly through the woods, the sound of horses’ hooves muffled by the damp forest floor.

  They rode as fast as they could without endangering the horses, only slowing when they came to a steep embankment. D’yoval slipped here and there, but good, solid St. George didn’t miss a step.

  They went a short way farther, and then Nik pulled D’yoval to a halt.

  Ailsa started to speak, but he held up a hand, listening.

  Deep in the woods behind them came the unmistakable sound of a horse—or were there two?—racing toward them on the trail.

  “This way!” He turned to where a thick wall of young birch trees stood. More shrubs than anything else, they clung to one another and formed a small circle. Nik jumped down and turned to her.

  Ailsa barely had time to kick the stirrups free before he plucked her from her horse’s back and set her on her feet. His face grim, he asked in a quiet voice, “Do you have a weapon?”

  She patted her belt. “Two.”

  “Good. Get in those bushes and hide. I’ll join you in a moment.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “As soon as they pass, I’m going to follow those ba
stards and put an end to this.”

  “We,” she corrected firmly. “We will put an end to this.”

  Nik sent her a dark look and tied St. George’s reins to D’yoval’s saddle and then gave an odd whistle.

  D’yoval neighed in answer and then, tail swishing, trotted on down the path, St. George following after, led by the tug on his reins.

  “What are you doing?”

  “D’yoval will go a few hundred feet away and wait.” Nik’s warm hand closed over her elbow, and he led her into the shrubs. “Lie down. We must be quiet.”

  She crept into the greenery, clenching her teeth when her hair snagged on the branches. Once there, she dropped down on her stomach, tugging her cloak about her. Soon, she was hidden deep inside the small sheltered center, feeling as if she were in a cave and not mere branches.

  Nik followed and was soon beside her on the damp ground, his pistol drawn and ready before him.

  For a long moment, they were silent. They could hear very little of the others—a shout from Stewart to MacKean. The thrashing of a horse off in a distance. And then nothing.

  She frowned in the silence. “I don’t hear anyone now.”

  “Neither do I,” he whispered back. “But they will come.”

  She nodded. “It is good D’yoval knows this trick. It will lead the thieves away from us.”

  “My brother Max is the general of all the armies of Oxenburg and he trained my horse. I— Ah! They come.” His gaze locked on the path they’d just left.

  She turned her head and heard footsteps and the soft whicker of a horse. One person, leading their mount. Was it one of the brigands come to finish them off? Was he after the horses? Was it possible that was all these bloody thieves wanted?

  She thought of St. George waiting down the path and her jaw set. She’d not give up her horse without a fight.

  Nik placed his hand on her shoulder.

  She cast him a hard glance, and he shook his head and mouthed, “Nyet.”

  For a splendid minute, she imagined bursting into the clearing, her pistol drawn as she confronted the filthy brigand who’d dared put her people in danger. She’d disarm the thief and make him empty his pockets, shame him royally, and then send him on his way, cowed and frightened, never to thieve again.