The Magnificent Rogue

  “So she’s feeling a twinge of guilt and wants the lass away from the uproar before she kills her mother. What a gentle lady.” Gavin shook his head. “You think the girl will bring trouble to Craighdhu?”

  “I won’t let her.”

  “Trouble follows royalty like bees do flowers.”

  “I won’t let her,” Robert repeated, enunciating each word with precision.

  “You’re angry.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “But you’re going to obey the queen?”

  “I gave my word.” He paused. “But the way I keep it may not be in the fashion she wishes.”

  Gavin gave a low whistle. “We may have some interesting times ahead.” He moved restlessly on his cot. “It’s cold in here.”

  Robert turned his head. “You were hot before. Do you have the fever again?”

  “I don’t think so,” he said.

  Muttering a curse, Robert got up from his cot and threw his own blanket over Gavin. “Don’t lie to me. I’m going to have enough trouble hauling a woman over those mountains in wintertime. Do you think I want to carry your corpse all the way back to Craighdhu too?”

  “May the saints forbid I cause you such trouble.” Gavin settled himself more comfortably under the layers of blanket. “In order to prevent such an inconvenience, I’ll reluctantly accept your generosity. I would never want to—”

  “Be quiet.”

  “My, you are testy. But I’ll forgive you. It must be bridegroom nerves that—”

  “Gavin.”

  A low chuckle issued from the younger man.

  Robert settled down again on his cot and closed his eyes. Gavin’s depression regarding his failure as a henchman had entirely vanished, and his usual puckish humor was rapidly rising to the forefront. Ordinarily, Robert would have welcomed the transformation, but his mood was too savage for him to appreciate drollery. He wanted to break something, dammit. No, not just something, he wanted to break the neck of that royal red-haired bitch who had so arrogantly involved him in her intrigues. Well, she would not succeed. To wed Mary’s daughter would be to put the only thing he held dear in jeopardy. He would not have Craighdhu made into a battleground for the factions that were tearing England and Scotland apart. Let them all destroy themselves fighting over their religions and ambitions for the throne. When they were all gone, Craighdhu would still be there, stronger than ever.

  By the Saints, he would see that it was.

  He was almost asleep when Gavin spoke again. “Would you like me to play the pipes at the wedding? I know they’re generally played only for battle, but there is a certain resemblance in this case, isn’t there?”

  “No pipes.”

  “Or I could—”

  “Gavin, go to sleep.”

  “My husband is not here,” Martha Landfield said, scowling at the two men through the crack in the door. “You will have to come back tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be halfway to Scotland tomorrow,” Robert explained. “Give me his direction so that I may seek him out.”

  “I’m not sure where he is,” she told him. “What is your business?”

  “My business is with your husband.” The woman’s rudeness irritated Robert. Everything about this blasted affair irritated him. He and Gavin had traveled at full speed from London in an icy downpour, Gavin looked pale and weak as a newborn kitten, and now to be kept standing on the doorstep in the rain by this surly harridan was an annoyance not to be borne. “And I must see the vicar today. My friend is not well—may I leave him here while I seek your husband?”

  The woman started to close the door.

  Robert muttered a curse and thrust out a booted foot to prevent it from shutting. With an arm he hurled the door open wide. “Madam, perhaps you did not understand,” he said with soft menace. “I will see your husband, and my friend will stay here until I return.”

  Gavin grimaced. “I think I’d rather go with you, Robert.”

  Robert ignored him. “You’ll give him a chair by the fire and a hot drink. And if he asks any service, you will give it with a smile.”

  “A smile?” Gavin gave the woman’s flushed, enraged face a skeptical glance. “She’ll probably poison me. Yes, I definitely think I’m well enough to go with you.”

  “Be quiet.” Robert shoved him into the foyer as he fixed his eyes on the woman. “You understand?”

  “You cannot make me—” She stopped, her expression becoming wary as she met his gaze. Grudgingly, she said, “I suppose he may stay.”

  “And you have in your care a Mistress Kathryn Kentyre. While I’m gone, have her pack her bags and ready herself for a journey.”

  “Kathryn?” She repeated the name in bewilderment. “Why should you have …?” She paused. “You come from the lady?”

  “Lady?”

  “The queen. You have come on orders from the queen?”

  Robert smiled bitterly. “You might say I’m under orders.”

  “And you’re to take the girl away?”

  Robert nodded.

  The news appeared to dissolve the woman’s rage. “My husband … he will not like it. But,” she rushed on, “he’ll have to obey the queen, won’t he?”

  “It appears we all have to obey Her Majesty,” Robert said sardonically. “Prepare the girl.”

  “She’s not here,” she said, her brow furrowed in thought. “He went after her.”

  “What?”

  “It was the horse,” the woman muttered. “That old plug of a horse. I told him it was a mistake to give it to her.”

  “Horse?”

  She made an impatient gesture. “What difference does it make? The willful girl has been gone two days.”

  Willful. A meek, virtuous girl, the queen had described her, Robert remembered sourly. Meek and virtuous young women did not leave their homes and venture forth into the world alone. Elizabeth had obviously saddled him with a chit as spoiled and wild as her mother.

  “Where is your husband searching for the girl?”

  “The forest. He thinks she’s hiding in the forest. She tried the road last time she ran away, and he doesn’t believe she’ll go that way again. Caird is too slow.” She smiled in satisfaction. “And he’ll find her. Sebastian grew up here and knows every inch of that wood.”

  “What part of the forest is he searching today?”

  She shrugged.

  “What does the vicar look like?”

  “Thin, white hair … he was wearing his warm gray cape.”

  “Pack the girl’s garments.” He turned away and mounted his horse.

  “Tell me where he is,” Sebastian coaxed as he roped Kate’s wrists together in front of her. “You know I’ll find him eventually. Why should you make us both suffer like this? You’re shaking with cold, and you must be hungry.”

  She did not answer. Stupid, she had been so stupid. She should not have stopped to rest. She had known her only chance to escape someone who knew these woods as well as Sebastian was to keep moving. No matter how exhausted she had been, she should have kept on.

  “A horse is such a large, cumbersome creature. It’s not easy to hide one even in the forest. You know how determined I am. I’ll find him, Kate.”

  “You won’t find him. You’ll never find him.”

  “And if I don’t, the beasts of the forest will. Caird’s old and unable to defend himself. Isn’t it better to let me put him to death than have them feed on him?”

  The thought sent a shudder through her. She had not considered the woodland predators. How clever of Sebastian to strike at her weakest point. But she had hidden Caird well and had left enough grass to last him for a while. She would have to rely on fortune to protect him until she could get back to him. “He’s safe. He’s not going to die.”

  “So stubborn. So strong in your corruption.” He mounted his horse and tied the rope to the saddle. “Tell me when you change your mind.”

  He nudged his horse forward, and the rope tightened as the animal start
ed slowly down the path. She plodded after him, knowing the ropes would bite into her wrists if she did not keep the pace. One foot after the other. The trees were shifting around her, but she would not faint. It was only a little more than three miles to the cottage, and she could surely stay on her feet that long. She knew if she fainted, he would not stop. He would pull her after him through the forest until they reached the cottage.

  “You’re wrong, you know.” Sebastian turned in the saddle to look at her. “So wrong and full of sin.” He kicked the horse into a trot. The rope drew more tightly, jerking her forward.

  She had to remain on her feet. She must not fall.

  She stumbled forward, lurching from side to side as she tried to keep up.

  “Tell me where you’ve hidden the horse.”

  She dimly heard the words through a haze of pain. Her wrists were starting to bleed.

  One foot after the other.

  She must not fall.

  White hair. Gray cloak. A tight, ascetic expression that was an unpleasant reminder to Robert of the priests in Don Diego’s castle in Santanella. Sebastian Landfield. It had not been as difficult a task as he had feared to locate the vicar.

  “Master Landfield?” He spurred ahead toward the man coming down the trail. As he drew closer, he noticed the man was dragging something behind him that looked like a small muddy tree or branch.

  Sebastian Landfield tensed as he reined in the horse at Robert’s approach. His glance raked over Robert. “Yes, I am Sebastian Landfield. Who are you?”

  “Robert MacDarren, earl of Craighdhu. I have a letter to you from Her Majesty.”

  “You came from the queen?” He darted an uneasy glance at the burden pulled by the horse. “I was not expecting a message.”

  “I was not expecting to deliver it.” As Robert drew even with him on the trail, he reached beneath his cloak for the envelope and then thrust it at Landfield. “And I was certainly not expecting to have to chase you through the—”

  The muddy object on the trail behind Landfield stirred. It was not a tree.

  “God’s blood!” Robert got down from his horse. “What the devil is this?”

  “The girl isn’t hurt,” the vicar said quickly.

  “Girl?” He knelt down and turned over the now inert form. She looked little more than a child, slight and frail, her bound wrists chafed and bleeding. He brushed aside the long, wet strands of hair clinging to her cheeks. Aside from a faint bruise on her temple, the portion of her face not covered by the mud of the trail was undamaged. She appeared to be in a faint.

  “She was merely being punished for her transgressions,” Landfield said calmly, then hesitated before continuing. “However, the queen may not understand. It might be better not to tell her of—”

  “I have no intention of telling her anything.” Robert drew his dirk and cut the ropes that bound the girl’s wrists. “I assume this is the girl under your guardianship? Kathryn Kentyre?”

  “It is.”

  He lifted the girl into his arms and rose to his feet. Even with the heavy mud clinging to the skirts of her gown, she weighed almost nothing. He felt another flare of anger. He was not above violence himself but he hated cruelty to the helpless. No matter what the girl had done, she couldn’t have deserved this. “You’ll be relieved to know she’s no longer in your gentle care.”

  “What?” The vicar’s eyes widened in alarm. “Because of this small incident? All young girls must be punished. Their natures are—”

  “Read the letter.” Robert strode back to his horse, mounted with some difficulty, and cradled the girl in front of him. “I’ll see you back at your cottage.”

  “Who …?” It was only a breath of sound, but it came from the girl in his arms.

  He glanced down at her.

  Huge eyes that appeared more gold than brown stared up at him.

  “Don’t be afraid. I’m taking you home.”

  “I don’t … have a home.” The words were spoken with stark desolation. Her lids slowly closed again. “Not afraid. You’re not—” She was once more in a faint.

  Not what? he wondered. Not Sebastian Landfield? It appeared any man, any stranger, was acceptable, as long as it wasn’t the man who had brutalized her, he thought savagely.

  As he spurred his horse into a gallop, his arms tightened around her with instinctive possession.

  “Where can I put her?” Robert demanded as he strode into the cottage.

  “Where is my husband?” Martha Landfield asked.

  “Following. Where?”

  She pointed to the staircase. “Her room is at the top of the stairs.”

  “Heat water, and then come up to change her garments,” he ordered as he started up the steps.

  “This is the bride?” Gavin strolled into the hall and stood at the bottom of the stairs looking up at him. “Is she hurt?”

  “Landfield assures me she’s not,” Robert answered, continuing up the steps. “How can being dragged through the forest at the end of a rope hurt a person?”

  Gavin followed him. “I take it the good vicar is as pleasant as his charming wife.”

  Robert didn’t answer as he placed the girl on the narrow bed in her room.

  “We’re staying the night?” Gavin asked.

  “It’s already late afternoon, and I can hardly take her away from here until she can ride. We’ll start early tomorrow morning.”

  Gavin looked critically at the girl’s face. “It may be more than one day. She doesn’t look well. Are you sure she doesn’t need a physician?”

  “She has no broken bones, and she woke for a moment on the trail.” Robert took off her muddy slippers and soggy stockings and tossed them on the floor. “Let’s hope she’s resilient.”

  Gavin was still staring at Kate’s face. “Do you think she looks like Mary Stuart?”

  “How do I know? I’ve never seen Mary.”

  “I saw a painting once, and we’ve both heard her described.…” His gaze went over the small nose, the mouth with its fuller lower lip, the arched brows. “What color are her eyes?”

  Golden-brown eyes staring up at him without fear.

  “Brown.”

  “Well, that’s the same, but her features have no regularity. She’s certainly not as comely as Mary.”

  “Maybe she takes after her father. Shrewsbury is no Adonis.” Where the hell was that woman with the hot water? The girl’s feet were ice cold.

  “Maybe.” Gavin’s eyes began to twinkle. “I was hoping for something better for you. However, the lass is scarce more than a child. Perhaps she’ll improve with age. I’d hate to have you saddled with an ugly wife.”

  Robert gave him a quelling glance. “Go back downstairs and sit by the fire.”

  “You’d send me back to that dragon?” He sighed and moved toward the door. “Very well.”

  “And keep Landfield from coming up here,” Robert called.

  “It’s doubtful he would try to hurt her while you’re here,” Gavin said as he pulled the door closed.

  That wasn’t what Robert was worried about. He wasn’t certain if he could keep himself from skewering the man if he came within striking distance. He knew the anger he was feeling was all out of proportion. Though the punishment appeared extreme, custom gave guardians the full right to punish their wards in any way they saw fit. The girl was not hurt badly, and she was nothing to him.

  No, not nothing. She was going to be his wife. He had thought of her only as the “girl,” the albatross Elizabeth was trying to fasten permanently around his neck. Now, suddenly, this scrawny bit of flotsam was a person and soon to be his possession. It did not seem to matter that he intended that possession to be of the most temporary nature.

  He reached out and gently brushed a strand of mud-coated hair from the girl’s cheek.

  And, by God, no one damaged something that belonged to him.

  Kate slowly opened her lids to see a man’s face only inches from her own. Dark eyes … hollow che
eks, well-shaped lips that made her want to reach up and trace their curve. How odd, when she had never wanted to touch any man before …

  Safety. Well-being. Home.

  The overwhelming impression came out of nowhere but was not unfamiliar. Though she could not recall where she had seen this face, she could remember a warm sense of security connected with it. Strange, when he did not appear either secure or tame now that she studied him.

  He reminded her of one of the wild Gypsy folk who occasionally traveled through the village, but his clothing was much too fine. The large round pendant hanging from a heavy gold chain shimmered against the black velvet of his doublet, and the short cape he wore was simple but elegant.

  “Who …?” Her voice was so thin, she could scarcely hear it herself. She tried again. “Who are you?”

  “Robert MacDarren.” His deep voice held a hint of a Scots brogue. “How do you feel?”

  “Well.”

  “Liar,” he said crisply. “You’re covered from head to foot in mud, and you’re probably one big bruise.”

  The lack of gentleness in his tone jolted her to full wakefulness and immediately dispersed that feeling of contentment. She must have been mad to think this man safe when he was clearly hard, distant, and without compassion. Memory swirled back to her. The trail. He had been the man on the trail. “What are you doing here? Are you a physician?”

  He shook his head.

  No, he didn’t have the look of a healer, but Sebastian never let strangers into the house unless there was need. “Are you—”

  “I’m the earl of Craighdhu. I come from the queen.”

  “The lady?” Another messenger. That explained the fine clothes and air of bold confidence.

  His dark eyes narrowed on her face. “Why do you call her that?”

  She looked at him in confusion. The other messengers had not had to be told. They had phrased their orders with care, making certain that the source of their authority remained anonymous. “Because no one must know, of course.”

  His lips tightened. “I see. And I suppose no one must know how Landfield treats you? I’m sure that must—”