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“I deeply appreciate your assistance, Mr. MacLeod,” Ginny whispered as he took her by the elbow and guided her away from the prince and his men. Now that her moment of triumph was upon her, she could relax and afford him some courtesy. “If not for you, my future would be in question. Your support was unexpected.”
Beyond unexpected. For a guy who’d spent their every waking hour—literally, their every waking hour—together drilling her over and over for something new without once betraying the tiniest hint that he believed her...well, she’d been stunned when he spoke on her behalf. And by his guidance. She’d truly drawn a blank when Prince Charlie held out his hand. Maybe she was still stunned by the fact that she was face to face with the Bonny Prince Charlie, either way kissing it never occurred to her. An awkward experience, even more awkward than dangling across MacLeod’s lap for hours.
Despite how he’d treated her, he at least deserved a sincere thank you.
And maybe, given the circumstances, he also deserved a little leeway for the extreme earnestness he’d displayed to kidnap her and question her. It wasn’t simply a random group of Jacobite soldiers MacLeod had been determined to protect. It was Bonny Prince Charlie himself.
He didn’t possess her foreknowledge of historic record to steer his course. That Prince Charlie would eventually return to France unharmed. Everything he was doing was driven by loyalty and patriotism, not malice.
For king and country.
The lengths to which he’d go to protect that made sense. It was difficult to continue holding his actions against him when what motivated him was so freakin’ noble.
“Ye can cease yer fancy talk, lass. I ken it disnae come naturally to ye,” he said. “Ye need no’ be putting on airs w’ me. We’re no’ at court. We’re plain folk wi’ plain speech. Speak in manner ye’re familiar wi’.”
“Very well. Tell me then, why did you do it? I assume you don’t truly believe I’m a seer?”
“I dinnae.”
“Then why say so?”
They reached a staircase at the opposite end of the hall. Unlike the steep spiral of the one she’d fled down earlier, this one was broad with shallow risers and a carved bannister of gleaming oak. At a landing, they turned back to reach the next floor. MacLeod paused at the next landing in front of a window looking out over the loch, as if he’d been as taken by the view as she and couldn’t help himself.
He must have been since he peered outward rather than at her. Personally, she’d much rather look at him. In a land of marvelous views, McLeod was one of the best.
Yes, we know he’s attractive, Gin. Get over it.
“’Tis a serious charge, witchcraft. I couldnae let ye burn at the stake simply because Strickland is a superstitious arse.”
His jaw flexed and released. Agitation or anger, she didn’t know. Whether it was directed at her was also a mystery. “And that also had something to do with you insisting I use my right hand to write?”
“The ancient Celts once believed those who favor their left hand to be blessed. Conversely, most Christians believe that the devil baptized his followers wi’ his left hand or that witches greet Satan wi’ the same. I’m surprised yer parents dinnae beat it out of ye.”
Sure, because that’s how that used to work. She shook her head in disgust. “Well, thank you again for your help.”
“My word alone wouldnae have guaranteed the prince’s trust. ’Twas yer persuasive testimony that freed ye.”
That persuasive testimony had been contrived from the single biography she’d read about Prince Charlie. The author opined that the prince suffered from bouts of anxiety and a desire to please those who agreed with him. This propensity left him vulnerable to excessive flattery. Conversely, he disliked and distrusted those who did not agree with him and left him suspicious of their motives, even those of the man who should have been his most trusted general.
He also believed himself the right hand of God’s divine plan. She’d catered to that theory in her appeal and hadn’t been disappointed with the results. That didn’t mean the royal wasn’t so fickle that he wouldn’t change his mind with his next breath. She needed to make her getaway while she could.
The heavy pang of regret in her belly surprised Ginny. For what reason should she bear even an ounce of regret for leaving? There were other times in history she could choose to avoid Luke. Hell, there were even times in an unchartered future she could travel to. Times where her ex was long gone and would pose no threat. The entire timeline of human existence and beyond was at her fingertips!
“Rather dramatic at times, I’d say,” Coll added. “Nevertheless, ye managed to convince Charles Edward of yer innocence.”
The implication struck her then and a bitter laugh bubbled up in her throat. “But not you, right? I’ve told you again and again that I am not an agent of the crown. I have nothing to gain from this at all.” Pressing the heels of her hands to her temples, Ginny turned away from him, then back again. “How thick-headed can you possibly be? How’s that for plain speech?”
Ugh, his brain was as thick as the—admittedly—brawny arms crossed over his chest. And to think she’d almost started to understand and accept his motives. To like him. Frustration propelled her up two more flights of stairs before he caught up with her and spun her around. His brown eyes shown almost bronze with irritation. She had no patience to cater to his fury when her own consumed her.
“Seriously, how do you function with such a suspicious nature? You’re overthinking all of this. And coming from me, that’s saying something.”
“‘Overthinking?’” His repetition of the word carried more of a question mark for its meaning rather than disbelief that she’d used it to describe him. “I dinnae care a whit what the prince has decreed. If ye remove the possibility of foresight from the equation, which we both ken is no’ the case, ye’ve offered naught to adequately clarify the source of yer knowledge, lass. Nothing at all.”
She threw up her arms, but before she could turn away, he caught her arm to hold her back.
“Then there is yer manner of speech. Yer choice of words. At one moment proper Scots and in the next bordering on gibberish. To my knowledge, the colonists have no’ butchered the English tongue as much as ye.”
There was no way to explain that sufficiently. Ginny had been raised by a proper Scotswoman. Between her mother and grandmother, she’d had the accent in her ear her entire life. It wasn’t as difficult to mimic as the formal speech patterns she employed in an attempt to fit in and waylay the suspicions her modern verbiage would engender—and spectacularly failed! Yes, her concentrated effort slipped under the pressures of fear and anger. He had only himself to blame for that.
“You put a lot of effort into making all those men trust me. Why do that if you don’t trust me, either?”
“I dinnae want yer life, lass. That disnae mean I dinnae want an honest answer still,” he said. “’Tis no’ about trust or distrust. In the end, my mind circles back to one thing. That is, all that ye’ve said makes nae sense. I find I cannae let ye leave wi’out a logical explanation for it all.”
“In case I miraculously find my way back to my fictional English operatives in so timely a fashion that they will have no troubles at all in catching up with you?” The words dripped with sarcasm. What luck, captured by the one rational man among them. “Even if I ever presented such a threat, I don’t pose much of one anymore.”
“I’m afraid I dinnae agree,” he argued. “Had I the choice, I would continue to detain ye until I am more confident in the matter.”
“But you don’t,” she shot back and yanked her arm free of his grasp. Lifting her skirts, she climbed the stairs once more, calling over her shoulder. “Thanks again for that, by the way.”
“I could have another word wi’ the prince.”
Her steps slowed and she paused to look back at him unable to gauge whether the threat was a valid one. “I think he would have no use for a man who couldn’t make up his mind, don’t you?” She could hear his teeth grind and satisfaction shot through her. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”
“This isnae over, lass,” he called after her.
“Oh, I think it is.”
Triumphant, Ginny continued up the stairs to retrieve her cloak from the tower room. After that, it might be best to make haste in case he was serious in his threat to convince Prince Charlie to revoke his pardon. She needed to figure out how to escape the castle without passing through the hall where the prince and his men were.
Or coming across MacLeod again.
She just reached the tower room when someone grabbed her arm and yanked her inside.
“The lad’s right, lassie, this isnae over by far.”