Chapter Thirteen

Daniel had been in a place like this before, many times, in fact. A dark place, where sins festered and the haunting voices of his fallen men convicted him. He didn’t like it here, where images of a fiery-haired demon hacked at bodies until he dripped with his victim’s blood.

“D’ye like whisky?”

Daniel blinked out of his darkness and looked at the cup MacPherson offered him. “Anything will do.”

They sat in the Great Hall of Tarveness Keep, a run-down, sorely neglected fortress in the middle of nowhere. A perfect hideaway for a small army of derelict outlaws. He doubted MacPherson would let him live to find and arrest him another day.

He took the cup the Jacobite held for himself and left MacPherson with his. He swigged the whisky, shook for an instant at the hot potency of the spirit, then set the cup on the table.

“What did you want to discuss with me?”

MacPherson swiped his hand across his mouth and set his cup down as well. “I want reassurance that if I help ye with something, ye willna’ come against me in the future.”

Daniel smirked. Honestly, the Highlander didn’t think he was that naïve, did he? “I don’t need anything else from you. You’re helping my lieutenant and for that I’ll let you slip from my grasp if we meet up in the next three months. After that, if I’m ordered to battle you, I will obey.”

“I think I know the men who attacked yer friends.”

Daniel looked at him and shook his head when his host offered him more whisky.

“I’ll tell ye if ye swear to ride away from me and my men should we meet on the field. Ye’re the damned Jacobite killer and ye live up to the whispers about yer skill and the merciless heart ye possess when ye use it. I dinna’ want to lose my men to ye.”

“Who were the men?”

“Do I have yer word?”

Daniel gritted his teeth. He didn’t make deals with his enemies. What could MacPherson possibly know that was important enough to agree to turn his face from his duty?

“ ’Twill benefit ye greatly to know what ye’re up against, General.” MacPherson baited when Daniel didn’t agree.

“I won’t turn a blind eye if you come against the throne, MacPherson. Not for any amount of information you may or may not have.”

MacPherson downed two more cups of whisky, then shook his head. “Very well,” he finally said, “I’ll tell ye what I know and then ye can decide its value.”

That sounded better. Daniel nodded.

“I’ve seen some of those men before. The men who attacked yer friends.”

Daniel looked up. “Where have ye seen them?”

“In England. In the service of a certain nobleman very close to the queen herself.”

Richard Montagu, the Earl of Manchester? No. Montagu wouldn’t be foolish enough to lure Daniel’s men to a slaughter. “Who is the nobleman?”

“My price, General,” the Jacobite insisted. “Will ye leave us alone should ye come upon us in battle?”

Daniel didn’t need to ponder it for long. Losing his men was among the worst things that could happen. He never took it easily. Hubert and Ashley… Dear God, they were good men. They fought well but an ambush of fourteen men was difficult to survive. It was a cowardly attack and because of that, Montagu was a prime suspect. Daniel felt sick to his stomach at the memory of Ashley’s fallen body. He would never forget the sight of his friend lying bloody and lifeless in the grass, his face a macabre mask beneath the moonlight. Hubert lived, and if this man before him now could be credited with the recovery, Daniel owed him much.

But he couldn’t betray the throne.

“I’ll find out myself.” And he would, he vowed to himself as he stood from his chair. “You have my gratitude, not my allegiance.”

He walked away, then stopped and turned back to his host. “Which way was the lady taken?”

MacPherson pointed west and didn’t say another word. While he made his way to his charge, Daniel considered how easily MacPherson had given up. He thought the Scotsman would plead a little longer. MacPherson’s clue led him to believe who might be responsible for the death of his men. But why would Montagu do this? What would he gain? Daniel would find out, and if the earl was guilty, Daniel would make it his personal mission to bring his enemy to his knees.

But for now, he needed to focus on Miss MacGregor and keeping her safe. But after he rounded another curve and wandered down the corridor, he admitted he was lost. He also became aware that he wasn’t alone.

“If you find the courage to reveal yourself and help me, I will reciprocate the favor someday.”

He wasn’t surprised when Nora MacPherson stepped out of the shadows. The trace of honeysuckle lingered about him, just as it had earlier when she escorted Abigail away.

“Where is Miss Campbell?”

“Are ye truly General Daniel Marlow?” she asked as she reached him, her dark tresses flowing around her like a remnant of the shadows she’d just left.

He nodded and didn’t stop while she continued, coming nearer until she stood toe-to-toe with him.

She looked up at him with dark eyes of deep smoky onyx. The kind of eyes that if one peered too closely into, he could find himself lost forever in a web of all kinds of sticky things. “The famous Jacobite killer?”

“I am he.” He wouldn’t lie. “You can hate me later. Right now, I need you to bring me to Miss Campbell.”

“I’ve hated ye fer three years, General. I—”

“Miss MacPherson,” he cut her off with the finality of a sharpened guillotine. “You’re not the first Jacobite to feel this way about me, and you won’t be the last. I’m not here seeking redemption.” And he wasn’t. Not with her and not with Abigail. He was a soldier, loyal to the throne despite the betrayal of his queen. Any other time, he’d be arresting these people or killing the men in battle. Now he was charging around a keep to protect one and arguing with another. “Just Miss Campbell,” he continued, done wasting time. “If you don’t tell me where she is, I’ll cut through every room and find her myself. I won’t leave one undone.”

They stared at each other and Daniel was reminded of a wild mare snorting and ready to bite. When he turned away to leave, she stopped him with three words.

“She’s this way.”

He followed her down the opposite staircase to a dimly lit alcove with a door in the center.

“Who’s there?” Abigail’s voice rang out from inside when Nora knocked.

“It’s General Marlow, Miss Campbell,” he called out, stepping around Nora and reaching for the door. “I’ve come to check on you.”

She unbolted the door without hesitation and let him in. He wasn’t sure if it was the overwhelming sense of relief coursing through his veins, or the way her visage lit the room like the bright of day piercing the gloom, that made him pause his steps and scramble for something to say. Every time he tried to consider her unworthy of praise, her grace tempted him to bow before her, as if he stood before royalty.

“Wait for me outside,” he requested of Nora, and then closed the door to the room, separating them before the MacPherson woman could protest.

He turned back to Abigail and was arrested by the sight of her. She looked like she’d been weeping. He shouldn’t let it affect him so, but he couldn’t stop it. “How do you fare?” he asked, moving toward her. “Were you harmed in some way?”

Until that moment, he hadn’t realized how protective of her he’d become. He’d slaughter an army for her and not because of some duty to the queen or a promise to her father. She was becoming someone meaningful in his life. He liked her and it terrified him. He’d almost forgotten what such fear tasted like. How could he betray all his convictions and the queen by losing his heart to her enemy? His heart was abandoning him and he had to try to hold on to it.

She shook her head, then slanted her wintry gaze downward. “I worry about Hubert.” She sniffed, not seeing the battle playing out in his eyes.

Daniel thought it was kind of her to worry about his friend. He stopped himself from taking her hand and offering her physical comfort. Fighting the temptation cost him much though.

“He’ll be fine,” he reassured her with a step back and a short, deep breath. “And then we’ll leave this place and deliver you safely to England.” And somehow, even if it kills me, safely through your time at the palace.

She nodded. “That’s good. I dinna’ like it here. There are too many of them and not enough of us. Even with ye on our side, I’m not sure we would gain a victory.”

He smiled, liking that she had confidence in him. But she was right, there were too many of them. Even for him. He didn’t want her to worry herself over it though. He was no fool. What the hell would he do with Hubert if he killed the physician? “Taking them on isn’t an option, I know,” he told her. “But trust me, I can keep us safe.”

“Safe from who?” she asked him soberly.

“That’s what I’m going to find out.”

She lifted her gaze to his and offered him a faint but heart-twisting smile. “Ye speak to me in riddles, my lord. How can I trust ye to keep us safe when I dinna’ know what ye’re keepin’ us safe from?”

He wanted her to trust him, to trust him with her life. It had nothing to do with his heart or hers, only with her trust and the peace it gave her.

“MacPherson claims to know the men who killed Lieutenant Ashley,” he told her, giving her the truth to gain what he sought. “He insinuates that they were the men of a nobleman very close to the queen. Someone I might know.”

He didn’t back away when she moved toward him. He should have.

“Would these men not recognize a captain and two lieutenants?” she asked him, proving to possess a sharp mind.

“Yes,” he told her, breathing in the soft, heathery scent of her. “They would.”

“D’ye have many enemies in England, General?”

“Likely more than I imagine.” His smile drew her closer. He should have taken his eyes off her and broken the spell. But to hell with it. He wanted to take hold of her and press her body close while he kissed her mouth. He hadn’t forgotten the last time he kissed her or how she tasted. He didn’t want to think; he just wanted her.

He reached his hand out for her.

“One who does the queen’s bidding?”

His hand dipped back to his side. “The queen wasn’t behind this.”

“How d’ye know that? What if she had a reason to want me dead?”

“What reason could that be?” he argued. “She’s having you brought to her in the interest of peace. Or is there another reason—”

“Nae, there is no other reason,” she said quickly. “She wants peace, and since that is the truth ’twould seem to me that ye no longer have a reason to hate me.”

Hate her? He moved closer to her and smiled, looking deep into her eyes. “You don’t truly believe that I do, Miss MacGregor.”

“What has changed then?”

“Nothing,” he told her, lifting his gaze from her mouth. Indeed, what had changed in him? When had he put his doubts about trusting her aside? Each day he believed more and more that there was something else to her story. Was she just a pawn for peace? He didn’t trust her—and trust had become a major concern for him lately—but madly enough, he didn’t care. “I never hated you to begin with.”

She tossed him a mocking smile and stepped away. His arm looping around her waist stopped her. He pulled her close and cradled her cheek in his weathered palm. “At the risk of being hanged for treason, I don’t hate you now.”

She went weak in the crook of his arm and he pulled her closer. She wouldn’t think him very chivalrous if she knew how he wanted to strip her naked, lay her down, and sink deep into her. He curled his free hand around her nape and steadied her when he took her mouth deeply, and with meaning. He wanted to taste her, every inch of her, mold her delicate, yielding body to his while he ran his hands down the back of her. He rolled his tongue over hers, wanting to possess her. She parried each stroke, letting him know that no victory over her would come without a fight. He liked it. It made him want her more.

He was a fool and a danger to her.

He withdrew his tongue—slowly, reluctantly, and then withdrew the rest of himself.

“I don’t hate you, my lady,” he promised, as breathless as she. “Of that, you can be certain. If I did though”—he stepped away, moving for the door—“it would make everything easier.”

She didn’t call him back, either too prideful or too wise.

Damn it all to hell, Daniel thought, leaving her room and stepping into the hall. Was there nothing he didn’t like about her?