Chapter Nineteen

I will keep this brief,’ ” Daniel read aloud from the letter signed and sealed by the queen’s cousin. Every now and then, since he’d entered MacPherson’s private solar with his host and Abby, a cool draft clenched his heart. Things were going to change for him in England after he killed Richard Montagu. He’d give up whatever he needed to, but Hubert’s and Ashley’s killer was going to die by his sword.

“ ‘I’ve penned this correspondence to yourself and twelve others,’ ” he continued reading, “ ‘to inform you that the Earl of Darlington, or as your people know him, the Jacobite killer, is dead.’ ”

It was Montagu who’d had his men killed. Who had intended to kill him as well. He’d failed and he didn’t know it. That would work to Daniel’s advantage. He went back to reading the letter.

“ ‘His army will soon be transferred into the capable hands of a new leader.’ ”

Covetous snake. Daniel would chop off his head.

“ ‘After the queen grieves over the death of her beloved knight, she will make me captain general of her army,’ ” he continued. “ ‘I will hold in my hands the power to allow you to attack who and where you want. And for but a meager donation, I will grant you such pleasure. I, unlike your previous general, don’t give a damn who sits on the throne.”

Evidence to show the queen proving why he’d slaughtered her cousin.

“ ‘Therefore, it will be to your benefit to meet with me in Edinburgh—’ ”

Someone knocked at the door.

“Aye?” MacPherson called out. “Enter,” he granted when he heard who was on the other side.

The MacGregor chief stepped inside, filling the room with his presence. His eyes fell to his daughter first, then to Daniel and the letter in his hands, and then to their host. “We’ll be on our way, MacPherson. Thank ye fer the beds.” Before he turned away, his eyes caught Abby’s again.

Only because Daniel knew the nature of their relationship did he notice the tenderness in the chief’s expression when he bowed slightly to her. “Miss Campbell.” In perfect form, he didn’t spare Daniel a second glance as he moved to leave.

“My laird,” MacPherson’s voice stopped him. “Are ye one of the twelve? Did ye get a letter?”

Abby’s father turned to face them again. He looked at the letter and nodded.

“What d’ye think?” their host asked him, keeping him longer.

Daniel blinked, waiting for MacGregor to answer.

“If the Earl of Manchester ordered me to Edinburgh,” Abby broke the silence, saving, it would seem to Daniel, her father from saying something wrong, “I would not trust him. I hope none of ye are so foolish to do so. He could not have penned these letters to twelve Jacobite leaders less than a se’nnight ago, informing them of General Marlow’s death, when the attack occurred only yesterday.”

Daniel stared at her. What the hell was that all about? Why did she need to tell her father the entire contents of the letter? He was one of the twelve, wasn’t he? An important one, correct? That’s why Daniel was about this duty of escorting his daughter to the queen.

“What do we care aboot the life of the Jacobite killer?” the chief growled at her. “If Manchester wants to make an alliance with us, then we want to hear it.”

“Well, then?” MacPherson pressed. “Is that where ye’re headed?”

“Aye,” her father answered and then set his diamond-hard eyes back on Daniel. “I wouldna’ bring the lass near the city. The earl thinks ye’re dead. Best to keep it that way fer the safety of yer charge.”

“Good thinking, Chief,” MacPherson complimented him, agreeing.

“I’ll tell my faither of yer kindness to me, my laird,” Abby called out, next to stop the chief from leaving. “Let me repay ye,” she offered when their eyes met, “since we are both Jacobites, after all.”

“Be aboot it then, lass.”

“Dinna’ trust him.”

With a nod and without another word, her father left the solar.

When the three of them were alone again, MacPherson turned to Abby with a pout. “I thought I’d done enough to gain yer trust when I shared Montagu’s letter with ye.”

She smiled, keeping her composure, shining in Daniel’s eyes like a star. He could have watched her all day.

“Mr. MacPherson,” her soft voice rang out, “I was referring to the earl. Why would ye think I meant ye?”

He dazzled her eyes with a handsome grin that Daniel wanted to punch off his face. Then, in a show of defeat to the pale goddess, MacPherson turned to Daniel without another word to her. “MacGregor’s correct,” he said. “Yer best weapon is that ye’re dead.”

No. Daniel’s best weapon was that he knew Montagu’s secrets. The earl had tried to have him killed. He held no allegiance to his cousin, the queen.

“My men will help ye bury yer friend.”

His friends, dead by Montagu’s order.

“Nora will assist ye if there is anything else ye need.” MacPherson turned his bright grin to Abby. He went further and reached for her hand and kissed it. “It was my great pleasure meeting ye, lass.” He didn’t wait to see her reaction, but Daniel did. She didn’t blush or giggle like a child. She purposely turned and looked at Daniel and did something to his insides, twisting them until he ached, robbing him of everything he possessed.

Could she tell by looking at him that he was losing his battle against her? Could she see in his pitiful gaze that he would overlook anything for her, even his new suspicions about why a MacGregor, in particular, had been summoned to the palace? He would think about it all later.

MacPherson winked at him and smacked him on the shoulder as he left the room. “Ye’re a stronger man than I, General. Ye’ll need to be.”

“Did he just insult me?” Abby turned to him when they were alone.

Daniel couldn’t help but smile. She was intelligent and courageous, and yet naïve about subtleties.

“No, my lady. He praised you, as you deserve.”

Her lips, so decadently full and inviting, slanted into a curious grin. “As I deserve, my lord? Remember who I am.”

He did. He wanted to forget tomorrow and the throne and take her in his arms. He wanted to carry her to bed and praise her while he made love to her until the morning.

“General Marlow?” someone said from the door.

Daniel turned to see Charles, one of MacPherson’s men, waiting at the entrance.

“I’ve come to help ye dig yer friend’s hole.”

Charles’s words hit Daniel like a kick to the gut. He did all he could to resist groaning and straightened his shoulders instead.

“Thank you, Charles. I’ll be right along.”

He turned back to Abigail before he left to begin his task. “If you are asleep by the time I’m done, I’ll not wake you. We’ll leave for England in the morn.”

“I’ll be awake,” she promised him. “I’ll wait up fer ye, to offer ye comfort.”

He looked into her eyes and reached out his hand to stroke her alabaster cheek with his fingertips. “Thank you, fair Abigail.” He swept his hand down her arm, circling her wrist when he reached it and drawing his fingers over the pulse beat throbbing beneath her skin. He took her hand and brought her knuckles to his mouth. “Until later.”

Abby put the finishing touches on the small table she had set up in her chamber. She made certain to get the best cut of meat from Tarveness Keep’s cook for Daniel’s dinner and enough whisky to help him not care that he was hours late and the food was cold. She hoped he didn’t mind eating in her room. She considered that after burying his friend, he would want to be away from all the men in the Great Hall.

She repositioned the candle so that it would shine more directly on his face when he sat down to eat. She loved his face, lined with decisions, marked by maturity. The cut of his jaw made her want to sigh and shiver in her boots. He was the male embodiment of elegance and arrogance perfectly blended together. He moved with the grace of a supremely skillful hunter and spoke like one of the knights in her legends.

She was quickly growing mad about him… sinking deep in reckless, rapturous love with him. She couldn’t decide if she should collapse in a heap and cry at her weakness or laugh out loud and spin in circles. What would the queen do if she found out? How could Abby allow Daniel to ruin her plans to gain the queen’s favor? Even worse, how could she continue keeping her secret from him?

He was more than a knight. He was a general, and according to everyone who knew him or of him, he was a relentless assassin. She’d seen firsthand, while watching him kill all those men in the clearing, that beneath the graceful nobleman was something more raw, more intent. When he’d read from the Earl of Manchester’s letter, she’d heard the leashed fury shaking his voice. Abby felt sorry for the earl.

She had to convince him somehow, sometime, that her kin wasn’t his enemy. She had to find a way to do it. And what if this Montagu managed another attack when he discovered that Daniel was alive? What if he succeeded next time? What would she do if Daniel was killed? Every day it was getting more difficult to think of being without him. But what if an order came from the throne to march on Camlochlin and kill her kin? Would he do it? She was glad her kin had left Tarveness Keep. The less Daniel was around them, the better.

She considered the bath she’d prepared for him and wondered if she’d gone utterly mad to want to see him, to comfort him, to do whatever he wanted.

His arrival in the chamber stilled her thoughts and chased away her fears. He stood beneath her door frame, his chest bare, his belly flat and tight as harp stings. Where was his shirt? She hoped never to see it again. His muscles were sleek and beautiful. She found herself wanting to touch them, feel them under her tongue. What the hell had come over her?

His gaze finished taking in the elegant little candlelit table in the middle of the room, and then it fell softly on her and it gave her heart pause.

“How did you know this was exactly what I needed?” he asked her, rubbing his shoulder.

She had a better question. Why did the resplendent curl of his smile make her so willing to give up anything for him?

But “Are ye in pain?” is what she asked him.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I still feel as if there’s a shovel in my hands and I’m hunched over.” He flashed his grin at her again and she giggled.

Och, hell, she giggled!

“I’m afraid I need to rinse before I sit at the table, Abigail.”

She loved how her name sounded coming off his tongue, his lips.

“Wait!” She stopped him when he turned to leave the room again. When he returned his gaze to her, she hurried to a wooden partition beyond the bed. “A bath awaits ye here, my lord. Though I’m afraid the water has cooled by now.”

He looked at the partition, and then at her. Were his eyes always so green, like large, lush vales that tempted her to run through them? She could tell by his patience with her that he liked her. But he fought it every time. She was glad, for his wide, bold smiles would only seal her heart sooner.

“I don’t mind cool water,” he said, offering her a softer, more intimate smile that pulled her breath.

Hell, she could benefit from some cool water in the face. Especially when she caught a glimpse of his tight lower abdomen before he began unbuckling the belt. His sword and two holstered pistols fell to the floor. When he reached her and the partition, his grin widened and he bowed.

When he disappeared behind the partition, she shut her eyes and took a deep breath. Lord, help her, she would never forget the flare of his shoulders, the lithe cut of his back and waist when he stepped around her.

She jumped when his pants fell over the divider next. She listened breathlessly as he stepped into the bath, naked, and purred like a satisfied lion.

As she pulled his pants free from the partition, she imagined his bottom half, as shapely as his top.

“You have my endless devotion for this, my dear lady.”

She opened her eyes and bit her bottom lip. “Careful what ye promise me, knight. Fer I may hold ye to yer word.”

“I’m counting on you doing just that.”

She smiled on the other side of the partition, then disappeared out of the room to have his clothes cleaned.

When she returned, Daniel had finished his bath and was sitting at the candlelit table, bare-chested and wet, his lower half draped in her earasaid. He looked up when she entered and stood up.

“I’m feeling better already,” he told her, moving behind her chair. He looked better, wonderful, magnificent.

“I’m pleased to hear it.” She moved toward him as if he pulled her by a tether. She didn’t want to fight it anymore. She didn’t want to deny what she felt for him. She allowed herself a moment to bask in the glory of his sculpted, virile physique as he pulled out her chair and waited for her in the candlelight. She accepted the seat and waited while he bent to her ear. “I’m glad to be here with you, Miss MacGregor.”

She closed her eyes in front of him and shivered as his warm breath trickled down her nape to the valley between her breasts. He didn’t hate her, or even dislike her, and she was glad because she wanted to know him, to touch him and learn his body. She wanted to possess him and be possessed by him. She wanted to kiss him and stroke all his hard planes with her tongue. And she wanted to do it all without fear of letting him in.

“Forgive my appearance,” he said, coming around her to his chair.

He didn’t look repentant at all; in fact, she was certain she saw the dazzle of a flame in his emerald gaze.

“I left my shirt outdoors and I couldn’t find my pants when I left the bath.”

“They are being cleaned.”

His smile widened into a knee-buckling grin that made her thankful she was sitting. “You’re quite thoughtful, my lady. I’m in your debt yet again. Ask anything of me, within reason, and I’ll grant it.”

Did he mean it? She believed that if he said it, he would do it. She wanted to ask him to vow never to kill her or harm her mother. But if she did, she would only draw attention to Davina. She thought of the closest threat to his queen after her mother.

“Dinna’ kill James Francis Stuart if you have the chance.”

He looked up from his dish and studied her for a moment or two. Abby thought his hesitation alone was a good sign.

When he spoke again, she smiled, feeling slain and reborn together. “As you wish. I shall not kill him.”

Abby watched him begin to eat and couldn’t help but grin like the mad fool she was. “And what if ye are ordered to kill him? What would ye do then?”

“I’ll stay true to my word and remind the queen of something we share. She won’t order me to do something I’m passionate about not doing.”

She looked him over and didn’t care what he saw in her eyes. She cared for him. She wanted him to know. “And ye would do this fer me, General?”

“Yes,” he told her, taking her hand across the table. “I’d do many things for you.”

Abby wanted to smile at how worried he looked saying it, but she didn’t because she felt the same way, and it worried her too.