To Marry a Highland Marauder Page 10

  I dinna want an annulment.

  Chapter Eleven

  Parkhill Hall-Edinburgh

  Late afternoon

  23 March 1721

  The next day, his temper simmering and frustration boiling, Camden was shown into the green parlor once more. He’d noticed three trunks and a valise in the entryway, no doubt Bethea’s things.

  He’d stopped at his lodgings long enough to pack his few belongings, which easily fit into a small valise. He never packed much when on a mission, for he needed to be able to move at a moment’s notice. His bag sat in the foyer beside Bethea’s.

  Camden had also penned a letter to Bryston, asking him to investigate a growing suspicion. One that infuriated and worried him. If Camden was correct, about Makepeace’s treachery, His Majesty King George I should be informed at once. The unsealed missive lay tucked inside his coat pocket to give to Keane.

  Keane had returned to the house yesterday afternoon. Immediately upon discovering someone had tipped Montieth off, and the traitor had fled the city sometime in the early morning hours.

  Camden only needed one guess to know who’d prospered most from the situation.

  They’d been idiots to ever use the mercenaries, but Sir Walter had insisted. Which, in truth, was a departure from his tendency to reject anything and anyone who wasn’t strictly appropriate. Highly suspicious and worth investigating.

  Camden had spent the last four-and-twenty hours scouring every place Montieth might’ve scuttled to hide, to no avail. Infuriated, or so he’d acted, Sir Walter had returned to London with instructions for Camden to lay low and await word from him.

  Marjorie bustled in, carrying a full tray herself, rather than having a servant do so. “You must be starving, Camden. Sit down and eat. I doubt you’ve had a bite since yesterday.”

  It was true. He’d gulped down a bowl of porridge and a piece of black bread at The Boar and Brew Inn yesterday morning.

  Bethea had only nibbled an oatcake and sipped tea.

  He regretted having to bundle her back into a coach for a longer journey today, but if the tracks weren’t overly muddy, they’d only have to stay one night at an inn. Under false identities, naturally.

  It made him nervous as hell that Montieth was on the loose and likely knew Bethea had revealed everything she’d heard about him. It came as no surprise that the compartment in the earl’s study was as empty as a beggar’s purse.

  What he wouldn’t give to know what the contents had been.

  “How is Bethea?” he asked, sinking into a chair and gratefully accepting the plate of food Marjorie shoved toward him.

  Repeatedly, the past few hours, his mind had returned to Bethea. It was a distraction an agent of the Crown couldn’t afford, which was why so few were married. Already, he pondered if he would continue as an operative. Quelling another rising had been his primary concern, and now that goal had been achieved.

  His empty stomach growled loudly, and Marjorie arched a sardonic brow. “Eat. She’ll be down shortly.” Her expression softened. “And she’s fine, Camden. Bethea’s no wilting flower. She a strong woman.”

  Aye, he’d seen her strength. Her intelligence and calm reasoning, too.

  Not many women would’ve endured what she had and not dissolved into tears or histrionics. Throughout her ordeal, she’d shown courage and temperance that he couldn’t help but admire.

  It was when a person was under the most stress their true character emerged, and what he’d discovered about Bethea impressed him all the more. She was a woman a man would be proud and privileged to call his wife.

  And she was his wife.

  A stroke of luck or fate?

  He’d just set his fork aside when Bethea entered, wearing a dark green traveling costume and carrying a heavy velvet cloak. “I’m ready to depart whenever ye are,” she said, drawing on a black kid glove. A slight crease between her eyebrows, she roved her gaze over him. “Ye look exhausted.”

  Camden shrugged as he cut a piece of sirloin. “’Tis no’ the first time I’ve gone without sleep.”

  From the fine lines bracketing her mouth, Camden would wager Keane had told her about Montieth’s escape. She needed to know. It was her right.

  There was no reason to suppose Montieth would exact revenge on her, and yet, Camden couldn’t dispel his unease. From what Etherington had revealed, as well as Camden’s observations, the earl’s obsession with Bethea bordered on unhinged.

  Keane strode into the salon at that precise moment and offered an austere upward sweep of his mouth.

  “I’ve arranged to have four men inconspicuously follow the coach. I’ve also hired an unmarked conveyance but have assigned two of my best men to drive.” His gaze gravitated to Bethea’s pale face, and he offered an encouraging smile. “Just a precaution, lass. I doubt the earl is still in Scotland.”

  To her credit, she notched her chin up and straightened her spine. “As long as Camden is with me, I’m no’ worried.”

  The trust she put in him humbled and scared the hell out of him.

  Casting a glance to the window, he took in a sky gray from coal smoke and rain clouds before examining the mantle clock. He wiped his mouth, then rose. “We’d best be off.”

  “Wait. Please.” Branwen limped into the room with the aid of her cane. “I want to say farewell.” Her gait uneven, she thumped toward her sister, but Bethea rushed to meet her.

  “Can ye see this posted for me?” Camden pulled the letter from his coat pocket and extended it to Keane. “Read it first. There’s information included ye should be aware of.”

  That brought Keane’s eyebrows crashing together. Nevertheless, he accepted the folded paper and firmed his mouth in assent.

  Branwen glanced at Keane and then to Camden. “I wish we didna have to remain in Edinburgh.”

  “Ye canna travel with yer injured feet, darlin’.” Bethea drew her intrigued regard from the letter and smiled at her sister. “We’ll be together soon. A month will fly by. Ye’ll see.” She kissed Branwen’s cheek and hugged her.

  Both Keane and Marjorie also kissed Bethea. After embracing her, Marjorie tucked her hand into the bend of Keane’s arm and gave a subtle squeeze.

  He was truly beside himself with concern. For a man who’d had the guardianship of two girls thrust upon him when he’d barely been a man, himself, he’d risen to the occasion admirably. The affection between the Glanville sisters and their guardian was obvious.

  They were a family.

  Camden clasped Keane’s hand. “I’ll keep her safe, Cousin.”

  “I ken ye will.”

  Ten minutes later, Camden and Bethea left Edinburgh behind, and rumbled toward a future he’d never anticipated.

  Bethea was silent and although she didn’t seem fretful, he sensed she wasn’t at ease, either.

  “Are ye all right, Bethea?”

  She turned from staring out the window and curved her pretty mouth. “Aye. I’m tryin’ to figure out who would’ve alerted Montieth. Do ye think it was one of the mercenaries?”

  “I’d bet on it,” he said.

  Likely Anderson. What Camden didn’t know for certain was if Sir Walter was somehow involved. His gut told him he was.

  Bethea returned her attention to the passing scenery, shadows starting to elongate the trees. “How far will we travel?”

  “I’d like to put as many miles between Edinburgh and us as possible.”

  “Mmm.” She made a soft sound that was impossible to interpret.

  To lighten the mood, he cocked his head. “What shall we call ourselves when we arrive at the inn?”

  She faced him again, her eyes bright. “I’ve always liked the name Moria.”

  “And I’ll be… Hamish?”

  “That’s too predictable.” She wrinkled her adorable nose. “Isna there a name ye’ve always liked that’s a little unusual?”

  “One of my middle names is Tavin.”

  “Tavin.” She tried it on her tongue. “I like it.
” Grinning, Bethea nodded. She’d lowered her hood hours ago, and the loose curls at her temple pirouetted with the motion. “So we are Moria and Tavin, what?”

  He put a finger to his chin in mock concentration. “Somethin’ common, I think. Smith? Brown? Johnson? Thomson?”

  “Thomson.” She pulled her gloves off and tucked them into her cloak’s pocket. “Are we still newlyweds, or should we pretend to have been married longer in case someone comes lookin’ for a newlywed couple?”

  “Why, Mrs. Kennedy. Are ye enjoyin’ this misadventure?”

  “Well, ye must admit ’tis excitin’.”

  Not the word he’d use, but the color had returned to her cheeks, and her silver-gray eyes sparkled with anticipation. He’d not tell her about the concerns flitting around his mind.

  Leaning back, Camden folded his arms. “Well, since I canna keep my eyes off ye, nae one is goin’ to credit we’ve been married verra long.”

  She flushed and darted her tongue out to moisten her lower lip.

  God’s teeth, she’s a temptress.

  He swallowed a groan and adjusted his position on the seat so that she couldn’t see his growing cock. This marriage of convenience was becoming more and more inconvenient with each passing mile.

  “Uh, hum. I ken what ye mean.” She gave him a flirtatious glance from beneath her lashes. “Ye arena so bad to gaze upon yerself.”

  He needed to change the direction of the conversation, or this marriage would be consummated in short order and in a manner nae bride deserved. Tupped on a carriage seat by an overzealous husband.

  “If anyone asks, we’ve been married for three months,” he said. “That’s long enough to deter suspicion.”

  She nodded and fell silent, though she ran her fingertips up and down the edge of her cloak, revealing she wasn’t as calm inwardly as she pretended to be.

  “Och, what is on yer mind, lass?”

  She turned those beautiful, intelligent pewter gray eyes upon him. Why hadn’t he noticed the flecks of blue and purple in them, before?

  “I’m just wonderin’ how long we’ll have to pretend to be married.” She gave him a rueful smile. “I ken ye have responsibilities to the Crown. Where will I live while ye are—”

  Before she could object, he crossed the coach and after sitting beside her, pulled her onto his lap. She issued a startled squeak, but settled against his chest.

  “We’ll cross those bridges when we come to them, Bethea.”

  Not that he hadn’t already been thinking of ideas and then tossing them aside almost as quickly as he’d contrived them. The only future he imagined now was one with Bethea.

  In fact, he meant to do whatever he must to convince her to remain his wife.

  Her lashes lowered partway, but not before he saw her glance at his mouth.

  Male satisfaction tunneled through him.

  “Bethea?”

  “Aye?” She tilted her neck to look at him.

  Aye, definitely purple flecks in her now smokey gray eyes, and those amethyst shards glittered when she was aroused. Camden tucked that fascinating fact into the back of his mind.

  “I’m goin’ to kiss ye unless ye tell me no’ to.”

  Her chin angled up a bit more, and she leaned into him.

  “Why, Camden, would I do that?”

  Then he yielded to the fire smoldering in his blood and took her sweet mouth, tasting her essence, and wishing she might be his for all time.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dirk and Duck Inn

  Midway between Edinburgh and Culloden

  23 March 1721

  Long after the sun had set and only the purplish-dark blue of impending night streaked the northern sky, the coach jostled and groaned to a stop in the circular dirt courtyard before a two-story structure. The ground floor’s curtained windows glowed with muted light.

  A half-moon hung lazily in the sky, visible now and again as fat, lazy clouds drifted past. A large brown and white dog, its tail wagging, barked an exuberant greeting as it jumped to its feet on the stoop.

  Squinting, Bethea tried to read the sign swaying softly in the breeze.

  Dirk and Duck?

  That was supposed to be a duck? It looked more like a sickly stork, or mayhap an oversized crow a child had painted.

  A sagging front step and lopsided shutters suggested the establishment wasn’t as well kept as The Boar and Brew. She eyed the lodging house warily as Camden handed her down before he reached in and collected her valise with her overnight necessities.

  “Have ye stayed here before?” she asked, trying to keep the apprehension from her tone.

  “Nae. I thought it wiser to stay at an inn where nae one would know me.” Camden glanced around, then nodded in silent communication to a coachman.

  That made sense. They were traveling incognito, after all, and this lodging house was certainly off the beaten path.

  Would the coachmen and the other riders Keane had sent to safeguard them sleep inside the inn, too? She rather hoped they would. She supposed it depended on how many chambers were available, though.

  From the run-down looks of the place, it didn’t host an abundance of travelers regularly.

  Two tow-headed stable lads, one carrying a lamp, both sporting broad grins on their well-scrubbed faces, trotted out to greet the drivers and team.

  “I’d like ye to sleep near the coach tonight,” Camden advised the two armed coachmen.

  Ah, so he, too, had noticed the seedier elements of the hostelry. Bethea prayed that at least the linens were clean.

  “Aye,” Higgins, the burlier of the drivers, agreed, giving the inn a once-over. “’Tis a good idea.”

  Crawley, the other coachman, spoke quietly with one of the lads as they prepared to unhitch the team.

  “Pull yer hood up, lass,” Camden advised even as he rucked his coat collar higher and pulled his hat lower. “We dinna ken who might be inside.”

  She complied without complaint.

  “Camden, are ye certain…?” Before Bethea finished the sentence, the four unofficial guards rode into the courtyard, two abreast. It will be fine, she consoled herself. Counting these four, the drivers who looked like they could take on a bear single-handedly, and Camden, they were well protected.

  It wasn’t in her nature to be high-strung, nervous, or suspicious, but then again, she’d never been a witness to treason or abducted before. Not to mention wedding under duress and then fleeing under an assumed name to evade possible retaliation by said traitor.

  Another stable boy, this one younger and with darker hair, hastily tucked his slightly too-big shirt into his breeches as he hurried from the stables and went directly to the newcomers. “Welcome to the Dirk and Duck,” he greeted cheerily.

  Well, at least the stable hands were an efficient and merry lot in their clean, but obviously worn and mended, clothing.

  In short order, Camden had ushered Bethea inside and secured a chamber for them. She didn’t protest when he requested one room, rather than two.

  She didn’t fear he’d force himself upon her, and in truth, she’d not sleep a wink if alone in a chamber in this strange place, knowing Montieth was out there, somewhere.

  A couple of nondescript men—the only occupants of the public room—nursed tankards of ale. They conversed in low tones at a slightly uneven table a few feet from the fireplace.

  Their footsteps heavy on the wood floor, the guards entered and, conversing in low tones, awaited their turn to speak with the innkeeper.

  “Did my lads see to yer horses?” the innkeeper asked.

  “Aye, and most efficiently, too,” Camden replied with an easy smile. “There’ll be a generous tip for them come morn.”

  The thin man smiled, pride evident in his wide grin. “’Tis just me, the three lads, and my two daughters. The missus died a couple of years ago, but the lasses ken how to cook a decent meal and keep the place clean. My youngest lad painted the inn’s sign.”

  Parental pr
ide expanded his chest.

  A child had painted the sign.

  A stab of remorse pricked Bethea for judging so quickly. The poor man was trying to support his family the best way he knew how, and she’d found fault before she knew anything of their circumstances.

  Another surreptitious look revealed he spoke the truth.

  The lodging-house was quite humble, but the floor was swept clean and looked well-scrubbed, the tables wiped, and no cobwebs collected dust in the corners. A hearty fire burned in the oversized fireplace dominating the public room.

  A bright-eyed lass of about sixteen years emerged from what must’ve been the kitchen and placed steaming bowls of stew, several thick slices of bread, butter, and cheese before the men. They tucked into the simple fair with gusto.

  With a polite nod, she brushed her hands together and made straight for her father.

  “This is Kate,” the innkeeper announced. “She’ll see yer stomachs are full.”

  The proprietor turned his attention to the four men patiently waiting behind Camden and Bethea, acting for all the world as if they were strangers rather than armed guards sent to protect them.

  “My coachmen need food and ale,” Camden said to Kate. “They intend to stay with the coach and team tonight.”

  “I’ll see to it.” She nodded, her freckled face breaking into a friendly smile. “What about ye and yer lady?”

  “My wife is travel-weary,” Camden said without a flicker of unease at the fib. He took Bethea’s elbow. “We’ll eat in our chamber.”

  “Verra good, sir. Either Mattie or I will bring yer food to ye and water for washin’.”

  The other sister, Bethea presumed.

  Kate bobbed a shallow curtsy and hurried to the kitchen.

  “Our room is on this level,” Camden whispered in her ear as he guided her to an adjacent corridor. “I prefer ground floors when stayin’ someplace I’m no’ familiar. ’Tis easier to escape.”

  Once a spy, always a spy.

  Bethea had scarcely removed her cloak before a light knock at the door announced the arrival of supper.