Mad for the Plaid (14 page)

Still, dressed in a commoner's clothes, a determined set to his jaw, he didn't look like the frivolous, flirtatious prince he was reputed to be.
Ah, but he is indeed that flirtatious prince, but—I think—only when it suits him.
She had witnessed his transformation once already, and had experienced his seductive powers only the night before. It was easy to see why society had such a wrong impression of the man.

Stewart tapped the iron spoon on the side of the pot and said in a stiff voice, “I do nae know if we'll have enough stew for the two of you.”

Nik didn't look the least put out by this. “I don't suppose you'd like some fresh meat for your stew?”

The redheaded Scot brightened, his scowl disappearing like the mist before sunshine. “What do you have?”

“Rurik!” Nik called to his man, who'd just returned with the filled flasks. “Bring the rabbits we caught.”

Ailsa frowned. “When did you have time to catch rabbits?”

“We stopped this afternoon. We were coming too close to your party.”

As if we were creeping along!
Her irritation grew.

Rurik brought an oilskin-wrapped bundle to the fire.

Stewart opened it with a pleased look. “I'll roast these a bit and then shred the meat into the stew.” His gaze flickered to Nik. “It should be enough for all of us, then.”

“Good.” Nik's gaze returned to Ailsa and rested on her lips.

He was thinking of their kiss. She knew it as sure as she was breathing. She silently thanked the fates he'd chosen to sit opposite her and not beside her, where their elbows or knees might have touched. It was taking all her concentration to think calmly. If he actually touched her . . . She shivered, flooded with memories she'd tried all day to forget.

“Are you cold, Lady Ailsa?”

The words purred over her, as if lapping the heat of her memories. She tugged her cloak closer. “'Tis winter,” she said flatly.

“So it is.” Nik removed his gloves and held his hands toward the fire, his gaze moving back to her. “Your companions know this forest well. There were times we had to work to see the trail at all.”

“They do. They are woodsmen, both.” She gestured
to the lean, hard-eyed man with dark hair and a suspicious air who was still holding his rifle. “This is Hammish MacKean. He'll be the master game warden once Greer steps aside.”

The prince inclined his head. “MacKean.”

MacKean nodded back, his expression cautious.

“And this,” Ailsa continued, gesturing to the heavy redhead now skewering the rabbits, “is Ian Stewart. We're lucky to have him; I have it on guid authority he can cook better than Mrs. Attnee's cousin, who is the head cook at Castle Leod.”

The shaggy redheaded giant placed one end of the spit holding the rabbits in the pot hook and the other between two rocks on the other side of the fire. That done, he gave Nik a small nod.

Nik returned the greeting. “A pleasure, Mr. Stewart.” He gestured to where Rurik was hanging the flasks from a tree branch so they would not leak during the night. “I believe you've all met Rurik.”

“And you?” Stewart asked.

Nik hesitated and then said, “I am Romanovin.”

“Humph. A prince is what Mr. Mackenzie called you.” Stewart sent Nik a hard look from under his bushy brows. “We heard him say so as we joined you.”

“And so I am . . . when I'm in court, surrounded by fools and idiots.” Nik leaned against a tree and stretched his legs before him, looking comfortable there on the ground, by the fire. A faint smile touched his lips, one both personal and disarming. “But here, under the trees and the night sky, where nothing but honest men can find their way? Then, I am Romanovin.”

Stewart and MacKean exchanged glances.

“It would be safer for us all if no one knew a prince was among us,” Rurik added without looking up from where he was unpacking his and Nik's bedrolls.

Ailsa couldn't argue with that.

“That's true,” Stewart said grudgingly.

MacKean shrugged. “Romanovin it is.”

Ailsa waited for Nik to say more, but he merely smiled and then held his hands to the flames and soaked in the warmth.

She smoothed her hands over her knees, trying not to give in to a twinge of jealousy. She'd worked hard to gain the trust of her men, and even now could sometimes feel the waver of their belief in her. To see them accept the prince and agree to call him by his last name seemed . . . unfair, somehow. Would they have agreed to call her something so informal? She didn't think so.

But did she wish them to? Did such familiarity mean anything? Could it denote a lack of respect?
It doesn't matter. I should just focus on the tasks at hand; my actions will speak for me.
She looked at Stewart and MacKean. “Who has first watch?”

“I do.” MacKean gathered his furs and a flask of water. “I'll take the spot you found on the boulder, my lady. 'Tis a guid vantage point, nae?”

“You can see all the way down the trail, almost to the stream. But the rock is nae comfortable, and it holds the cold, so you're smart to take that fur.”

“Aye, although the cold will keep me awake. Stewart, bring me some stew when 'tis done.” MacKean disappeared
around the boulder, and was soon heard from no more.

“We'll need more firewood.” Rurik arose from where he'd placed the bedrolls and moved quietly into the dark woods.

Nik looked around the camp. “This is a good spot for our camp.”

She raised her brows at the approving note in his voice, disliking the small flare of satisfaction his words gave her. “When we hunt larger game, there are times we must spend the night in the woods. The gamekeepers, I, and my father have added much venison to our winter stores.” She hesitated, but then added, “Castle Leod might nae be wealthy, but she's self-sufficient. The lands are large, but much of it is like this—beautiful, but unfarmable. We rely on the game to help us through the winters.”

“Her ladyship is a crack shot,” Stewart added.

She grinned. “I'm guid with a knife, too, and it seems as if you need those carrots chopped.”

“So I do, my lady.” Stewart handed her the small bundle of carrots. “Smaller pieces cook faster.” He stood. “I'm going to see where Rurik is with that firewood. The fire will be oot if he dinnae hurry.” The Scotsman left, lumbering off into the woods.

To Ailsa's chagrin, the prince came to sit at her side.

She scooted away, giving him more than enough room.

Nik raised his brows. “I will not touch you. Not unless you wish me to.”

She shot him a side-glance that was as cool as it was unwelcoming. “Then you will nae touch me.”

Nik noted the firm set of her defiant chin. She'd been direct and unhesitating, and he recognized the challenge that lurked in her words whether she knew it or not. Until these last few days, he hadn't realized how much he liked challenges, or how rarely he received them. He spread his hands as if in surrender. “As you wish.”

She didn't look completely convinced, but she didn't order him to move, either. She busied herself cutting the carrots, sparing him not another glance.

He was beginning to realize that Lady Ailsa was a complex woman indeed. Her bold kiss had given him the impression that passion simmered just under her cool, collected surface, and he wished to know more about that side of her.

He noted how the cold had pinkened her cheeks and nose. “Earlier, you said you wished to know how I knew your ultimate destination. As you've shared your fire, I suppose I should at least answer your question.”

She'd finished with the carrots and tossed them into the stew before she shifted so that she could see his face. “Have you been following us since we left?”

“Aye. We saw you, or rather, heard you.”

“Gregor's horse.” At Nik's nod, she said, “Something startled it as we were departing.” She added in a more sour tone, “So that's when you discovered we were leaving.”

“We were already loaded and ready to go. Had you left five minutes later, you would have been following us.”

Her brows knit. “Who told you where Greer was
located? I cannae imagine my men doing such a— Ah! The note he sent.” She pinned him with a furious gaze. “One of your men searched my study!”

“That they did.”

“Dammit! That's— How could you?”

He spread his hands wide. “You were not forthcoming; you left us no choice.”

Her lips thinned, yet even then, they were plumper than most women's. She really did have the most beautiful mouth.

“I should have locked Greer's missive and the ransom note away.” She shot him a scorching look. “Sadly, I dinnae realize there were weasels in my own hoose.”

“Weasels?”

“Little rodents that steal things.”

“We didn't steal anything. We just looked. Although I'll admit it was rude of us to look.”

“I would call it more than rude.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps so,
da
. But it is also rude to sneak off when you've promised to meet with a guest.”

“Nae a guest; a groom.”

“Is that how you treat servants?” He
tsk
ed. “However you wish to see it, I had no choice but to find out the truth on my own.”

“I agree that my lack of openness would be an issue if I dinnae think you'd
arrived
with the intent of searching the castle and property, and had probably already done so when I spoke to you by the stables.”

“We had not yet done so, but it's true the plan was already in motion. Normally, I would not sanction
such an overstepping of hospitality, but this is a crucial matter.”

“You think I dinnae realize there are lives dependent oopon this?”

Her expression, diamond hard and unwavering, made him pause.

The words came from both her heart and her head.
The weight of leadership is heavy on this one.
It was a surprising realization, for he'd thought her natural in assuming her position. He narrowed his gaze. “How old are you?”

She blinked. “What?”

“How old are you?” he repeated.

“What has that to do with anything?”

He raised his brows and waited.

“I'm twenty-three,” she said stiffly. After a moment, she added, “Almost.”

And there it was. He'd assumed she was at least in her late twenties and had years of experience behind her, but now he understood why she was so prickly about her authority.
Good God, what is her father thinking, to leave his estate in such tender hands?

Her gaze narrowed on him. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-nine.” Although he felt older. Much older.

She shrugged. “It's nae age, but the way you carry your responsibilities that proves your character. So my father has always said.”

Spoken like a man who's left a good portion of his responsibilities resting on the shoulders of his youngest daughter.
“Age is what you make it,” he said in a mild tone. “It's obvious you understand the severity of the issue facing
us; I can see that. But your method—to appease an abductor by paying blood money—is flawed and will only lead to further heartbreak. I know this. It is not the way to win this battle.”

“Then what
is
the way?”

“We find the abductors and we make them tell us where the captives are.”

Stewart and Rurik returned with the wood, piling it beside the fire. The Scot dusted himself off and then sat down near the pot while Rurik removed a whetstone from his saddlebag and sat to one side of the fire, sharpening his knife.

Ailsa ignored them, her attention locked on Nik as she scoffed, “You think we'll be able to
make
the abductors tell us what we wish to know? How?”

“There are ways to get people to talk.”

“I see. You think the better strategy is to storm in and beat the information from them?”

He heard the sarcasm in her voice. “It is not surprise we seek, but firmness of an answer.”

“And what if your grandmother and Lord Hamilton are close by? Couldn't they be injured in such an attack? Could nae the abductors hide behind our loved ones and use them as shields?”

“
Bozhy moj
, you go right to the worst possible outcome. You do not know how this will end.”

“I know your strategy is ridiculously dangerous, and could cause the outcome we most wish to avoid—injury to Her Grace and Lord Hamilton.”

“You do not know what will happen,” he bit out.

“Neither do you.”

“But if we plan carefully, and execute the rescue in an organized fashion, then—”

“That will only work if all these abductors want is the money.”

He frowned. “What else could they want?”

“We dinnae know, do we? Nae until we meet them and find oot for ourselves. In the meantime, we cannae just storm in and fire off shots, hoping nae one we love gets injured. You
play
with the lives of others.”

“And you offer to placate thieves and abductors, and expect them to act as if they were men of principle and honesty. That's foolish!” Nik struggled to control his temper. This tiny woman dared challenge his every word, treating him as if he had no thoughts of anyone but himself.

“
This
is why I dinnae wish you to come with us,” she snapped. “You're brazen, bold, and ridiculously impractical.” She almost spat the last word.

Stewart sent Nik a sympathetic look, while Rurik seemed to be fighting back a grin.

Nik swallowed his temper and bit out, “We see this situation through very different lenses.”

“Aye. I see it with common sense and reason, and am willing to do what I must to keep two innocent people safe, nae matter the cost to myself. You, meanwhile, only wish to ride to the rescue as if this were a play of some sort.”