Man of My Dreams (18 page)

They spent their last night of unmarried bliss in the town of Carlisle on the English side of the border. The next morning, Devlin, in one of the rare times he’d spoken to Megan voluntarily on this trip, said they’d be married before noon that very day, since Gretna Green was supposedly just over the border. Megan thought to wonder aloud if their Somerset driver could find the place—he’d already got them lost twice—but decided to keep her mouth shut this once.

With the intimidating moment so near to hand, she was feeling a bit subdued, at least in no mood to start an argument. She was afraid the mood wouldn’t pass, either, but grow worse. It wasn’t just prenuptial nerves, though she definitely had those, too. But she’d
been thinking too much the past few days about the unbelievable amount of control Devlin was going to have over her life after today. With any other man, that wouldn’t be a worry, but Devlin…he didn’t even like her. He didn’t want to marry her. And he was going to make her life a living hell.

“You aren’t going to cry, are you?”

She glanced over to find those turquoise eyes intently studying her, and wondered how long he’d been doing so. “Certainly not.”

“It looked like you were about to.”

“I’m not, I tell you,” she insisted, but her lower lip was trembling.

“Is the thought of marriage to me that horrible, Megan?” he asked gently.

“Yes!” she said, and burst into tears, hiding her face in her hands.

So she didn’t see his pained expression, or the firm resolve that took its place. And it wasn’t until she quieted down to sniffles that she heard, “I don’t know what you’re blubbering about. I can assure you ours will be a marriage in name only.”

She glanced up in surprise to demand, “What does that mean?”

“It means that I found making love to you as unsatisfactory as you did, so we won’t be repeating that mistake.”

Megan stiffened, her cheeks suffusing with color. So she could now add no-longer-desired to her list of complaints against him?

“That suits me just fine.”

“I thought it might.”

Before either of them could add to that, the coach rolled over something that sent them nearly bouncing out of their seats, there was a yell of alarm from the driver, and then, incredibly, the coach seemed to be sliding sideways.

“What the—?” Devlin began, only to end in a shout to Megan. “Get down!”

“Get down where?”

“The floor!”

“Don’t be—”

He didn’t give her a chance to finish her protest, reaching over to yank her to the floor, where he joined her, on top of her actually, and that so surprised her, she had nothing more to say for the moment. But Devlin didn’t stay there. The crazy sliding picked up speed; then suddenly the coach was tilting at an odd angle, and Devlin was thrown to the side, hard against the wood casing of the seat. Megan followed him, rolled over him and up onto the seat, an easier, cushioned landing, until she crumbled headfirst into the side panel as the coach settled and was finally still.

“Are you all right, Megan?”

She wasn’t quite sure. It took her a moment to get her skirt out of the way so she could right herself, then another moment to ascertain that she’d merely lost her bonnet.

“I think so, yes,” she replied. “And you? Was that your head I heard crack?”

“Very funny,” Devlin snorted as he sat up himself. “I believe it was one of the wheels
you heard. Stay put while I investigate.”

The coach wasn’t lying completely on its side, but almost. When Devlin opened the lower door, it hit the ground beneath it, leaving only about a foot to squeeze through, not enough room for a man of his size. The other door had to be thrown back and crawled out of, but he managed that easily enough. Megan had a less easy time of it just trying to stick her head out of the upper door to see what was going on. She wasn’t tall enough to stand there and look out, but had to pull herself up to the opening.

The coach was sitting in a deep ditch off the side of the road, which ran down a small hill. Coming down the hill could have accounted for the sliding they’d experienced, only it wasn’t that steep a hill. And looking toward the top of it now, Megan could see that something wet covered the surface. It was that wetness that Devlin and the driver were both presently investigating.

Megan looked further around. At least the horses were all right. Even Caesar was still standing up on the road, but only because his lead rope had been long enough not to drag him into the ditch with the coach. And apparently they’d have help in a moment, for she could see three men riding up the hill toward them.

Her arms gave out then and she slipped down to sit wedged in the lower corner again. She could hear their help arriving, and a pretty
thick brogue. Scotsmen, then. She hadn’t realized they’d crossed the border.

After a few moments more, she grew impatient waiting for Devlin to return and get her out of there. The lower-door opening had been too narrow for him, but it wasn’t for her. She squeezed right out to the ground, coming out on the down side of the coach. Crawling out of the ditch was another matter, with skirts to hamper her.

“Pig’s fat?” she heard with a laugh. “Can ye imagine that, Gilleonan?”

“Some farmer got careless taking his fat tae market, I dinna doubt. What d’ye think, Lachlan?”

“Oh, aye, there’s that, tae be sure. There’s also reavers bold enough tae set traps for the unwary in broad daylight these days.”

“Reavers?” That from the coachman.

There was amusement in the voice that explained. “Robbers, mon. Where’re you from that you havena heard of Scottish reavers? ’Tis a pleasant enough activity for laird and crofter alike, though usually enjoyed late of a night.”

There was a bit more laughter that Megan frowned over. Scots humor was definitely beyond her, but then she wouldn’t be in this country long enough to need to understand the oddities of its people.

“D’ye smell a trap, then, Lachlan?”

“Blast you, Ranald, dinna be in such a hurry. When I smell a trap, I’ll be letting you know. Give these gentlemen a hand now.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Megan was dusting off her hands, having finally achieved the road, when she heard Devlin say that. She stood behind everyone, unnoticed. The Scotsmen had yet to dismount. All she could see of them was some very broad backs. Devlin, on the other hand, or at least his face, which was all she could see of him beyond the horses, was looking too serious by half—which didn’t explain to her satisfaction why he was refusing the Scotsmen’s help.

“And why not?” she asked, drawing his eyes to her, and turning three horses about.

“Bloody hell, can’t you ever do what you’re told, Megan?” Devlin demanded as he pushed his way through the horses to confront her.

She blinked at the amount of anger she detected in his tone. “Apparently not,” she replied stiffly.

“Then try it now and get back in the coach,” he hissed so only she might hear.

“After I just fought my way out of it, no thanks to you?”

“Megan—”

“No,” she cut in. “You’re being unreasonable as usual. The coach has to be righted, doesn’t it? Do you expect me to be bounced around in it while it is?”

“I expect you to do as you’re told.”

“Well, we aren’t married yet, Devlin Jefferys, so you can save your ordering—”

“Och, but those are pretty words. So you’re no’ a wife yet, darlin’?”

The question came as a horse unexpectedly nosed its way between Devlin and Megan, so smoothly done that Devlin was nudged out of the way, the animal completely separating them now. Megan looked up as a giant of a man slipped from the horse to land next to her, immediately reached for her hand, and bent over it, just brushing the back of her knuckles with his lips. Her instinct was to snatch her hand back and upbraid the fellow, but when he straightened, his sheer size gave her pause, as well as his startling good looks.

He had light green eyes and the darkest auburn hair that had mere hints of red glimmering in the sunlight. His well-tailored navyblue jacket fit snugly over shoulders likely twice the width of her own, and a barrellike chest, yet it seemed to be, amazingly, all lean muscle. Legs like tree trunks were covered in buff trousers and knee-high riding boots. An old-fashioned frilly cravat lent an abundance of lace to his throat. He was quite the second most handsome man she had ever encountered, and he was staring back at her as if transfixed by what he saw.

“Faith and be—such flaming glory, and the face of an angel tae be going with it,” he said, his eyes touching on her hair, then on every inch of her face.

Megan automatically brought a hand up to straighten a bonnet that wasn’t there, was still in the coach. She was flustered, but in a pleasant way, not accustomed to such boldness in
a man who obviously found her attractive
—including her red hair
. The urge was strong to glance at Devlin and say, “Did you hear that? Flaming glory—ha!” but she managed to restrain herself.

“Lachlan MacDuell, at your service,” the Scotsman was saying. “Can I be offering you a ride tae—Gretna Green, would it be?”

“Why, yes—I mean, that is our destination.”

He grinned widely, quite an engaging grin. “They say a great many eloping couples dinna make it tae Gretna Green because they’d ne’er spent so much time together as they do getting here, and by the time they’re getting here, they despise each other. Dare I hope that is your case, darlin’?”

He was too perceptive by half, but Megan wasn’t about to air her grievances to a stranger. “You may not. And I’ll thank you—”

“Are ye smelling that trap yet, Lachlan?” one of his companions called out.

“Not
yet
, Gilleonan,” Lachlan replied with clear impatience. “Canna you see I’m courting here?”

Megan blinked. Gilleonan shot back, “Nay, it doesna look that way tae me.”

At which point Lachlan dropped down to one knee. “
Now
does it?”

“Oh, aye, now it does indeed. Will ye be long at it, then?”

“As long as—”

“Not long a’tall,” Devlin interjected as he came around the Scotsman’s horse.

Lachlan sighed, but other than that, he completely ignored Devlin’s presence and continued to stare at Megan. She in turn was embarrassed, yet undeniably flattered.

“Do get up, Mr. MacDuell,” she urged.

“I canna, no’ until you ken you’ve stolen my heart, darlin’.”

“I certainly didn’t mean to.”

He grinned at her. “Aye, I know you canna help it, but there it is, in your hands. So I’ll be plighting my troth in the proper manner, and you’ll be so impressed you’ll be giving me the answer I’m hoping tae hear.”

She couldn’t help grinning back at the outrageous fellow. “I will?”

“Aye, that you will. But then look at your choices, darlin’, a stuffy Englishmon or a bonny Scot who’ll give you laughter, joy, and ne’er a dull moment.”

Megan laughed. “You can’t seriously be proposing marriage.”

“I am,” Lachlan assured her. “Is that no’ what you’re here for?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Marry me. I swear you’ll no’ regret it.”

Megan was loath to disappoint the charming fellow, but disappoint him she must. “I—”

“This absurdity has gone on long enough,” Devlin cut in tersely. “The lady is marrying me, Mr. MacDuell, with her father’s blessing.”

Lachlan came slowly to his feet. Devlin was tall, but the Scot had a good four inches on him and a lot more brawn. And he likely thought
his sheer size ought to make Devlin back off. It should have, but it didn’t.

“That’s Laird MacDuell tae you, English. And what does the lass have tae say about it?”

Megan jumped in before Devlin answered that for her, too. “He’s right, Lord MacDuell. I struck a deal of sorts with him that is binding.”

“But do you love him?”

“That, sir, is none of your business,” Megan retorted indignantly.

Lachlan laughed heartily. “But I’m making it my business, darlin’, and I’ll interpret your answer as I see fit. You’re needing more time tae rethink the matter, and that I can give you.”

Megan frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“Nay, I’ll be begging yours, I dinna doubt, for stealing you away.
Now
, Gilleonan.”

Megan was so angry she could spit. They were thieves, highwaymen—Scottish reavers, as they termed themselves. What transpired after Lachlan MacDuell’s startling statement proved it beyond a doubt. Pistols had been immediately drawn, and Devlin’s purse had been demanded.

But Lachlan had surprised his companions in crime in the last instance. “Leave the rest,” he’d ordered as he tossed a struggling Megan onto his mount. “I’ve found all the treasure I’m needing today.”

“But what about the horse?” the one called Gilleonan had protested. “There’s a fortune tae be made in selling an animal like this.”

Lachlan had stared at Caesar for a long moment before he chuckled. “Leave him. I’m
feeling generous today. But spread the sand, Ranald. I dinna want tae be disabling vehicles I’m no’ here tae plunder.”

Devlin had known what was going to happen, had tried to get Megan out of notice and harm’s way before the reavers owned up to what they had come for. But she’d stood there and argued with him until it was too late, until she’d drawn the leader’s amorous attention. Laird MacDuell indeed. A pretension, no doubt, and irrelevant under the circumstances. She’d been abducted. Devlin and the coachman had been bound hand and foot and rolled down the ditch.

Devlin’s one bit of resistance, slamming a fist into young Gilleonan’s face, hadn’t got him shot, thank God, but it did get him a good-sized headache from Ranald’s pistol butt cracking against the back of his head. A hard head, since the blow had merely dazed him, rather than rendering him senseless, and his shouted curses and promises of retribution could be heard as they rode away, again irrelevant, since he couldn’t give chase any more than Megan could get loose of the thick arms locked about her waist.

She was indeed furious, abduction a new experience she could have done without. There was nothing romantic or exciting about it. The wild ride over rough terrain that did not include roads quickly became quite torturous, especially since Megan absolutely refused to
relax against her abductor, and was also sitting at a twisted angle in front of him. When he’d make a sharp turn, the breath would be squeezed out of her—damned Scot didn’t know his own strength—but she said nothing, saving up her complaints to let him have them with both barrels once they alighted—if they ever alighted.

She became quite cold after the sun set. The horses were merely plodding along now considering the speed they’d given throughout the afternoon. She was beginning to wonder if the Scots meant to run their animals to death when they finally stopped and dismounted by a small stream. In quick order a fire was started, some food was dug out of saddlebags, and blankets were tossed on the ground. Camp. They actually meant to sleep—outdoors.

Megan groaned as she was lifted off MacDuell’s horse, the stiffness in her joints screaming to attention. But even though she could barely stand on her own, she immediately slapped away the hands that had helped her down. Lachlan was amused by that and even chuckled. Megan stepped back so she could better scowl at him.

“You won’t get away with this,” she said.

“I already have,” he replied cheerfully.

“Just where do you think you’re taking me?”

“Home.”

A lot that brief statement told her, so she tried a different tack, warning him, “I won’t stay there, wherever it is.”

“You’re no’ getting into the spirit of the thing,” he complained. “I’m doing you a favor, giving you this opportunity tae devote a wee bit more thought tae your choice of husband.”

“What you’re doing is showing me that I prefer an uncouth Englishman, who isn’t the least bit stuffy, by the way, to an uncouth Scotsman.”

He clucked his tongue at her. “You’re angry wi’ me, I take it?”

“Absolutely.”

“But you shouldna be, darlin’. How else can you make the right choice unless you get tae know me better?” She just stared at him, prompting him to add, “Dinna fash yourself, lass. You’ll no’ be hurt, I swear it.”

“I already hurt all over. Do you Scots
always
run your horses to ground?”

He grinned at the direction in which her complaints had turned. “They’re sturdy mounts, bred for endurance, no’ like your fat English horses. It’s sorry I am that you’re a wee bit sore, but the speed was necessary.”

“You don’t really think you’re going to be followed, do you?” she scoffed.

“For you, darlin’, oh, aye, he’ll come—at least he’ll try tae find you. No mon in his right mind would give you up wi’out a fight. But I promise you he’ll no’ be having any luck. There isna a Scotsmon who can find me when I dinna want tae be found, much less an Englishmon.”

Which made Megan want to sit down on the ground and cry. She was supposed to have been married by now. Granted, nothing would have changed with Devlin insisting they’d be married in name only, but still, she couldn’t
not
marry with a baby on the way.

Lachlan was spreading a blanket on the ground for her. His two companions, neither as big as he was nor as finely turned out, were bemoaning the loss of Caesar loudly enough for Lachlan to hear—and disregard. He bowed, offering his hand to Megan to help her to sit. She pointedly ignored his hand and dropped stiffly to the blanket on her own.

“You’re no more than a common thief, aren’t you?” she asked boldly when he started to sit next to her.

He paused, but it was only a moment before he started laughing so hard he fell to his knees in front of her. “Common? Never, darlin’. There’ve been reavers in my family for generations gone by. So who am I tae deny such an honorable undertaking?”

There were hoots and snorts from his friends over that answer, which got them a scowl that lasted no longer than it took Lachlan to gaze at Megan again with another of his engaging grins.

“You actually see nothing wrong with stealing?” Megan ventured curiously.

“Och, now, I didnae say that. But you must know it’s been many centuries that the Scots and the English have had the pleasure of
raiding each other. I’ve merely started up the practice again.”

“You’re saying you only steal from the English?” she demanded, indignant on behalf of her countrymen.

He shrugged indifferently, pointing out, “We willna be reaching my home until tomorrow afternoon, so as you can see, I go out of my way tae make sure it’s only English pockets I’m emptying.”

“How patriotic of you,” she sneered. “There are no English near where you’re from?”

“A few. But can you no’ see my dilemma in that? I’d have tae stop every carriage tae demand, ‘Are you English, mon, or Scottish?’ But Scotsmen dinna like tae be detained for silly reasons like that, you ken. So ’tis much easier tae go where I’m guaranteed a great many English will be roaming, and that’s near the border.”

“To my own misfortune.”

“Nay, dinna say so, darlin’. You’re upset, naturally. I’m confused and amazed myself at the feelings you provoke in me as well. But dinna think I make a habit of absconding with bonny lassies. You’re the first.”

“Lucky me.”

He laughed at her continued sarcasm. “Nay, I’m the lucky one. You canna imagine how long I’ve been searching for a woman like you.”

Since he didn’t appear to be that old, no more than in his mid-twenties or thereabouts,
it couldn’t have been all that long, but Megan merely said, “You still haven’t gotten lucky, MacDuell, since I’m already spoken for.”

Which didn’t daunt him in the least. “You canna really want that sour-faced Sassenach,” he admonished with firm conviction.

“I most certainly can.”

“But you dinna love him,” he replied confidently. “That was as plain as—”

“Of course I love him. I love him so much I’m going to have his baby.”

He smiled, humoring her. “A fine goal that, tae have a mon’s bairn.”

“You mistake me,” she told him. “It’s not something intended for the future—well, it is, but it’s also an accomplished fact.”

She said that without the embarrassment she’d expected to feel. And his expression of surprise was worth all the discomfort she’d experienced in that race across the wilds of Scotland. Only it didn’t last long, and suddenly he was laughing uproariously. It took her a moment to realize the man didn’t believe her.

Now what?

The devil if I know. I thought you were convincing, by the way
.

Then why didn’t he believe me?

Maybe because he doesn’t want to
.

Well, that’s just dandy, isn’t it? He didn’t believe my lies either
.

What lies?

Notice I’m not laughing
.

But Megan was frowning at herself. Lachlan noticed and thought her displeasure was directed at him—which it would have been if she hadn’t gotten distracted by her deluded inner voice.

“I’m sorry, darlin’, but you must see how unlikely it is for a fine young lady like yourself tae be having a bairn afore you’re wed, especially the bairn of a mon you dinna even like.” Then suddenly he wasn’t amused anymore, his expression turning dark with suspicion. “Unless he—”

Megan caught the drift his thoughts had taken and cut them off before they were completed. “He didn’t, and I resent your even thinking it!”

“Och, now, there’s nae need tae be losing your temper,” he said with a degree of embarrassment.

“Losing it? I lost it this morning, you dense man. You had no right to steal me away from my fiancé. I was to be married today!”

Lachlan actually squirmed a bit, thinking she was getting near to tears, which he couldn’t abide. “You still can be. I’m sure we can find a kirk around here somewhere.”

“I won’t marry you! In fact, I demand that you take me back right now!”

“Courtin’s no’ going tae well, Lachlan?” Gilleonan asked straight-faced, though it was obvious the man was fighting not to laugh.

“I could’ve told ye kidnapped brides are a passel o’ trouble,” Ranald added.

Megan joined her scowl to Lachlan’s until both his friends turned back to face the fire. He then tried to smile at her, but she wasn’t having any more of that.

“Charm has its place, but this isn’t the place,” she said shortly. “Now, I’m sure you’re a nice man for a reaver. You might even make some girl a fine husband if you ever give up thieving. But it won’t be me.”

“Why dinna we sleep on it?” he said, as if her little speech wasn’t to be taken seriously.

“Why don’t you take me back instead?”

“Have a heart, lass. The horses couldna manage it even if I was of a mind tae let you go so soon.”

“So soon? Just how long will it take you to understand I mean what I say?”

He did grin this time. “After you admit I’d make a fine husband, reaver or no’.”

“Incorrigible,” she said in exasperation. “Absolutely beyond redemption, too. And I thought Devlin was pigheaded,” she added in a mumble for herself.

“What was that?”

“I’m not speaking to you anymore, so don’t say another word to me.”

“Then let me feed you and—”

“I won’t eat your food either.”

“Och, now, I willna let you starve, darlin’,” he said quite firmly.

Megan’s eyes narrowed, warning him clearly to forget whatever good intentions he had
about forcing her to eat. “Just try and stop me.”

“Faith, but you’re a stubborn lass,” he said with some exasperation of his own, but then he sighed. “Verra well, but when you get hungry, just tell me.”

She snorted and turned her back on him to lie down, hitting the blanket as if it were a soft mattress, regretting that bit of temper instantly as her hand throbbed. Damn, damn, damn. This had to be Devlin’s fault. If she gave it enough thought, she was sure she could find some way to blame him for her sorry plight, or at the very least, for not rescuing her. Never mind that he had been tied hand and foot. He should have been resourceful enough to get out of that and come after her.

Why don’t you consider getting out of this one on your own?

How?

You aren’t bound hand and foot. Once they’re asleep, you can just walk away
.

Are you under the mistaken impression that I know where the devil I am? I don’t, you know. I could wander about lost indefinitely and
really
starve
.

Or you could find help just around the corner
.

What corner? I’m out in the middle of nowhere, if you haven’t noticed
.

You won’t even consider it?

Certainly I will. I’ll be stuck in Scotland forever if I wait for Devlin to rescue me. But if I get lost and starve, it’ll be your fault
.

I didn’t just refuse food when my tummy was already growling
.

That was a matter of principle
.

What has principle got to do with escaping?

“MacDuell, I’m hungry.”