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  For some reason this made Maggie sniff all the louder. The Chief looked at Connor with sad condemnation in his eyes.

  “For five years I have loved Maggie like my own daughter, but I cannot break the rules, not even for kin. Once you leave the clan of Heaven’s Court, there’s no coming back. When ye take Maggie away tonight, she becomes an outsider to us. Now give us a minute alone so we can make our farewells in private. Get the hell out of here, Connor.”

  Connor waited on the unlit doorstep, feeling like the cat that had been put out for the night. He wondered idly if there was some sort of ritual to be performed when you broke from the clan. Oaths made in blood, secrets sworn on a human skull never to be revealed.

  Annoyed, he set down Maggie’s silly parasol and walked around the side of the house, half hoping to peek into the parlor. He was anxious to return home to find out if there’d been any news of Sheena.

  The sound of leaves rustling and a soft curse caught his ear. He sidestepped a weed-infested vegetable plot and walked quietly to the back of the house.

  A man clad in dark clothing was in the process of climbing up an ivy trellis toward a second-story window.

  An unpleasant tug of realization tightened the nerves of Connor’s scalp. The man was scaling the ivy toward Maggie’s bedroom window like a lover sneaking an hour with the woman forbidden him. Or was he not a friend at all, but a stranger with something more sinister in mind?

  Was this one of the men who’d kidnapped Sheena?

  Connor eased out of his coat and crept up to the trellis, experimentally testing its weight with his foot. As he suspected, it wouldn’t hold him. Damn, the warped wood felt too fragile to bear even the intruder. He gave it a powerful shake.

  Another curse broke the silence. A shower of dry leaves hit Connor on the head. Then suddenly the man on the trellis was treading air, arms flailing, and falling backward like a rotten apple shaken from a branch.

  He landed at Connor’s feet, swearing violently, entangled in the remnants of the shattered trellis. Connor stared down at him in thoughtful silence. The man was young and good-looking, clutching a bouquet of beheaded flowers to his chest. He didn’t look like much of a threat, either.

  “Hell.” He sat up, looking dazed and disgusted. “Bloody hell. Damn stinking trellis.”

  “You should have used a ladder,” Connor said.

  The man jumped to his feet, startled to see another figure in the shadows. “Who the devil are you?” he demanded in indignation.

  Connor stepped forward, towering over him by half a foot. “That’s a question I should be asking you.”

  The man looked Connor up and down before apparently deciding cooperation was in his best interests. “Liam MacDougall,” he said reluctantly, cradling his bruised elbow. “Who the bloody blazes are you? You’re not one of the clan.”

  Connor debated whether he should use restraint to talk the matter through, or simply obey a very tempting impulse to knock the little idiot senseless. “Why were you trying to break into Miss Saunders’s window?”

  “Why should I tell you?”

  Connor gave him a malevolent smile. “Because I’m going to hurt you very badly if you don’t.”

  “I wasn’t trying to break in,” Liam said in a dejected voice. “I was going to break Maggie out. The Chief refuses to let me court her, and there’s a rumor that she’s being taken off by another man, that she’s gotten herself into some kind of trouble and has to leave the country.”

  Connor glanced up at the darkened window. “What kind of trouble?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say.” He brushed himself off, releasing a sigh of self-importance. “All I can reveal is that it has something to do with a ring of French spies.”

  “And you took it upon yourself to save her from this international intrigue?”

  “Aye.” Liam nodded uncertainly. “That’s right.”

  Connor narrowed his eyes. “Let me see if I understand. You were risking your neck to save Miss Saunders from enemy agents using”—he gestured to Liam’s left hand—“a bunch of headless flowers as a weapon?”

  “Not exactly,” Liam said with an offended look. “The flowers were for the wedding. I hoped we could elope. I’ve just taken a commission in the Horse Guard, and thought Maggie could live with my family in Glasgow. Mother is going to fuss at first of course, but that will change after the baby comes.”

  “The baby?” Connor said in a startled voice.

  Liam looked embarrassed. “That’s what usually comes after a honeymoon, isn’t it?”

  “Sometimes before.”

  “Yes, well, I thought if I left Maggie with a baby to look after, it would take her mind off more unpleasant things.”

  “Such as a ring of French spies?”

  “That, and how much she was missing me.”

  Connor shook his head. “Romeo couldn’t have done any better. Damn bad luck about the trellis giving way—”

  Liam cursed.

  “And the unfortunate fact that you’re too late to save her.”

  “You mean she’s gone?” Liam said in panic.

  “Going even as we speak.”

  “Oh, my God.” Liam leaned back against the shredded trellis, bereft and pale. “Now what am I going to do?”

  “I suppose you’ll have to find another damsel in distress.”

  “That isn’t what I meant.” Liam sounded terrified. “I won’t be able to get out of here unless Maggie shows me the way. I’m a dead man. These flowers will adorn my grave.”

  Connor lifted his brow. “How did you manage to get in, lad?”

  “Janet. The little witch. She charged me twenty pounds, too.”

  Connor tried to look sympathetic. “We can’t put a price on love, can we? Anyway, take my advice, Liam, and try to sneak out of here however you can. If the Chief catches you, it won’t be a pretty picture.”

  “You’re telling me. Damn it, I’d like to get my hands on the bastard who’s taking her away. Here.” He shoved what was left of the bouquet at Connor. “Perhaps you can use these. They’re no bloody good to me where I’m going.”

  He stomped off toward the back gate, swearing and pausing once to glance up wistfully at Maggie’s window. Connor watched him with amusement and something else that felt annoyingly like jealousy. Which of course it wasn’t. Hell, the last thing he needed was to play intermediary between two star-crossed lovers with all the trouble he already had on his hands.

  “I shouldn’t have interfered,” he said aloud, staring down at the broken trellis.

  “Is that you, my lord?” a soft voice whispered behind him. Connor turned to stare at Maggie as she walked cautiously through the garden. “Who are you talking to?” she asked, lifting her veil.

  He caught her arm before she could trip over the trellis. He had every intention of telling her the truth. God forbid that his position as her protector took on any further significance. “It was—”

  “Oh—oh!” She brought her hands to her face, noticing the remnants of the splintered wood at her feet. “You caught an intruder, didn’t you?”

  “Well, he—”

  “He was climbing the trellis to my window, and you interrupted him.” She grabbed his arm and gave it a grateful squeeze. “If it hadn’t been for you, he would have broken into my bedchamber and done God only knows what.”

  Her blue eyes shone with admiration in the moonlight. Her breasts pressed against his hand, reminding him how close he’d come last night to taking her, how much he still wanted to. She was like a maddening melody he couldn’t get out of his mind. “You weren’t in your bedchamber,” he said slowly. “He would have broken in to find an empty room.”

  “But he didn’t know that when you pounced on him. Look at that trellis, my lord. He must have put up a fierce fight. You weren’t hurt, were you?”

  Connor hid the flowers behind his back, seriously tempted to leave her misconceptions alone. “Quite frankly, there wasn’t much of a fight. I shook him o
ff the trellis, he fell, and then he ran off.”

  “You frightened him away, and you didn’t even have to hit him.”

  Connor swallowed hard, wondering why her unwarranted praise should please him. He was accustomed to flattery and flirtation. A compliment for a good deed he hadn’t even committed was a novelty. She was twenty-three, he remembered suddenly, and a man had wanted to elope with her. Had she cared about Liam MacDougall?

  “Miss Saunders, I must be honest with you.”

  “Of course you must,” Maggie said graciously. “A man of your integrity could be nothing else.”

  “The intruder was—”

  There were loud footsteps behind them, then the Chief bellowed, “Yer escort is ready, Connor. Are ye takin’ her away or not?”

  Connor turned involuntarily toward the house. “Yes, I’m taking her.”

  Maggie’s gaze dropped to the straggly flowers in his hand. “Another bouquet for me?” she said softly, raising her eyes to his. “You must have picked them yourself in the dark. I don’t know why you pretend to be so mean. That is the sweetest gesture.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “You’re far too modest,” Maggie said. “I should have known you would keep your word about protecting me, although I have to admit that until this moment I had my doubts about this whole situation.”

  “I have my doubts too, Miss Saunders.”

  “I never doubted your ability to protect me,” Maggie added, as if afraid she’d insulted him. “Only your willingness.”

  The Chief shouted at them again.

  “Should we tell him about the intruder?” Maggie whispered.

  Connor snagged her arm, herding her back toward the house. The last thing he needed was to get embroiled in an illegal manhunt for a misguided suitor. “I don’t think he’ll trouble you again. Let’s just get out of here. I still have to pack before we leave for the Highlands.”

  “Did you get a look at him?” she asked anxiously. “Do you think it was one of the kidnappers?”

  “It wasn’t one of the kidnappers. It was Liam MacDougall.” He waited after he’d dropped that bombshell to gauge her reaction, and he had to admit he was gratified by the utter blankness on her face.

  “Who? Oh—Liam. What was that idiot doing on the trellis?”

  Connor smirked. “Not exactly an encouraging response for a man who risked his neck to elope with you.”

  “Elope with me?” Maggie looked shocked. “But I hardly know him. In fact, I only met him twice while I was tutoring his niece.”

  “Then you won’t mind missing the idyllic life of maternity and living with his mama that he had planned for you.”

  Maggie frowned in suspicion. “You didn’t hurt him, did you?”

  “I didn’t lay a blessed finger on him. Can we go now?” Maggie didn’t argue with him. She glanced back thoughtfully over her shoulder at the trellis that lay in pieces on the ground. His lordship was obviously in control of the situation and took his promise to protect her to heart, which made her feel a little better about being alone with him.

  It still didn’t answer her concerns about the attraction smoldering between them, the sparks that ignited whenever she looked into his face. And it didn’t alter the inherent danger in entrusting her life to a man who took what he wanted, who possessed the predatory instincts of a lion, and who from the start hadn’t exactly made a secret of his sexual interest in her. His professional success hadn’t been achieved on mere intellectual skill but on a combination of physical presence and calculated aggression. He had proved himself to be the most powerful male animal in the pride.

  While he was guarding her, Maggie would have to be on guard against him.

  He stopped abruptly. “From this moment forward you will do everything I tell you.”

  Maggie stared up at his hard face, realizing again how much she admired the way he took command of the situation. “Everything?”

  “Yes,” he said. “You see, I’m used to people obeying me, lass. It’s one of the privileges of power.”

  “Which you intend to wield.”

  “Aye.” Amusement glinted in his eyes. “I’ll do the wielding, you do the yielding. That’s the way I like it.”

  The Chief slipped on his spectacles at the parlor window to watch them leave the court. Both Connor and Maggie wore blindfolds which would be removed only when they reached the outskirts of the sanctuary.

  His little French lassie was an outsider now. She had broken from the clan.

  He turned back into the room, his huge shoulders slumped in dejection. “The Devil’s Advocate has taken our angel away, and she’s gone willingly too,” he murmured, sliding a finger under his glasses to wipe the corner of his eye. “I never thought to see the day.”

  The young girl sitting on the hearthstone leaped up to fling herself into his arms. “Don’t be sad, Papa. You still have me.”

  “Aye, lass,” he said ruefully. “Isn’t that a consolation?”

  Chapter

  16

  Maggie had made another serious mistake.

  The journey into the Highlands with Connor Buchanan had taken on hazards she’d never anticipated. As they veered northward off the Stirling Road into uncivilized terrain, he’d shed the trappings of refinement like a pair of socks, the little things that mattered so much to a person of her upbringing. Little things like carrying on a polite conversation and giving her bouquets of battered flowers.

  He shaved only when the mood struck him, which judging by the stubble on his square jaw, wasn’t very often. He let his long hair loose over his shoulders. Between endless stretches of silence, he communicated to her with incoherent grunts and unfathomable looks which she caught when he thought she wasn’t watching. Those looks made her shiver. They made her feel rather like a primitive woman who had been singled out by a hunter for mating purposes.

  When they stopped, it wasn’t to rest or admire the rugged scenery, the mauve-swathed hills or castle ruins, or to dine on fresh venison. It was for Connor to harass the local authorities or interrogate an innkeeper about his sister. He wielded his authority like a whip.

  Maggie wondered how long a person of her refinement could tolerate the discomfort of traveling with him. The coach just couldn’t seem to hold his restless energy. Not to mention his sheer physical being. His muscular legs were everywhere, and she had banged up against his right shoulder more times than she could count. Slamming into a body like his hurt. She suspected it left bruises.

  The weather added another element of misery to their journey, cold and misty with rain on the horizon. The coachman, eager to reach their destination in record time, had decided to make a “detour” onto an abandoned coffin route.

  The detour included hitting every rut, rock, and log that had lain on the Highland track since God was a boy.

  But the worst part was that Maggie knew they were being followed, and Connor acted as if he hadn’t noticed, even though she reminded him of that fact at least three times an hour.

  “Call it a sixth sense, my lord, but there was something a little too familiar about that swineherd coming over the hill.”

  Claude, on the opposite seat, was sound asleep and snoring lightly. Daphne had cuddled up to Connor’s side, a situation he barely tolerated. Connor himself didn't bestir himself to respond. He was rudely pretending to read the Scottish Gazette. She knew he was only pretending because he hadn’t turned the page all day.

  It was an affront to good manners. She reminded herself that no self-respecting de Saint-Evremond should have to suffer such treatment. “Excuse me.” She tapped her gloved knuckles lightly on the back of the newspaper. “Aren’t you at all concerned about the swineherd? There was something very suspicious about his eyes.”

  Connor buried his nose in the paper only to look up involuntarily as the coach ploughed into a rut. Maggie bounced forward, to the opposite seat, then shot straight back into Connor’s lap.

  He groaned as if she had mortally injured hi
m with the impact. Then, as the coach gave another jolt, he put his arm around her waist to prevent her from flying forward again.

  Maggie was astonished at how good it felt to settle back against his chest. It was also reassuring to learn that, despite his appalling rudeness, he was willing to protect her from harm when necessary. After all, it didn’t matter what the man said or didn’t say. Only what he did.

  “Thank you,” she said in a low, embarrassed voice. “I won’t forget this.”

  Connor never knew exactly what the woman was talking about, but he did know that she talked too much and if she landed in his lap one more time, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions. She was far too soft and feminine. She smelled too delicious to resist. She was relentless in her quest to drive him to distraction.

  The coach rocked to a teeth-jarring stop. Connor’s grip on her tightened, and she clung to him like a wild rose that grew against a castle wall, fragrant and tempting if a man didn’t mind a few thorns. He tried to pretend her derriere wasn’t pressing into his privates, that a man of his experience ought to have some control over when he became aroused.

  The coachman came to the door before Connor had shifted her back onto the seat. Daphne wiggled under his arm, determined to be included in his attention. Claude snored on.

  “Sorry about the rut, sir,” the coachman shouted. “It’s this damned mist. Thick as porridge. A man canna see his own hands in front of his face.” To demonstrate, he waved his fingers at the window.

  Connor tugged his newspaper out from between himself and the girl on his lap, shredding it in half in the process. “Well, be quick about it this time. I don’t want to be sitting here after dark.”

  “No, sir. Of course not, sir. I was wonderin’ though if ye could all empty the coach. Just until I get us out of this rut.”

  Connor eased Maggie off his leg. He could smell the whisky on the blasted man’s breath through the window. “He’s a damned drunkard,” he said to himself, wondering what else could go wrong. “I should never have listened to Ardath when she insisted I hire him. Everyone get out.”