Page 8 of Some Like It Wild
Her movements brisk and efficient, Pamela accepted the rope from Sophie’s hands and surrendered the delicate pistol into her sister’s keeping.
Connor snorted. “The lass can’t weigh much over five stone soaking wet. I doubt she has the strength to pull the trigger.”
“Not a chance I’d want to take,” Pamela replied, disappearing behind him, rope in hand. “Unless you’re a gambling man, that is. Sophie has always had the twitchy temperament of a cat. I wouldn’t make any sudden movements if I were you.”
“If you really wanted to put the fear of God in me, why didn’t you just give her a parasol?” Connor muttered as Pamela captured both of his wrists in her small but sturdy hands and began to wrap the length of rope around them.
After securing her knot with a tidy jerk, she retrieved the elegant little pistol from her sister and pressed it against his ribs. She gave him a slight shove, urging his feet into motion. But after only a few steps, she was the first to falter.
She bit her bottom lip and peered down the darkened road. Apparently, now that she had him, she wasn’t quite sure what to do with him. Connor had several suggestions, any one of which would probably earn him a well-deserved pistol clout to the back of the head.
As the wind rose, sighing mournfully through the branches of the pines and bringing with it the unmistakable scent of rain, she was finally forced to turn to him, her reluctance visible. “It’s only a matter of time before the coachman returns and brings the authorities with him. Is there somewhere nearby we could go to pass the night? Some sort of cottage or shelter?”
Connor ducked his head to hide his smile behind a curtain of hair, hardly able to believe his good fortune. Perhaps fate wasn’t such a heartless witch after all.
“I might know of such a place. But you’ll need to fetch all your things. I’ve a horse waitin’ in the trees over there big enough to carry you and your sister.”
“What about you?” she asked.
“It’s not far. I can walk.”
“Walk? Orrun?” She narrowed her eyes at him, struggling to look menacing. “I should hate to have to shoot you in the back, you know.”
“Why would I want to run? Now that you’ve got me all trussed up, I’m hopin’ the two of you will decide to have your way with me.”
Her blush gave him a wicked thrill of satisfaction. “I think not,” she said lightly. “As I told my sister, I’ve heard you Highlanders prefer your females to be more docile.”
He leaned down, bringing his lips dangerously close to her ear before whispering, “You heard wrong.”
Apparently,not farwas Scottish for “we might arrive by dawn if we don’t perish from the cold first” withbig horsebeing synonymous with “shaggy monster the size of a small dragon.” Pamela wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if the massive ebony beast lumbering beneath her and Sophie had sprouted wings and began to breathe jets of fire from his flared nostrils. Although the creature seemed perfectly content to plod along at a demure pace, Pamela feared he was just biding his time, patiently waiting for his master’s signal to buck both she and her sister over the nearest cliff.
An exhausted Sophie had already dozed off against Pamela’s back and was snoring in her ear. Fortunately, the horse was also large enough to bear the two modest trunks they’d rescued from the coach. Trunks that contained the remainder of their earthly belongings. Securing the trunks to the horse’s broad flanks had been no easy feat without the brawny Highlander’s help, but they’d finally managed it.
Celebrated actor John Kemble might be able to afford to bring real horses and even the occasional elephant on stage over at the Royal Opera House, but Pamela’s previous experience with horses had been limited to those of the stick variety. The beast seemed large and dangerous and unpredictable to her…much like the man leading them deeper into the forbidding shadows of the forest and farther away from civilization with each of his long, confident strides.
She scowled at his broad back. Although their lengthy trek had led them over some wild and rocky terrain, he might have been enjoying an afternoon stroll through the pastoral climes of Hyde Park. Judging from his casual saunter, he could probably walk all night without breaking a sweat—even while leading a horse with both hands bound behind his back. As they scaled a particularly daunting hill that had Pamela clinging to the beast’s shaggy mane for dear life, he even had the temerity to break into a whistle. The cheery notes drifted back to her ears, borne by the brisk wind.
“What, pray you, is that tune, sir?” she finally called out, hoping to silence him.
“A wee ditty they call ‘The Maiden and the Highwayman,’” he replied.
She snorted. “Given your people’s dour dispositions and fondness for the romance of tragedy, I’m sure they pledged their eternal love to each other, then met some gruesome and bloody end.”
“On the contrary. The highwayman seduced the maiden into his bed only to discover she was a lusty wench who couldn’t get enough of him.” He tossed her a roguish smile over his shoulder. “He robbed her of her maidenhead and she stole his heart.”
Pamela was thankful her cheeks had already been rubbed raw by the wind so he wouldn’t see her blush. He resumed both his pace and his cheerful whistling, bringing the tune to an end with a trilled flourish.
Just when she had given up any hope of them ever reaching their destination, the trees began to thin and the wind to roar. They emerged from the sheltering boughs of the pines onto a broad shelf of grassy meadow.
Pamela gasped, the breath snatched right out of her lungs by the greedy fingers of the wind and the unexpected sight before her. She had served her entire life at the altar of make-believe without ever once imagining that such a place could exist in the real world.
It was as if the castle before them had risen out of the sea itself, flung heavenward on its island of stone by some mighty pagan god. Moonbeams slanted through the gusting clouds, painting its walls, turrets and towers in a glowing wash of silver. She blinked at the magnificent sight, wondering if she, like Sophie, had somehow dozed off and slipped into a dream.
But a dream wouldn’t explain the gooseflesh rippling across her skin or the briny scent of the sea in the air. It was no longer just the roar of the wind she was hearing, but also the thunder of the waves hurling themselves against the jagged cliffs surrounding the castle.
She had expected the highwayman to lead them to some ramshackle barn or perhaps one of the many abandoned crofters’ huts they had passed on their journey. She most certainly hadn’t expected…this.
Sophie awoke with a start. Her snore deepened to a wheeze as she too caught sight of their destination. “Oh, my!” she whispered. “Perhaps he’s not truly a robber at all, but a king of some sort.”
