The Highland Duke Read online

  The lass straightened and brushed her hands as she regarded him. “You look awfully pale. Perhaps you should lie down.”

  There she went, trying to tell him what to do—and without her command being followed by a bloody Your Grace. With a groan, he cast his highborn difference aside. “Would you fill the flask with a bit more water? I still have a thirst.”

  “Very well.” She held up a slender finger. “But you must promise not to guzzle it this time. You’ll end up with a bellyache for certain.”

  “Och, my stomach is hewn of iron.” Geordie swiped his hand across his forehead and watched Akira pick up the flagon and retreat. She certainly posed a sight for a miserable patient, a sweet diversion to take his mind off the bloody throbbing in his thigh.

  Groaning, he forced himself to look away.

  A few bites to eat and a few tots of whisky, and he’d be well enough to ride. She could return to her family, and he could return to Huntly. The sooner he made it home, the sooner he’d be free from suspicion by Government troops.

  Licking his lips, he slipped his trembling fingers into his sporran and froze. He shifted his hand from side to side just to be sure. Jesus Christ, the silver flask bearing the family crest was still on the battlefield.

  “Mr. Geordie?” The lassie’s voice sounded anxious as her footsteps pattered into the cave.

  He shifted his gaze her way. “Aye?”

  “There are a dozen dragoons heading up the crag.”

  Chapter Five

  Jolting upright, Geordie cast the arisaid aside. “How much time do we have?” he asked through clenched teeth, trying to steady the spinning in his skull.

  Akira collected the pot of salve and quickly slipped it into her satchel. “Five minutes. Mayhap less.”

  “Christ.” Pushing to his knees, he stifled his urge to bellow. “Is the horse saddled?”

  “We don’t have a saddle, remember?” She reached for her arisaid and swung it over her shoulders. “If we hurry we can escape down the other side.”

  After shoving his dirk into its scabbard, Geordie swallowed against the bile churning in his gut and shoved himself to his feet. “I’d best go it alone from here.”

  “Are you certain?” She hastened to kick sand over the fire. “Do you think the dragoons will lock me in the pillory once I return home?”

  “They could, but ’tis not you they’re after. My guess is any punishment they might issue will be akin to a slap on the wrist. I’m certain of it.”

  “I don’t like that they came to my ma’s cottage looking for me.” Her voice was filled with uncertainty as she held out her satchel. “If you’re sure you don’t need me, take this. There’s food, a flint, and salve inside.”

  “My thanks…ah, for everything.” Agonizing pain like knives stabbing his leg tortured him when he took the bag. As fast as he could, he limped toward the cave entrance.

  She rushed alongside him. “I don’t think it is a good idea to send you out on your own—especially when you’re in terrible pain.”

  He didn’t have time to argue. “If you ride with me, you could be hurt.”

  “You’re in no condition to ride.” Ignoring him, she cupped her fingers over her sleeve and brushed it across his forehead. The cloth came away damp with his sweat.

  He jerked his head away, the motion making his head swim and his gut squelch. “I’ll be fine.”

  She slipped his arm over her shoulders and insisted on helping him outside. “What will you do if they catch you?”

  “I’ll not allow it.” Geordie fought against the pain as he collected the horse’s reins and led the gelding to a boulder. Any other day he could hop on an unsaddled pony without a mounting block. But not when his thigh sported a hole the diameter of an iron cattle prod.

  “You must apply the salve every hour until the wound scabs over,” Akira instructed. “Do not put undue stress on your leg, else it will start bleeding again.”

  He almost vomited as he flopped onto the horse stomach first and struggled to slip his good leg over.

  “Goodness, you’re whiter than snow.”

  Those words were the last he heard.

  * * *

  “Mr. Geordie?” Akira frantically shook the Highlander’s hand, trying to rouse him.

  “I think you were right, corporal. Someone’s been here for certain,” said a deep voice down below. The voice didn’t sound friendly at all; it sounded dark and nasally and full of venom. A man with a voice like that would never be lenient on a poor lass who tried to help a wounded Jacobite Highlander.

  A cold shudder coursed up the back of Akira’s arms.

  Dear Lord, they’ll hang him without blinking an eye.

  “Hold steady, ye wee beastie,” she whispered, grasping the reins and climbing onto the big boulder. Her hands shook like saplings in a gale. She’d ridden the horse to Dunkeld without issue—at a walk, of course. Without another moment to think, she mounted behind the Highlander, reached around him, and gave the reins a hearty slap. Where they were headed, who knew? Akira focused on one goal—run in any direction the soldiers were not.

  She hadn’t been to the far side of the outcropping, and now she knew why. The horse’s footing stuttered on the uneven and rocky ground. Devoid of trees, the crag plunged downward, far steeper than anything she’d ever traversed. Tightening her fists, Akira tugged on the reins to keep the horse at a walk, but rocks and debris showered down the sheer slope with their every step. The horse stumbled, moving his legs faster and faster. Her palms grew sweaty and the reins slipped, her breathing sped with the quickened cadence of the hoofbeats, while the unconscious man swayed in front of her.

  Merciful Moses, picking her way through the burn for a few miles was a lot different than slipping away from soldiers and running for her life. If she’d known this slope was so steep, she might have opted for another path.

  “Easy, laddie,” she urged, but her words were futile.

  Pinning his ears back, the horse jostled, then slipped and skidded toward an abrupt ledge.

  Squeezing with her legs, Akira tugged on the reins. The horse reared, shaking its head from side to side.

  “No,” she squeaked, trying not to shout.

  “There they are!” a dragoon yelled from above.

  Squeezing her legs tighter, Akira slapped the reins as hard as she could and ducked her head against Geordie’s back. “Haste, ye wee beastie!”

  A musket blasted.

  Akira’s entire body jolted.

  Geordie shifted.

  The horse broke into a full-on gallop—straight for the edge of a cliff. With nowhere to run, Akira closed her eyes, held on for dear life, and waited for death.

  Her stomach flew to her throat as the horse leapt. Akira prayed for her family and curled tight against Geordie’s back.

  The horse’s front hooves hit the ground with a jarring thud. His hindquarters absorbed the shock, and they sprang forward again and again. She kicked her heels, demanding a gallop faster than she’d ever ridden in her life. Only a miracle could explain how the gelding stayed on his feet while he continued to race down the sheer precipice.

  Frozen with fear, Akira managed to keep hold of the reins, her arms around Geordie while she clamped as tight as she could with her knees. Where were they headed? She stole a bobbing upward glance—west into the Highlands, country so rugged nary a soul in Dunkeld would dare to cross some of its peaks.

  * * *

  After the pair of Jacobites plunged down the mountainside on their suicidal quest, Captain Roderick Weaver pulled his horse to a stop at the precipice of the cliff with his men in his wake.

  “Did you have a look at that?” asked Corporal Snow.

  Sentinel Grey pointed his misfiring musket down the slope. “She’s a bloody sorceress, that one.”

  “Magic runs through her veins for certain,” said Sentinel Muldoon. “I’ll wager she’s a witch.”

  Roderick had seen a lot of foolhardy displays of horsemanship in his day,
but never one as reckless as what he’d just witnessed. How the lot of them didn’t end up with their necks broken was beyond him. “She’s either a witch or she’s crazier than a featherbrained hen without a roost.”

  “So, what do we do, sir? Is the Highlander worth our time?”

  “Bloody oath, I want that bastard’s head.” Roddy shifted his gaze to the corporal. “Those two embody all the ills of miserable Scotland.” He pulled his coat tighter at the collar. “’Tis bloody August and there’s a chill.”

  “Aye, it looks like rain,” said Grey.

  “That’s all we need.” Roddy returned his gaze to the undulating and rocky mountains to the west—nothing but barren cliffs and forested hillsides as far as the eye could see.

  “The marquis is expecting the regiment in Perth, sir.”

  “Yes, Corporal Snow, I’m well aware of our orders.” Making a decision, Roddy pointed. “Muldoon and Grey, you’ll ride with me. You, too, corporal. The rest of you head to Blair Atholl. Report to the marquis and tell him I’m chasing an escapee—someone I sense will be of great interest to the crown.”

  “Do you think it’s the duke?” asked Grey.

  “Mayhap. And if ’tis not he, I’ll reckon it is someone close to the duke—someone who, with enough convincing, would testify that the Duke of Gordon is a Jacobite loyalist.”

  Snow pointed down the path the fugitives had taken. “Are we following them up the mountains, captain?”

  Roddy chuckled. “I’m not insane. We’d be risking our necks for naught riding up into the Highlands even if it is summer.” He reined his horse toward the safer path. “We’ll ride around, catch them coming out of the western pass—if they survive.”

  Chapter Six

  While his body rocked back and forth, Geordie fought to open his eyes, but his eyelids were too heavy. His limbs were weak. Lithe arms surrounded him as he hunched over a horse’s mane. His head throbbed, he shivered with chills, and, goddammit, his thigh felt like a stonemason had drilled a hole straight through to bone.

  Hoofbeats pummeled the ground, making his head pound all the more. The horse blew repeated snorts as if from overexertion.

  High-pitched gasps came from behind—very close behind—squeaking with every thud against his back. If he weren’t so sick to his stomach, he’d stop this nonsense this very minute. But his head ached so much, he couldn’t move. He prayed for the misery to end.

  “Mr. Geordie?” Akira’s voice came from behind, sounding panicked.

  He squeezed his eyes. Hadn’t she returned to Dunkeld? Damnation, his head hurt so badly, he couldn’t think straight.

  “Are you awake?”

  “Mm,” he moaned.

  “I-I cannot get the horse to stop.”

  Just as he opened his eyes, a branch came at his head with the speed of an arrow. He ducked and the thing grazed the top of his hair. “Pull on the reins!” he bellowed.

  “I have been.” Her slender arms tightened around his waist, her fingers tugging the reins in front of him.

  Glancing back, he caught sight of a bare knee, squeezing just above the horse’s flank. Dear God, it was a wonder they hadn’t been thrown. “Ease up on your seat.”

  “What?” she shrieked.

  “Don’t clamp your legs around the bloody beast. It makes him go faster.” Sycamore branches whipped past as Geordie reached for the reins. White foam leached from the horse’s neck and withers, and his snorts were labored. “Whoa, fella.” He pulled back on the reins, cuing the horse from a gallop to a walk within a matter of steps.

  Akira’s head plopped against his back as she panted. “You make it look so easy.”

  Too weak to hold up his hands, Geordie dropped them to the horse’s withers. “I thought you rode the horse into Dunkeld.”

  “Aye, but at a walk.” She wrapped her arms around Geordie’s waist. Bloody hell, if only his head would clear, he might enjoy being the lassie’s protector. She had to be frightened. Her voice even carried a tremor. “This was life or death. The redcoats came after us—fired a musket at us, too—and this big fella ran as if being chased by the devil.”

  Geordie patted the gelding’s neck, the movement making his head swim. “This big fella hasn’t got much left. How long has he been running like hellfire?”

  “I don’t know. I was s-s-so scared, all I could do was keep hold of the reins and pray we wouldn’t fall to our deaths.”

  He rubbed his forehead in the crook of his arm and glanced back at her wide eyes and blanched face. “You should have gone home to your ma.”

  “So now you’re full of bullheaded advice? You didn’t give me much choice when you collapsed over your horse.” She thumped him on the shoulder, making his head hurt all the more. “Do you lose consciousness every time you’re on the back of one of these wee beasties?”

  “Only when I’ve been bled to within an inch of my life.” The corner of his mouth twitched. So she’d stayed with him to ensure he escaped the redcoats?

  She has gumption, for certain.

  Against every aching fiber in his body, Geordie scanned their surroundings. They were still climbing up a hill. Trees provided a canopy above, while dark clouds hung low overhead, making it impossible for him to determine his orientation. “Where are we?”

  “I…ah…the horse…well, he leapt off a cliff—”

  “He what?”

  A cry squeaked from her throat. “It was a bit frightening when he did that. For a moment, I prepared to meet my end.”

  Geordie rolled his gaze to the clouds. “Dear God.”

  “And then he ran for the mountains—north or west, I think.”

  “Which was it?” He gulped down his bile and forced himself to focus.

  “North. Mayhap northwest.” One thing he knew for certain. The lass lacked a keen sense of direction.

  When the forest opened to a slope covered with rubble, Geordie spotted a conical peak, green with mountain grass—though high enough to be covered with snow throughout the winter months. He pointed. “We’ll be able to find our bearings up there.” Thank goodness the summit was rounded and looked fairly easy to climb on horseback.

  When they reached the top, he pulled the horse to a stop and looked full circle. Though ominous clouds hung above, he made out the setting sun by the glow on the horizon. To the north there was nothing but mountains, growing ever higher until they disappeared into the veil of a thunderhead. Indeed, they’d traveled northwest.

  The good part? There wasn’t an enemy coat in sight.

  Akira peered around his shoulder. “I don’t think they followed us.”

  “Probably not up this way.” Most likely they were taking a more direct route to Huntly, or heading them off from the western pass.

  “Have you been here afore?”

  “Not on this very peak.”

  “So you ken where we are?”

  Geordie looked west—more mountains. “We’re in the southern range, I’d reckon.”

  “Is that close to your home? We are in the Highlands, are we not?”

  “Aye, we’re in the Highlands.” Regardless of the pounding of his head, a smile still spread across his lips. “And nay, we’re not close to my home, but I’ve allies to the west. Men who can see you home.” More than likely, the redcoats had found his flask. That’s why they’d bothered to chase after one man. If a redcoat officer brought in a duke, he might earn title and lands for himself, the bastard.

  But the farther they traveled from Hoord Moor, the better Geordie’s chances of proving his innocence. Even if the Government troops had found his flask and paid a visit to Huntly, they still had no proof of his whereabouts. Just because he wasn’t presently on his lands didn’t mean he’d been a part of the rising. Hell, with his role in Parliament and endless court business, he was hardly ever home anyway. And before he returned to Huntly, he needed to find a way to return Akira home to her family.

  Heading west made the most sense. A Highlander born and raised, no city-dwellin
g redcoat could best him in the crags and glens that provided both haven and fortress. Indeed, George Gordon survived best in the Highlands, no matter the range. And once they crossed the Highlands, they could catch up with the MacDonells of Keppoch or the Stuarts of Appin. He hadn’t seen either clan’s colors in the battle, and they would provide him with an alibi for certain. He’d be able to arrange for Akira’s safe transport and make his way home via a more circuitous route. With luck he’d avoid meeting any more Government troops—especially if they were heading north to Huntly.

  The only problem with his plan was the miserable ache in his thigh. The horse sidestepped and wobbled a bit.

  Akira jostled behind him. “I think this wee beastie needs a rest.”

  Geordie shrugged. “If we take it slow, we can ride a while longer.”

  “How is your leg?”

  “Bloody hurts.”

  “Do you think you’ll swoon again?”

  He scowled over his shoulder. “Men do not swoon.”

  “All right,” she said with a resolute stare. “You are my employer, so I will not argue that point. If men do not swoon, they simply drop into unconsciousness.”

  Damnation, those almond-shaped eyes staring at him were bluer than the loch in summer. They were damned distracting, especially when she was being so maddening. He didn’t intend to swoon—ah—pass into unconsciousness again.

  She blinked at him. Christ.

  “Are you feeling dizzy, like you might topple over?” she asked.

  “Dear Lord, you are persistent.” He shook his head, looking anywhere but at her face. I will not allow a pair of bonny indigo eyes to affect me in any way.

  She patted his shoulder. “Just trying to prevent a fall. Only heaven kens how you stayed on the horse this far.”

  A smile almost stretched his chapped lips. “My mother used to say I was born on the back of a horse.”

  “Truly?”

  “Well, she said it anyway, but I was born in Hunt—ah—in a bed.”

  Good God, he’d almost said “Huntly Castle.” If the lass learned he was the Duke of Gordon and ended up being captured, the redcoats would beat his true identity out of her. Geordie grimaced. If any filthy soldier placed his hands on Akira, he’d explode in a rage. The lass had already taken a great risk to save his life. And now, when she should be sitting beside home’s hearth, she was up in only God knew where, sharing a horse.