Chapter Twenty-Three

Twenty-three

S ebastian had faced death down the barrel of a pistol more than once in his life, but he'd never felt its breath blow quite so cold. Prudence wanted to shoot him. He could see it in her eyes, her stance, the heaving of her bosom beneath the torn redingote. She wanted to kill him.

She had never looked more beautiful.

He had finally succeeded in fanning the flames beneath her cool exterior to a roar. A lock of hair fell over her eyes. She tossed her head back, spilling the tangled mass around her shoulders in a rich cascade. The men stared at her with slackened jaws and glazed eyes as if God had dropped an angel in their midst—an avenging angel.

Without taking his eyes off Prudence, Sebastian caught Devony's elbow and jerked her forward. "You told me you and your father were alone."

Devony took a swig from the whisky bottle, then burped delicately. "We were alone. Prudence jumped out and ran away, leaving us at the mercy of those savages. Then the countess was carried off by that nice Viking gentleman."

Sebastian smoothed his mask as if he could somehow meld it to the bones of his face. "The countess?"

"Her aunt." Devony tucked a pensive finger between rosebud lips, weaving slightly. "Did I forget to mention the countess?"

"I doubt he gave you the chance," Prudence said icily.

Sebastian hated to admit it, but Prudence was right. He had struggled out of his whisky-soaked haze with barely enough time to jerk on his old mask before Devony had fallen on him, babbling about being ravished. He had not guessed it was himself she was intent on ravishing. But her arms had been warm and her mouth hot and wet. Before he could protest, she'd been fumbling with the buttons of his breeches and whispering the most interesting things in his ear—things she would like to do to him, things she would like him to do to her.

He had to be dreaming, he'd told himself. What would Devony Blake be doing in a cave in the Highlands? And wasn't it nicer than those dreams where he endlessly reached for Prudence just as she crumbled to ash in his hands?

But here was Prudence standing before him, not ash but seething flesh and blood, legs braced apart and the wood-grained butt of a pistol gripped in a hand itching to pull the trigger.

He thrust Devony aside and sauntered down the hill toward her. One of the men mumbled an oath under his breath. Big Gus mopped greasy beads of sweat from his brow.

As Sebastian drew nearer, the pistol began to waver. Prudence slammed the heel of her other palm against her wrist to steady it. He advanced until the cold muzzle of the gun touched the warm skin of his chest.

His lips curved in a mocking smile. He extended a genteel hand, ignoring the fact that both of her hands were occupied with the pistol. "Allow me to introduce myself, miss. You may call me Kirkpatrick."

Her delicate nostrils flared, warning him there were things she'd rather call him.

"Perhaps no one has explained our laws to you," he went on. " We are the bandits. We carry the weapons." He turned his hand palm-up. "The pistol, love."

At his casual endearment, a shudder swept through her. Sebastian hoped he hadn't miscalculated. If he had, he was a dead man.

"You heard my request, Mr . Kirkpatrick," she said. "I want to know the whereabouts of the rest of my party. My aunt. The coachman and outriders. Squire Blake." Her voice wavered. "And my cat."

Sebastian could see she was near to cracking, and braced himself against the tears welling in her eyes. "Very well. I shall see to their safety myself." He added softly, "You have my word on it."

She gave a less than genteel snort.

Jordy stepped forward. "Kirkpatrick, there's somethin' ye ought to know. The lass claims to belong to—"

Prudence swung the gun on him. Standing almost nose to nose with six feet of smirking male had dampened her eagerness to discover Sebastian's reaction to her engagement. Her dream of rational discourse with Sebastian now seemed not only highly unlikely, but dangerously naive.

Jordy backed into the crowd, trodding on the toes of the man behind him. "Never mind. It weren't important."

Sebastian reached around and gently plucked the gun from her hand. She glared at his chest.

Now that the danger was over, Big Gus roused himself. "Wait one bloody minute, Kirkpatrick. I finded her. I wants to keep her."

"She's not a puppy, Angus." Sebastian tossed the primed weapon at him.

Big Gus ducked. The man behind him caught the weapon between two fingers.

"I know she ain't no puppy. She's a lass. And a right comely one at that."

Sebastian peered into Prudence's face as if seeing her for the first time. His nose crinkled. "A bit plain for your tastes, isn't she?"

Prudence shot him a dark look.

Big Gus scratched his head. "I ain't noticed it."

She squirmed as Sebastian caught a handful of her hair and deftly knotted it on top of her head. He grasped her cheeks in his other hand and squeezed. "See what I mean. Plain as a sparrow."

Big Gus frowned as his temptress puckered into a herring. "The light weren't so good when I caught her."

With an impotent huff, Prudence jerked away and started down the slope. Sebastian caught her easily, spinning her into his arms. Her back slammed into his chest, as his hard forearm snaked around her waist.

She drove her heel into his shin. "Damn you, Sebas—"

He clapped a hand over her mouth. His furious whisper warmed her ear. "Don't call me that. These men are not ardent Bach admirers." His grip tightened. "I can't hold off Big Gus much longer. Perhaps it's time you decided if you'd rather share his bedroll or mine."

Her struggles subsided. As her delicious body went pliant in his arms, Sebastian's embrace changed subtly. He softened his grip until only the pads of his fingertips touched her lips.

She drew in a shaky breath and spoke against his fingers. "What's the cost of your protection? I'm well aware you do nothing without a price."

The arm around her waist relaxed. He pressed his palm against the curve of her abdomen and bent slightly so his hips burrowed into the elegant curve of her rump. "What are you willing to pay?"

"Bastard," she murmured, closing her eyes in defeat.

"That I am. Among other things." He tucked her hand under his elbow and backed toward the cavern. "I thought you were a man who fancied buxom blondes," he called to Big Gus.

"I like blondes," Big Gus said hopefully.

Sebastian laid a brotherly hand on Devony's shoulder and gave her a gentle shove down the hill.

"But, Kirk," she whined, "you promised we were going to—"

"You'll like Big Gus, Miss Blake. He came by his name honestly." Leaving them both sputtering, Sebastian flipped aside the fur and pulled Prudence into the cavern.

Before she could get her bearings, he shoved her down on a stool and squatted in front of her.

His fingers dug into her shoulders. "I'm going to check on the others. Unless you'd care to get better acquainted with Big Gus and his cronies, I'd suggest you stay put until I get back. Do you understand?"

Her new spectacles made her eyes look huge. She nodded mutely, and he freed her with reluctance.

As he turned away, her slender shoulders slumped. "I could have shot you, you know."

He brushed a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. "I know. For a moment there, I thought you were almost human."

Without another word, he ducked out of the cavern, leaving her alone.

Prudence shifted on the hard stool, still sore from the harrowing coach ride. Her bracing anger had fled as quickly as it had come, leaving only the sour weight of fear. Her weary thoughts ran in circles. Was Tricia safe? Had Sebastian-cat been trampled? What would she do if Sebastian found Squire Blake and the coachman dead?

Her gaze strayed of its own volition to the rumpled blankets spread beside the sputtering lantern. Had Sebastian touched Devony the way he had touched her? Had his beautiful mouth roamed Devony's body the way it had roamed hers? A sharp pain stabbed beneath her ribs at the vision of Devony's long limbs entwined with his. It wouldn't be the first time, would it? She stared at the ceiling of the cavern to keep from crying.

The cavern was little more than an animal's den gouged out of the cliff side and sheltered by a stone overhang, A bottle of whisky sat next to a glowing bed of coals.

She unfastened the pearl buttons of her shoulder cape and eased out of her redingote. Travel had rumpled the dove gray satin of her gown. A long tear in her skirt revealed a peek at her silk stockings and one lacy garter.

"Good God, it is ye!"

She screamed as a figure swathed in rags crawled under the curtain.

He bounded across the cave and clapped a hand over her mouth. "Stop the bellerin', lass. They'll hear ye all the way to Glasgow." He unwound his scarf.

"Jamie!" she cried at the sight of his familiar, homely face and red hair. Not even a month's worth of dirt could dim the radiance of his tangled mop.

"No, it's Bonnie Prince Charlie come back to take Culloden." He snatched her hand in his. "Follow me. If what Jordy told me about MacKay is true, we ain't got much time."

"Time?" Prudence repeated, clinging stubbornly to the stool. "Sebastian told me to stay here. Did he send you to fetch me?"

"I've come to rescue ye."

"No need for that. Sebastian has already rescued me."

Jamie rolled his eyes heavenward. "Lord, give me strength. Where's Tiny when I need him? I came to rescue ye from Sebastian, ye daft chit."

Prudence frowned. The untidy knot Sebastian had fashioned of her hair flopped over her face. "You think he might do me some sort of physical harm?"

Sarcasm ripened Jamie's brogue. "Perish the thought! He'll probably order up a wee bit of tea to celebrate yer upcomin' weddin' to Killian MacKay. Shall we send fer Old Fish to serve them little pats of butter shaped like tulips?"

"Roses," she corrected him absently. Sighing, she flipped her hair back and rested her chin on her hand. "It's his own fault I was forced to accept MacKay's proposal. I've no intention of marrying the man. Once I explain that, I'm certain Sebastian will be reasonable about it."

Jamie knelt beside her. "What makes ye think he'll give ye the chance to explain?" She turned her face away from the unflinching honesty in his hazel eyes, but Jamie caught her chin and forced it back. "I've never seen him this way, lass. He might not mean to hurt ye, and he might even be sorry after, but by then it'd be too late fer both of ye. Don't ye understand?"

"She understands very well, if her honorable sheriff has completed her education on bandits, as I suspect he has."

Too late, the chill night wind ploughed across their skin.

They looked up like guilty children to find Sebastian standing over them, his arms heaped with moth-eaten blankets and a small trunk Prudence recognized as her own. She wondered how long he had been standing there.

"Shall I catalogue my crimes as she once described them to me?" He tossed down the blankets and trunk. "I am the faceless terror of both Scotland and England. A grim reminder of the savagery that lurks in the heart of civilized man. I rob and kidnap"—he cast her a smoky glance—"and ravish."

Jamie straightened. "May I have a word with ye?"

"Out, Jamie."

Jamie grinned hopefully. "I thought I'd sit fer a spell while the two of ye get reacquainted."

Sebastian didn't even look at him. "Out. Now."

Jamie tossed Prudence a helpless glance, then ducked out of the cavern, leaving the fur swinging.

Sebastian turned his back on her and shook out the blankets.

"The others?" she asked softly.

"All safe. Tricia, Boris, and Sebastian-cat are under Tiny's ample wing. Devony has found Big Gus's charms more potent than his shortcomings, and your coachman and Squire Blake were alive when they were left at the carriage. I sent a man back to check on them."

"Thank you."

He grunted in reply.

She toyed with her skirt. "I must confess it was a bit unsettling to discover you'd returned to your life of crime."

He lifted his shoulders in a shrug more Gallic than Scottish. "I developed a certain fondness for eating in my stay at Lindentree. The workhouses were all full, and I'd been a Presbyterian and a rake a bit too long to commit myself to a monastery."

As he squatted to smooth the blankets, his homespun breeches clung to the arc of his narrow hips. Prudence wondered what had become of his brilliant kilt, but was afraid to ask. This man was a stranger. His icy demeanor held not even a hint of the gentle humor she remembered. The awkward silence between them deepened. She was desperate to show him her newfound sophistication, to prove she was no longer the clumsy, besotted fool he must remember.

"I received five proposals in Edinburgh," she blurted out.

He pivoted on his heel, lifting a polite eyebrow. "Any of them decent?"

"Only three," she confessed, wishing she had kept her mouth shut.

He turned back to his task. "I believe that brings your total to five decent and three lewd, my offer to make you my mistress included, of course."

Her composure faltered at hearing his tender declaration reduced to such crass terms. He unbuckled the leather straps of her trunk. As he held a scrap of paper up to the meager light, his soft laugh chilled her.

"An excellent likeness. Which of your lovers is the artist? Tugbert? The Scot I saw fondling you on the street? Or is this your own work? I don't remember sketching being among your interests, but you are a woman of many talents."

"You saw me? On the street?"

"Aye. I happened to be in the neighborhood."

His gruff tone did not fool her. She remembered the persistent shadow of the lamplighter on the evening she had met MacKay. Her heart skipped a beat. Sebastian hadn't left her at D'Artan's mercy. His ruse of apathy on the terrace had been just that. He had followed her. Watched over her. Perhaps even cared for her. But now his flinty gaze belied his affable grin. He looked less guardian angel than mocking Lucifer.

She wished he would take off the mask. The shadows it made of his eyes unnerved her. She watched his deft hands smooth the wanted notice, remembering all the times he had tried to make her afraid of him. They were strong hands, competent and swift enough to muffle a scream before it started. What would he say if she told him she slept with that handbill under her pillow each night? That it was creased and worn to softness by her touch? She opened her mouth, then closed it again, unable to bear the mockery of his laughter.

"Come now, don't be modest, dear," he said. "The phrase, ‘Reward Provided Alive or Upon Staunch Evidence Of Death' simply rings with your flair for melodrama. ‘Gray Eyed and Well Favored'? Such flattery! How did you know I was well favored? Did Tricia tell you? Or was it Devony?"

Prudence's lips tightened. When Sebastian saw she wasn't going to deny or defend, his grin faded. He bent over the lantern, sneering. Her gaze locked on the unforgiving lines of his back as he turned the light higher.

Sophistication was a dismal failure. Perhaps she should attempt honesty.

She smoothed her skirts over her knees and took a deep breath. "I've missed you, Sebastian."

His fingers twitched, touching the hot chimney of the lantern. He bit off a curse and whirled around, jerking off the mask. Prudence gasped. There was little trace of Tricia's urbane fiancé in him now. Anyone who saw him would swear he was a Highlander, born and bred. His hair was long. The ends of the shaggy cascade curled against his shoulders, sandy bright against skin darkened by wind and weather.

He seemed broader, more muscular, and infinitely more dangerous. His savage demeanor lent a devastating edge to his good looks—an edge honed to lethal sharpness by his expression of pure contempt. She had to struggle not to flinch beneath it. His anger in the jail was mere annoyance compared to this new bitterness.

Too late, Prudence realized she had stumbled into the lair of an animal—a predator, cunning and feral and hungry.