The Highlander's Redemption (Mills & Boon Historical) (Highland Brides - Book 1) Read online

  ‘Calumn Munro,’ he said with a flourishing bow, ‘I’m happy to have been of service.’

  ‘I’m most happy to meet you, Monsieur Munro,’ Madeleine said with a curtsy which was almost steady.

  ‘You’re French,’ he exclaimed in surprise. ‘Mais oui.’

  She was enchantingly pretty, all big green eyes and silken hair, with a mouth made for kissing. Alone, at such a late hour and in the vicinity of the castle, he had assumed she must be a courtesan, but, looking at her more closely, he wasn’t so sure. Of a certainty, she was no common harlot. ‘May I know your name, mademoiselle?’

  ‘I am Madeleine Lafayette.’

  ‘Enchanté.’ His exertions, on top of the whisky, were beginning to take their toll on Calumn. He needed his bed, but he could not simply abandon the poor lass to the whim of the next group of soldiers who were even now making their raucous way up the hill. ‘Let me escort you home, mademoiselle,’ he said, proffering a gentlemanly arm. ‘It’s not safe for any woman to be out on her own here at this hour.’

  His knuckles were bleeding. There was a bruise forming on his cheekbone. She saw now what she had not noticed before, that he was—albeit charmingly—in his cups. ‘I am thinking that you too should be in your bed, monsieur,’ Madeleine said, ‘you look as if you have had too much wine.’

  ‘Not too much wine, too much whisky,’ Calumn corrected her gravely. ‘Let’s get you home. Come now, which direction?’

  The words were very slightly slurred. She began to fear that he would collapse if they stayed here for much longer. ‘Which direction are you taking?’ she asked, and when he pointed vaguely down the hill, told him that she, too, was going that way. She would see him to his own door and then claim to have lodgings nearby. She tugged on his arm. ‘Come along, monsieur.’

  ‘Calumn, my name’s Calumn,’ he said, taking her bundle and throwing it casually over his shoulder before tucking her hand into his other arm. ‘En avant!’ He seemed to rally, setting off down the brae with an easy grace, the loping stride of an animal built for speed, not the mincing step of a city man. Clinging to his arm, Madeleine had to run to keep up.

  They crossed into the Lawnmarket, which during the day teemed with tradesmen selling butter and cheese as well as the wools and linens for which the place was famed. At this time of night it was eerily quiet, difficult to imagine that in just a few hours it would be nigh on impossible to get from one side of the street to the other without running the full gamut of maids, merchants and pickpockets.

  At the far end, Calumn stopped at Riddell’s Court where his family kept rooms. ‘Where to now?’

  Madeleine shrugged. ‘Not far. I can make my own way from here,’ she said, trying for a confidence she was far from feeling. The reality of having to spend the night outside and alone was only just starting to sink in.

  She reached for her bundle of belongings, but Calumn held on to it, seeming to notice for the first time what it actually was. ‘You’ve just arrived, haven’t you?’

  Madeleine nodded reluctantly.

  ‘And you’ve nowhere to stay?’

  ‘No, but there is no need to …’

  ‘You’d best come up with me then.’

  Madeleine shook her head.

  ‘I don’t blame you, after what you’ve been through, but you’ve nothing to worry about. Apart from anything else, I’m fit for nothing but sleep. I’ve a spare room with a lock on the door that you’re welcome to, and I promise I won’t try to take advantage. Word of a Munro.’

  She had a fleeting sense of a shadow when he said his name, like a cloud crossing the sun, then it was gone. Weighing up a bed in a house and a door with a lock, against a draughty stairwell and a backdrop of late-night marauders, Madeleine was extremely tempted to accept his offer. Instinctively, she felt Calumn Munro was trustworthy. Had he not already proved himself a knight errant? She nodded her cautious acceptance. ‘You’re very kind, monsieur. ‘

  Calumn led her through the wrought-iron gate which protected the close entrance into the courtyard and up the steep wooden stairs to the second of the building’s four storeys. He had some difficulty in fitting the heavy key into the lock, but eventually threw the door open with a flourish. ‘Here we are.’ He pulled Madeleine into a narrow hallway and thrust the door shut behind them.

  Inside, in the warmth, the after-effects of the whisky hit him abruptly. In the light of the lamp which burned on the table by the door, she watched the colour drain from his face. ‘Make yourself comfortable,’ Calumn said, waving vaguely at a door almost directly opposite. ‘I’ll just stop here for a wee minute.’ He started to slip down the wall.

  Though she was taken aback by the rapidity of his decline, Madeleine gamely tried to catch him before he fell unconscious on to the floorboards. ‘You can’t go to sleep here.’ Placing Calumn’s arm around her shoulders, she staggered as she heaved him upright. ‘Which is your chamber?’ she asked, and then all but dragged him towards the door he indicated.

  ‘No, no, I’ll be very well where I am,’ he mumbled in protest, but she continued to propel him forwards, managing to reach the bed just before the weight of him pulled them both on to the floor. ‘You’re a fine lass,’ he muttered appreciatively, collapsing backwards onto the bed without releasing his hold on her. Madeleine tumbled forwards, sprawling full length on top of her host. ‘Perfect,’ he murmured happily, pulling her closer, one arm around her waist, the other hand proprietarily on her bottom, before falling instantly asleep.

  Pressed tight against his body, Madeleine could not decide whether to be shocked, annoyed or amused. She could not move. Her head was tucked into the crook of his shoulder, her face pressed into his neckcloth. He smelled of clean linen and warm man. Different, but not at all alien or repellent as her attackers had been. Reassuring almost. It must be his size. He was not just tall, but solid muscle and bone. The contours of his body seemed to complement hers, as if they were two halves of something designed to fit. Her curves melded into his hollows. It was an unexpectedly pleasant feeling. Though she knew it was imprudent, she was not at all inclined to move just yet. Guillaume had never held her like this. That last day, before he had sailed to the aid of the Scottish Prince, he had not held her at all.

  The buttons on Calumn Munro’s jacket were digging into her chest, and something else was pressing insistently against her further down. His hand tightened on her robe. She could feel his heart beating slow and steady through his jacket. She could hear him breathing, feel his breath on her hair. His proximity was making her hot. A trickle of sweat ran down the valley between her breasts. She realised what the something else was which she could feel through the layers of her petticoats. A shiver arrowed through her.

  Minutes crept by, and still Madeleine lay pliant on top of him, listening to his breathing in the dark of the room. She stopped thinking. Exhaustion rolled over her like a mighty breaker on to the beach. The temptation to close her eyes and give in to sleep was almost overpowering. Two days it had taken the fishing boat to sail from Roscoff to the port of Leith. She’d felt its rocking under her feet for hours after she had landed. The bustle and noise of the sailors and stevedores at the port had been intimidating. Edinburgh itself was smaller than she had expected, but much more foreign, too. Had it been a mistake, coming here?

  Beneath her, the tone of Calumn’s breathing changed and his grip on her loosened. Madeleine inched cautiously off the bed, back out to the hallway. Picking up the lamp, she opened the door at the far end and found herself in a large reception room with a huge fireplace. The boards were polished and scattered with rugs. Two enormous wooden chairs of carved black wood sat side by side at the hearth, with a settle opposite. Under the window was a chest of the same wood, the fittings brightly polished brass. A table and four chairs sat in another corner. Heavy rafters showed dark against the tempered walls, on which were two companion portraits. A fierce man in full Highland dress with Calumn’s deep blue eyes, and a woman, golden-haired and very beautiful, equally stern. His parents, unmistakably. They were obviously a wealthy family.

  A muffled groan drew Madeleine back to the bed chamber where Calumn lay sprawled on top of the covers. She ought to make him more comfortable. Placing the lamp carefully on the nightstand beside a decanter of amber liquor, she unlaced his shoes. He did not stir, so she unrolled his stockings. His calves were muscular and finely shaped. His legs, with their cover of dark golden hair, felt rough and warm. His feet were long and narrow. Bare, they made him look vulnerable.

  The water in the china jug was cold, but she poured some into the bowl anyway, and found a clean linen towel which she used to carefully bathe his knuckles. She had nothing with which to bandage them, but judged they would heal more quickly exposed to the air in any case. The bruise on his cheek was purpling. At home she would have applied an arnica paste for the swelling.

  Engrossed in her task now, Madeleine set about removing Calumn’s jacket, a more difficult operation, for the dark-green velvet fitted tight across his broad shoulders. By the time she had finished she was out of breath. His silk waistcoat was easier. She unwound his neckcloth and placed it at the foot of the bed beside his jacket. His shirt fell open at the neck, giving her a glimpse of his chest she could not resist touching. His skin was cool. A dusting of hair. Not an ounce of spare flesh. She should not be doing this.

  With an immense effort, she rolled Calumn to one side, tugged up the heavy counterpane and sheets and rolled him back. He sighed and snuggled his head deeper into the feather bolster. His profile was so perfect it could have been sculpted, save for the tiny cleft in his chin. A long strand of gleaming golden hair caught in his lashes. Madeleine smoothed it back. It was surprisingly soft.

  ‘Bon nuit, Calumn Munro,’ she said, pressing a tiny kiss to his brow. Treading softly, she retrieved her bundle and opened the second door leading off the hallway. It was a small windowless chamber obviously intended for a maidservant, simply furnished with an iron bedstead, a wooden chair and a wash stand. As Calumn had promised there was a lock in the door and a key in the lock. Madeleine hesitated, then turned it. Quickly disrobing, she placed her shawl, dress and stockings on the chair and sank gratefully on to the rather lumpy mattress, pulling the rough woollen blanket over her. Within minutes she was asleep.

  The next morning Madeleine padded through to the scullery on bare feet with her tippet wrapped over her shift and poured herself a glass of water from a large stone jug. Returning to the main reception room, she walked straight into Calumn, who growled something low and vicious in an unfamiliar language. Startled, she jumped back, spilling some of the water down her shift. He towered over her, clad in a long woollen robe tied loosely at the waist. In the bright light of day his eyes were dark blue and heavy lidded. The stubble on his jaw was a tawny colour, darker than his tousled golden hair, giving him a raffish look.

  ‘Who in the devil’s name are you?’ he barked.

  Madeleine’s heart sank. ‘Madeleine Lafayette. You don’t remember?’

  ‘You’re French?’

  She smiled nervously. ‘Yes, I’m still French.’

  To her relief, Calumn’s flash of ill temper faded. He raked his hand through his hair and grinned ruefully. ‘French, and obviously not a housebreaker. I need coffee.’ He opened the door leading out onto the stairwell. ‘Jamie,’ he roared, ‘where are you?’

  A patter of feet preceded the arrival of an urchin of some nine or ten years with a mop of dirty blond hair and a face which would benefit from the application of a washcloth. ‘Nae need to ask how you are this morn, Mister Munro,’ the lad said with a cheeky grin, handing over a tray on which was an enamel pot of coffee and a large jug of ale. ‘You’re like a bear wi’ a sore head.’

  Calumn took the tray wordlessly. Tossing the boy a coin, he caught Jamie’s curious glance towards Madeleine. ‘I’ll not be the only one with a sore head if I catch you blathering, do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Clear as day, Mister Munro. I didn’t see nobody.’ Whistling tunelessly and somehow managing to grin at the same time, a feat which impressed Madeleine immensely, Jamie banged the door shut behind him.

  Calumn poured them both a cup of coffee before helping himself to a long reviving draught of ale. ‘Jamie’s family live on the ground floor,’ he said by way of explanation. ‘Andrew Macfarlane, his father, is dead. His mother takes in lodgers and looks after me, too.’ He dropped gracefully into one of the seats opposite Madeleine. Under his robe he still had his shirt on, but not his breeches.

  Embarrassingly aware of her own dishabille, Madeleine pulled her tippet closer and tried to redistribute her shift, a manoeuvre which simply succeeded in drawing Calumn’s attention to her bare ankles. Shuffling her feet as far back under the settle as she could manage, she shook out her hair in an effort to disguise the flush creeping over her cheeks. ‘Do you remember nothing of last night, monsieur?’

  Calumn inspected his knuckles ruefully. ‘Aye, it’s coming back to me now.’ His mouth thinned as an echo of the menacing look from last night traced a path across his handsome countenance. ‘It’s men like that who give soldiers a bad name. You took no harm?’

  Madeleine shuddered as the image of the men’s faces flickered into her mind like evil spirits. ‘None, thanks to you. You were very brave to take on three of them alone. You could have been killed.’

  He gave a twisted smile. ‘Perhaps that was my intent. I sometimes think I’d be as well dead.’ His eyes glittered, like the glint of granite on a Highland peak.

  Madeleine shivered, frightened by the bleakness in this expression. ‘You should not talk so.’

  ‘Should I not now?’ he growled at her. ‘And what business, mademoiselle, would that be of yours?’ he demanded, frowning fiercely and staring off into space, so that she dared not reply.

  Fortunately he did not seem to expect her to. His frown eased, then as suddenly as it came on, his mood shifted and his attention refocused on his visitor. She looked mighty uncomfortable in her state of undress. Far too uncomfortable to be the type of woman he had taken her for. And she was younger than he had taken her for, too. What the devil had he got himself into?

  ‘It was a sorry introduction to Scotland for you, but if you don’t mind my saying so, you were asking for trouble, hanging around the castle like that. They no doubt mistook your calling. I did so myself, but I take it I was wrong?’

  Madeleine stared at him in consternation. ‘Indeed, you are mistaken,’ she said indignantly, clutching her tippet even more tightly.

  ‘That’s what I just said,’ he responded, unmoved by her embarrassment. ‘But as I’ve also just said, you can’t blame me for thinking it, anyone would have made the same mistake.’

  She could not deny this, so remained silent.

  ‘What the hell did you think you were doing there? Had you no money for a lodging?’

  In the cold light of day, after a night’s refreshing sleep, Madeleine struggled to come up with an answer to this perfectly reasonable question. Her actions seemed stupid even to herself. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, feeling singularly foolish. ‘I mean—yes, I had money, but I don’t know why I didn’t find a place to sleep.’

  ‘Do you know why you’re here, at least? In Edinburgh, I mean?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ she responded, drawing herself up haughtily. ‘I was trying to get into the castle, but they wouldn’t let me pass.’

  ‘Why on earth …?’

  ‘I wanted to speak to the prisoners there. I’m looking for someone.’

  ‘A man, I presume.’

  Madeleine nodded.

  ‘And what has this man done?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Madeleine said indignantly. ‘He’s not a criminal.’

  ‘Then why—ah, your man is a Jacobite.’ He waited on her nod. ‘And what makes you think he’s in there?’ Despite his pleasing lilt, the worlds were sharply spoken.

  ‘I don’t. I don’t know where he is.’ Madeleine paused, swallowing hard as the many, many things she didn’t know about Guillaume and his fate threatened her ability to think clearly. ‘The castle is as good a place to start as any. I thought someone in there—one of the other Jacobites—might know him, or of him, might be able to help me trace him.’

  ‘It’s a bit of a shot in the dark if you ask me.’ Calumn pressed a hand to his brow. His head had begun to thump. His tried to think, but his thoughts fled from his grasp like a hare from a hound. ‘How do you come to speak such good English?’

  ‘A woman in our village, Madame le Brun, who is married to the school teacher, is from a place called Dover.’ Confused by the sudden change of subject, Madeleine eyed her host warily. ‘She teaches me embroidery—or she tries to—as well as English. She would be pleased at the compliment,’ she said with an attempt at humour, ‘for she despairs of my stitchery.’

  Calumn rubbed his eyes and shook his head in an effort to clear away the fog befuddling his brain. A shaft of sunlight slanted in through the leaded panes of the window, making him wince. Too much whisky, but at least it stopped him from dreaming. He focused his gaze on his unexpected houseguest. She was a slight thing, with long flaxen hair trailing down her back. Beautiful in a fey, ethereal way. ‘You look like a mermaid,’ he said.

  His smile curled like smoke. His voice had a teasing quality, a lilting, sensual tone, which connected to her senses at a very basic level. Looking at him from under her lashes, the sunlight making his hair a burnished halo, Madeleine thought anew how strikingly attractive Calumn Munro was. Perhaps his ill temper was simply morning crotchets. ‘My mother used to say that, too,’ she said.

  His eyes crinkled as his smile deepened. ‘Did you put me to bed?’

  ‘I just made you comfortable.’ The vivid memory of being held hard against him made Madeleine’s toes curl up into the soft pile of the rug at her feet.

  ‘Did I behave myself?’