Read Online Her Highness and the Highlander: A Princess Brides Romance by Tracy Anne Warren - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tracy Anne Warren
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did not mean she was helpless. She would make her way to London
even if she must draw on a strength she’d never thought she possessed. But first,
she needed to be on her way.
The maid had told her earlier, as she’d cleared the breakfast of which Mercedes had
been able to eat no more than a bite, that Mercedes should ask for Stewart once she
was ready to depart.
“It’s all fixed,” the girl had informed her. “Just go out in the yard an’ tell ’em
ye’re ready tae leave. Stewart’ll be along with the gig in a tick.”
Mercedes couldn’t recall ever before traveling in a gig, but considering all the shocks
and surprises she’d experienced in the past twenty-four hours, it seemed a rather
minor inconvenience.
She descended the stairs and stepped into the spacious public room. Unlike the evening
before, it stood shadowed and empty, tables wiped clean and chairs straightened.
To her relief, the innkeeper was nowhere in sight. Deciding to take advantage of her
first piece of good luck that day, she strode toward the door and out into the summer
sunshine.
Put her from yer mind,
Daniel ordered himself nearly half an hour later as he guided his horse along the
road north.
She’s no’ your responsibility and
y
ou’ve nothing tae feel guilty aboot.
The lass will do just fine on her own.
But try as he might, he couldn’t stop thinking about Mercedes or remembering the stricken
expression on her lovely face after he’d refused her offer that final time. She’d
tried hard to mask her reaction, but he’d caught a glimpse of her anguish and fear
before she’d turned away.
She has a vivid imagination, that’s all,
he told himself again.
She’s no’ really in any danger.
Perhaps she was one of those young women who read too many lurid novels where the
heroine was always being chased by a dastardly villain. Obviously she’d cast herself
in the role of tragic heroine—or in her case, tragic princess.
And yet there was that necklace she’d offered him in trade.
He’d gotten a good enough look at it to know it was genuine. During the war, refugees
and itinerant camp followers had often tried to trick unsuspecting soldiers into parting
with their cash in exchange for all manner of fraudulent goods, including fine jewelry.
Daniel had seen enough paste rings and necklaces in his time to have learned how to
spot a fake.
So where had she gotten the necklace?
She said it had been a gift from her grandmother, which was entirely possible, he
supposed. Then again, she could have stolen it.
Was that why she was being chased? Assuming she was being chased?
Was she a thief fleeing from an outraged victim? A former employer? A neighbor? A
husband?
His hands tightened involuntarily on the reins, and his horse slowed its gait.
Nae,
he thought.
She canna be a thief. I don’t…I won’t…believe that of her.
As for being married, she seemed far too naive ever to have been a bride. Last night
when they’d shared a bed, she’d curled against him with absolute trust, acting more
like a frightened child than a self-aware woman. He doubted she’d ever even been kissed.
Unless she was the greatest actress ever to walk a stage, she was a complete innocent,
who clearly knew little of the world.
And he’d sent her off alone, prey for any unscrupulous blackguard who pegged her as
an easy mark. Guilt roiled unpleasantly in his stomach; he worked to shake it off.
He was on his way home, and home was where he was going. She wasn’t his concern and
he had no time to make unnecessary detours so he could act as her bodyguard.
He urged his horse forward. Yet even as he did, it seemed as if each foot he traveled
was taking him in the wrong direction.
She’ll be fine.
But what if she isn’t?
Her friends would look after her.
Assuming she makes it safely to London.
No one was pursuing her.
But what if someone is?
Yet did it really matter if he believed her
even if she must draw on a strength she’d never thought she possessed. But first,
she needed to be on her way.
The maid had told her earlier, as she’d cleared the breakfast of which Mercedes had
been able to eat no more than a bite, that Mercedes should ask for Stewart once she
was ready to depart.
“It’s all fixed,” the girl had informed her. “Just go out in the yard an’ tell ’em
ye’re ready tae leave. Stewart’ll be along with the gig in a tick.”
Mercedes couldn’t recall ever before traveling in a gig, but considering all the shocks
and surprises she’d experienced in the past twenty-four hours, it seemed a rather
minor inconvenience.
She descended the stairs and stepped into the spacious public room. Unlike the evening
before, it stood shadowed and empty, tables wiped clean and chairs straightened.
To her relief, the innkeeper was nowhere in sight. Deciding to take advantage of her
first piece of good luck that day, she strode toward the door and out into the summer
sunshine.
Put her from yer mind,
Daniel ordered himself nearly half an hour later as he guided his horse along the
road north.
She’s no’ your responsibility and
y
ou’ve nothing tae feel guilty aboot.
The lass will do just fine on her own.
But try as he might, he couldn’t stop thinking about Mercedes or remembering the stricken
expression on her lovely face after he’d refused her offer that final time. She’d
tried hard to mask her reaction, but he’d caught a glimpse of her anguish and fear
before she’d turned away.
She has a vivid imagination, that’s all,
he told himself again.
She’s no’ really in any danger.
Perhaps she was one of those young women who read too many lurid novels where the
heroine was always being chased by a dastardly villain. Obviously she’d cast herself
in the role of tragic heroine—or in her case, tragic princess.
And yet there was that necklace she’d offered him in trade.
He’d gotten a good enough look at it to know it was genuine. During the war, refugees
and itinerant camp followers had often tried to trick unsuspecting soldiers into parting
with their cash in exchange for all manner of fraudulent goods, including fine jewelry.
Daniel had seen enough paste rings and necklaces in his time to have learned how to
spot a fake.
So where had she gotten the necklace?
She said it had been a gift from her grandmother, which was entirely possible, he
supposed. Then again, she could have stolen it.
Was that why she was being chased? Assuming she was being chased?
Was she a thief fleeing from an outraged victim? A former employer? A neighbor? A
husband?
His hands tightened involuntarily on the reins, and his horse slowed its gait.
Nae,
he thought.
She canna be a thief. I don’t…I won’t…believe that of her.
As for being married, she seemed far too naive ever to have been a bride. Last night
when they’d shared a bed, she’d curled against him with absolute trust, acting more
like a frightened child than a self-aware woman. He doubted she’d ever even been kissed.
Unless she was the greatest actress ever to walk a stage, she was a complete innocent,
who clearly knew little of the world.
And he’d sent her off alone, prey for any unscrupulous blackguard who pegged her as
an easy mark. Guilt roiled unpleasantly in his stomach; he worked to shake it off.
He was on his way home, and home was where he was going. She wasn’t his concern and
he had no time to make unnecessary detours so he could act as her bodyguard.
He urged his horse forward. Yet even as he did, it seemed as if each foot he traveled
was taking him in the wrong direction.
She’ll be fine.
But what if she isn’t?
Her friends would look after her.
Assuming she makes it safely to London.
No one was pursuing her.
But what if someone is?
Yet did it really matter if he believed her
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