“Of course I remember, but I wouldn’t have said it in my sleep, unless it was to sayfarewellbefore I shot you dead with that pistol in your belt.”
He chuckled, his body swaying back and forth with the easy movements of the horse. “You win, lassie. I confess.
You weren’t sighing my name. You were as quiet as the grave, sleeping like a corpse.”
“What a lovely image.” She hoped it was not a sign of things to come.
They rode in silence for a short while.
“Where are we?” she asked. “How much further?” They had not yet eaten, and herbellywas grumbling.
“We’re halfway there, but we’llstop soon to rest and eat.”
“You have food?” Her mouth began to water.
“Aye. I can hardly let you starve.”
«Well, thank you, I suppose.”
“Don’t be thanking me, lass. I only want to keep you alive because you’re my bait.”
They ducked their heads to pass through a dense thicket.
Twigs and sticks snapped under the horse’s heavy hooves, and the Butcher used his arms to shield Amelia’s face and push back the branches.
«Willyou answer a question for me, lassie?” he said as they emerged into a clearing.
“I suppose.”
“How long have you known your fiancé?”
She breathed deeply, thinking back to those dreamy and idyl ic days, so unlike what she was living now. “I met him a year ago in July, at aballin London. He was serving under my father and they had both come home on leave. They couldn’t linger long, however, because of the rebel ion here in Scotland.allthe troops had to return to their posts.”
“So it’s Scotland’s fault your courtship was cut short?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“Perhaps if you’d spent more time with your beloved, you wouldn’t be marrying him.”
Amelia turned slightly in the saddle to speak over her shoulder. “Let me make it clear to you, sir—I spent more than enough time with Richard Bennett, and I know exactly what I am doing. It isyouwho are ignorant of the man you deem your enemy, for he is a great war hero. He saved my father’s life in battle, and were it not for the mortal wound he suffered in the spring, because he was shot by a Jacobite rebel like you…” She stopped for a moment, unable to go on. “ForallI know, maybe itwasyou whokilledhim.”
Duncan spoke with anger. “No, lass. I assure you it wasn’t.”
The vehemence of his denial was more than enough to convince her, so she let the matter drop. “At least he had one final, happy Christmas at home,” she added, “knowing that I would be taken care of—that Richard would protect me.”
Shefully expected the Butcher to again point out that Richard had failed in the task of protecting her, but he said something else entirely.
“You were fortunate to have such a man as your father.”
She turned quickly in the saddle. “Why would you say that?
Had you ever met him?”
She couldn’t explain it, but she felt an almost desperate need for some connection or link between this brutal savage and her father. She wanted to feel that her father was here with her, in some shape or form, wielding even thesmallestinfluence over her captor.
But there was nothing extraordinary in the Butcher’s expression. He remained cool and impassive. “I told you I fought at Sheriffmuir, so I know your father was abrilliantsoldier and an honorable leader of men. It was a fair fight, despite the outcome that did not favor us.” He paused, and his voice grew more serene. “I also know that after he recovered from his wounds, after the Christmas he spent with you, he returned to his post and tried to negotiate with the Scottish nobles in order to give them a second chance to accept the Union and agree to peace.”
Her browpulledtogether in surprise. “You know of his meetings and negotiations with the Earl of Moncrieffe?”
