“And young again.”
Duncan inclined his head at the duke and rose from his chair to go and bring back the decanter. He refil ed both their glasses, then sat down.
“Let metellyou about my adventures at the Battle of Sherrifmuir,” he said, “and then we can discuss what might be possible with the King’s army.”
Winslowe sat back and made himself comfortable, and they talked openly about warfare and politics untilwellpast midnight.
* * *
“You’re very late,” Amelia said, sitting up in bed when Duncan entered her bedchamber. She had been waiting for hours. “Aye.” He set the candelabra down on the chest of drawers and removed his coat. “I’ve been busy, lass, winning your uncle’s esteem. He thinks verywellof me now, and I thinkwellof him, too. He’s a good man, like your father. We have much in common, and he supports our engagement. He said your father had been disappointed he’d not been able to arrange a match between us after his visit here last spring, and that, in your uncle’s opinion, our marriage cannot happen soon enough.”
“My father desired a match between us?”
She was surprised to hear this and felt a sudden rush of joy. Withallher doubts and fears lately, especial y regarding her own judgment and her recent decision to marry Duncan, it meant a great deal to know that her father had approved of this man as a potential son-in-law. Perhaps her father’s spirit had been watching over herallalong. She felt rather starry-eyed.
Crawling onallfours to the foot of the bed, she stood on her knees and hugged thetallbedpost where the velvet curtains were tied back with gold tassels. There was something different about Duncan’s mood tonight. He seemed wound up tighter than atallcase clock. His high spirits were almost contagious.
“You seem very happy,” she said. “What else happened between you and my uncle?”
Duncan crossed to the window and looked out at the darkness. “I expressed my opinions about your former betrothed and told him that I mean to protect you from him, and your uncle did not dispute my views. He made it known that he never approved of your engagement to begin with.”
Amelia was surprised to hear this aswell. “He never told me that.”
“He was respecting the wishes of your late father, even though it went against his better judgment. He’s through withallthat now, though. Hewillmake his own judgments, and hewillact upon his conscience.”
Amelia sat back on her heels. “So that is why you are so pleased?”
He faced her. “Not just that, lass. Your uncle has agreed to help me bring Bennett to justice. He’llsupport an inquiry to investigate his crimes. As God is my witness, Richard Bennettwillpay for what he did to my Muira.”
Amelia felt a sudden jolt in her heart. She was pleased, of course, that he was choosing a more civilized path toward justice by leaving the ultimate decision of punishment to the army and the courts. It was exactly what she encouraged him to do on that final night of her abduction, and certainly, if Richard was guilty, he should be tried and convicted.
What troubled her was Duncan’s unremitting desire for vengeance, fueled by his pain over Muira’s death. Amelia shivered slightly, feeling the Butcher’s elemental despair and his dangerous furystilllingering about. Clearly,allof that was not yet behind them.
“So you mean to continue with your vengeance?” she careful y asked.
He gave her a look of warning. “Let there be no accusation in your words, lass, because I break no vow to you. The promise I made was to refrain from using the blade of my axe to take Richard Bennett’s life. I never agreed to let him go on raping and pil aging. What I do now is exactly what you asked of me in the mountains. I am doing ityourway.
The civilized way. Iwillleave his fate to the army and the courts.”
He was right, of course, and she nodded. “I suppose you must do what you feel is right to avenge Muira’s death,” she said.
Sherecalledsuddenly what Beth MacKenzie had said in the cottage:The Butcher buried his own heart in the groundwith his beloved on the day she died—at least the part ofhis heart that was capable of love.
“It’s not just for Muira,” he said, “but forallof Scotland, too.
The man is a tyrant. He must be stopped.” He passed by the foot of the bed. “But let us not speak of Muira again.”
“Why?”
“Because I do notwishto speak of her,” he said irritably.
He began to untie the ruffled cravat at his neck. “Now take off your shift, lass. I am lustin’ for you.”
Still reflecting upon the hurt she felt over Muira’s enduring presence in his heart—for it was a place into which Amelia had not yet been invited, notreally—she watched his hands as he untied the loose knot.
And was this truly lust forher?she wondered, feeling tempted to question him. Or was it lust for his long-awaited vengeance?
He gazed at her with a hot, overwhelming sexuality.
