Alec Mackenzie's Art of Seduction (Mackenzies & McBrides #9)(49)
Alec rumbled a laugh. “Can ye see me tramping about in baggy white breeches with bobbles on m’ tunic? I know Flora was laughing about that—in her own way. One of my soldier friends lent me his spare uniform in case I needed it, and I decided to wear it instead. Careful, now.”
The path narrowed to nothing, and mud sucked at Celia’s shoes. The lane ended in a gate, beyond which was a moonlit field. A carriage waited there, the horses’ breaths steaming in the night air. The coach was unmarked, no crest on the door.
Alec opened the gate with ease. Celia was not surprised it would be unlocked—very little about Alec surprised her anymore. A man lounging on the coach’s back step hopped down, looming in the moonlit mist like a hunched giant.
Celia took a startled step back, and Alec caught her in his strong grip. The man looked like nothing more than a highwayman, muffled in a greatcoat and hat, his face craggy, one eye covered with a patch. Gray hair straggled from under the hat, and he glared at them both with his single eye.
“All right, then, Padruig?” Alec asked this apparition.
“Aye.” The one word was growled and gravelly. Padruig wrenched open the coach door and held out his hand to Celia.
“Don’t be afraid.” Alec hooked his arm around Celia’s waist and half lifted, half boosted her into the coach. “He’s the kind one of the pair. Where is your cutthroat partner?”
Padruig didn’t look offended that Celia didn’t take his hand, only backed out of the way. “Waiting.” he grunted. “Won’t wait forever.”
Celia landed on a soft seat, cushions sliding as she righted herself. Alec heaved himself inside, taking the seat facing her.
“No, he’ll run off into the night with my money,” Alec said to Padruig as he pulled the door shut. “That’s why I pay him only half in advance. A savings if he absconds with it.” He knocked on the roof, signaling the coachman.
The coachman clucked to the horses, and the vehicle jerked forward. Padruig waited until the carriage passed him, then it listed as he climbed onto the back.
“Who is he?” Celia asked in amazement.
Alec shrugged. “A useful man. He and Gair stayed well out of the thick of the Uprising and so aren’t wanted men. At least not for being Jacobites—they’re no doubt wanted for many other crimes. They’re friends of my brother Mal’s. You’ll find that most people the length of England and Scotland are friends of Mal’s. He’s a frightening lad, is the Runt.”
“Runt? Is he so very small?” Nervous laughter threatened to well up inside her. Celia couldn’t imagine anyone related to the tall, broad-shouldered Alec to be slight.
“Not these days. We called him that when he was a wee lad and always in mischief. He’s still in mischief but not so wee any longer.” The warmth that entered Alec’s voice when he spoke of his brothers was palpable.
At one time, Celia had been as close to her brother. No wonder her mother had chosen to pretend it was Edward who waited for her—she’d used Celia’s affection and need to reconcile with him to manipulate her. When Celia’s stunned numbness wore off, she’d be furious.
“Am I allowed to inquire as to where we are going?” she asked Alec. “Is it to meet this Gair?”
“In good time. First I have an errand or two.”
“Well, I thank you for retrieving me and preventing a second Disaster, in any case.” Celia peered out the window into the lowering fog, but the only thing she could discern was that they were still south of the river. “Do I understand this mad scheme aright? That Lady Flora’s purpose was to have you abduct me? Which you have, only without wearing the Pierrot costume. Why?”
“She is assisting me,” Alec said. “But what she thought her plans would accomplish, I don’t know.”
The coach rocked hard over a rut, and Alec used its momentum to leave his seat and drop next to her. He tugged her skirts from under his thigh, and slid his hand behind her head to untie her mask.
Alec caught the silk as it fell away and then brushed her cheek with its end. “She expects me to take you off and have my way with ye.”
Celia’s heart beat fast and hard, her skin prickling under his touch. “And are you?”
Trust me. The memory of his words drifted to her, as well as the intensity in his eyes when he’d said them.
“I might be.” His voice was quiet. “After a time.”
Celia swallowed. “And how would you ravishing me benefit Lady Flora?”
Alec’s red-brown brows drew down, his eyes dark gold in the gleam of lantern light. “That I don’t know. But you and I are out of the game now. The pawn and the … what piece am I? … are off the chessboard.”
“The knight,” Celia said without hesitation. “The warrior who can threaten a queen.”
“The queen is the most powerful piece on the board.” Alec shrugged. “I don’t have the patience to carry on with the metaphor, so I’ll just say ye are well out of it.”
He fell silent as they wound through dark streets. Near the bulk of Lambeth Palace, the coachman halted, and Alec assisted Celia out. He flung a long cloak around her, its woolen folds a welcome warmth.
A fishing boat waited for them, one with peeling paint and the permanent smell of fish, a far cry from the decorated barge Lady Flora had sent to ferry Celia and her mother across to the gardens.