If You Dare

"I suppose it's a good thing," A

Olivia wearily raised her head.

"Since he was just going to let me go."

"You clearly want to be with him"—Olivia leaned forward as if imparting a secret—"so don't let him let you go."

"Don't let him—?" A

Olivia sat back and propped her half-boots on the table. "So far it's working. He has to return to me because I have his sister hostage." She briefly put her fingertips to her lips. "Did I just say that? I mean I'm protecting the baby sister and earning his trust."

After a few moments more of pacing, A

Olivia threw her hands up. "What have I been telling you? And you've got it even easier than I do. Llorente doesn't love me—yet—but MacCarrick loves you."

A

He could with ease! But Olivia knew that wasn't the case here. "Right!" she declared with a firm nod. "Now you stew over your plan of attack while I go find some food in this place. If we have to subsist on tea and biscuits, then we'll start hoarding tins up here." At the door she turned back. "And, A

During Olivia's absence, A

Second? Though she still had concerns about Olivia—A

Olivia returned then, breezing in the doorway, her arms full of biscuit tins. Evidently, they were, in fact, hoarding. She stowed her loot inside the wardrobe, then drew out a smaller package from her skirt pocket, tossing it to her. "This came for you."

A

"The guard dogs downstairs opened it, of course. Well, go on. I want to see jewelry."

A

Olivia swiped it from her hand. She didn't cackle and abscond with it as A

A

Did he send this as a good-bye?

"You know that Gaelic phrase you were telling me about?" Olivia elbowed her from the mirror so she could try on the rings on the dressing table, modeling her wiggling fingers in the mirror. "What would you give me if I told you what it means? Would you give me an antique ring once worn by a queen?"

"Right now, the best I'll offer is that I won't slap you if you tell me."

Olivia raised her eyebrows, obviously impressed with the threat of violence. "Very well, I will tell you." She paused dramatically. "It means, 'You are mine. I bind you to me always.' According to my sources, if MacCarrick told you that, then you're a breath away from being married."

A

"I asked the Scottish woman downstairs. I wouldn't have asked for you, but I truly did expect you to give me one of—"

"What Scottish woman?"

"A new one."

"I don't believe you."

Olivia caught A

A

"So you are Courtland's," a voice said from behind them. "The servants wrote telling me as much. But I scarcely believed them."

A

"I'm his mother, Lady Fiona." She was very genteel as she offered her hand to A

When Olivia gave her a convincingly i

A

Chapter Thirty-five

When Court, Hugh, and Llorente rode up the plateaus to Llorente's home, they had to dodge villagers camping out, weaving around the clothes hanging on their lines, their children playing, and their goats grazing.

They'd learned that most of the deserters had been scattered and that small parties raided the valleys, forcing the villagers to come to the one place they could be safe.

Oddly enough, the place where the Highlanders were.

Court noted that at the first sight of plaid, Llorente's hands clenched so tightly on the reins they should've disintegrated.

"And I believe Court's crew is in residence," Hugh muttered.

At the front door, Liam greeted them, graciously showing them into the home. He slapped the seething Llorente on the back and said, "Any friend of Court's is a friend of ours. You look familiar. Do you like wine? Whisky? Just tell me whatever you need."

Inside, Niall and still more men played cards, ate fruit, and snacked on river trout grilled on slate, delicacies that Vitale, of all people, ensured they had plenty of.

Court's men saw him and cheered, asking, "Where's our bo

This made Llorente's look of fury turn murderous. He yanked Vitale along to the other side of the room, and Court heard him demand, "I understand about the villagers, but how could you let these Scots overrun us?"

Vitale appeared sorry but unbending, his only concern about A

Court jerked a chin at Niall, and he rose. "Doona worry about old man Vitale," Niall said as he joined them, slapping their backs. "Prickly sort till you save his arse from deserters enough times."