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.It wasn’t Amy she thought of, but herself.If she, Clarice, weren’t a princess, what would she want to do? To know that no country depended on her existence.To choose her husband based on something besides his pedigree.To be just Clarice, with no title weighing her down…inevitably her thoughts went to Robert.If she weren’t a princess…if he weren’t a Scottish earl…“Ye know, a princess should be free t’ follow her heart.” Hamish coaxed her along, trying to make her see things his way.“A princess owes it t’ the rest o’ us t’ ha’e a happy ending,” Benneit said.“Womanish,” Henry mocked him.“Shut yer maw,” Benneit said.“Can’t ye see she’s thinking aboot it?”She loved Robert so much.Because of that love, she had done one selfish thing.She had given in to the need she sensed in him and lain with him, and when she did, he had filled a need in her she hadn’t known existed.They were each illustrious people on their own, but together they were remarkable.They were happy.They were whole.Catching sight of the letter in her hand, she smoothed out the wrinkled sheets and a few hot tears trickled down her cheeks.Yet how could she think of herself now?The old men gathered around and awkwardly patted her back.“There, there,” they said.And, “It’s fer the best.”Maybe they were right.Maybe it was for the best.Amy didn’t want to be found.If Clarice went after her, Amy would resist returning, and Clarice couldn’t force her.Didn’t even want to force her.She wanted Amy to have what Amy wished, and if that included her freedom, then Clarice had to stand before Grandmamma’s throne and, for her sister, lie like a trooper.Of course, because Amy had her freedom, and because they didn’t know where Sorcha was, Clarice would have to do her duty.She would go back to Beaumontagne.She would marry whoever was chosen for her.She would breed sons who would inherit the throne.She couldn’t live for Robert or with Robert, so for Amy’s sake Clarice would ride away from Robert MacKenzie and never look back.If, fifty years from now, she still cried into her pillow at night, well, that was the burden a princess carried.Sniffing, she straightened her shoulders.“All right.I’ve come to a decision.”Clearly delighted, Henry said, “I knew ye’d see things our way!”From across the bridge she heard shouting.Gilbert studied her.“I dunna know that she’s seeing things our way.”“She has t’ see love is more important than anything else,” Tomas argued.The yelling grew louder.Clarice paid little attention.“There are different kinds of love.One is a love of duty and of honor.Hepburn knows that love.So do I.”Now the yelling made her stop to look.It penetrated even Henry’s hearing, bringing his head around.It wasn’t a pleasant sound, this shouting.It was discordant, containing a current of fury that caused Clarice to rise.Shuffling their feet, the old men strained their eyes to see across the bridge—where, stomping in the lead, came that bully Clarice had met the first day she came to Freya Crags.The man who’d made fun of her, bet her ten pounds she couldn’t make Amy pretty, then sneaked away before she could make him pay.What was his name?Hamish spit on the ground, a crude and scornful statement.“We’ve got trooble.It’s little Billie MacBain.”Billie waved his fists, his face screwed into a wild triumph.Behind him marched soldiers.English soldiers.And striding beside Billie MacBain…dear Lord!Clarice staggered backward.Beside Billie MacBain marched Magistrate Fairfoot, the man from whom she’d stolen Blaize.Tall, distinguished-looking, he carried the weight of his office on him and had a twist of cruelty to his mouth.“English knaves,” Henry bellowed, but this time there was so much shouting, no one heard him except for his friends and Clarice.“They’re hunting me.” Clarice shouldn’t panic.She’d been in worse straits.“It’s me they want.”The old men didn’t look shocked or ask her what she’d done wrong.Benneit said, “Then we’d best get ye oot o’ here before they can get their filthy hands on yer royal person.”Some of the villagers, women mostly, trailed after the English.The soldiers carried muskets over their shoulders, and they glanced about as if they would love to fire on the crowd.“Oot the back o’ the alehouse.” Hamish urged Clarice toward the dim interior.“There’s an alleyway behind the shop.”Her heart thundered in her chest.This was what she feared.This was her nightmare.Gilbert said, “Don’t worry, Yer Highness.We’ll point them in the wrong direction.”She looked again at the oncoming troop.She swallowed.She nodded.“Thank you.” She ran for the inside of the alehouse, calling back, “Thank you!”As she freed the latch, she was already planning how to get to Blaize.She wouldn’t be able to saddle him, but she could use the mounting block and ride him bareback.They’d take the paths across the countryside, ride toward MacKenzie Manor….Her lungs hurt as if she’d already run for miles.No.No, she couldn’t go back to MacKenzie Manor.Fairfoot would hunt her down there, denounce her as a criminal, and tell the ladies they had been defrauded.They’d be willing to hang her themselves.Robert wasn’t there to save her.Besides, she couldn’t go running to Robert.Not now.Not ever.Poking her head out the door, she checked the alley.It was empty.The soldiers hadn’t planned ahead.They hadn’t covered her escape.Quietly she closed the door behind her.The wind whistled through the alley, tearing at her hair, chilling her bones.Clutching the lapels of her jacket, she kept her head down and hurried to the corner.With any luck she’d be gone before Magistrate Fairfoot realized she wasn’t in the shop.Before he got his filthy hands on her, used her as an example to all the women in his district, and raped and hanged her.Her heart thumped in her chest.She could make it.With each step she became more sure.She was going to make it.She turned the corner.And ran right into Colonel Ogley’s arms.Twenty-eightHe who lies down with dogs shall rise with fleas.—THE OLD MEN OF FREYA CRAGSThe next morning, as Robert approached MacKenzie Manor, he reflected with satisfaction on a ring in his saddlebag.He didn’t know if its beauty was enough to entice Clarice to marry him, especially after the way he’d treated her in bed…well, he had enjoyed that.In fact, he’d never been so close to heaven.In all honesty, he couldn’t say he was sorry.Not when he thought of how wonderfully she’d tasted, or the way she’d moved under him, and the warm clasp of her body around his cock, like a living glove holding him, stroking him…The gravel of the drive crunched under Helios’s hooves.The trees dripped big splashes of rain on him while protecting him from the steady drizzle.Robert caught sight of MacKenzie Manor, and hoped that the ring’s glittering stones would keep Clarice’s attention long enough for him to plead his case
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