Amanda Scott (42 page)

Hearing the soft, melodic whistling, the rider had reined in his horse. The tune intrigued him, and he wanted to hear more, but the thick-headed fiend he rode, not nearly as well trained as his own mounts, had snorted in bestial protest. He hoped, therefore, that the whistler was not an enemy. But although his profession had won him as many enemies as friends, few of either description had cause to suspect that he might be anywhere near the abbey woods, so the likelihood was small that one of those holding a grudge lay in wait for him ahead.

Nevertheless, he dismounted, checked to be sure his sword was where it belonged across his back and had not shifted to one side or the other as he rode, and looped his rein around a handy branch. Then, moving with the swift, unnatural silence of an experienced hunter and woods-man, avoiding dry twigs, puddles, and pebbles as much by long-developed instinct as by watching for them, he made his way quickly toward the whistler.

He saw her moments later, a small, slender, but curvaceous lass with flaxen, almost white, hair hanging in two thick plaits, one forward over her right shoulder, the other down her back to her hip. The plaits looked soft and smooth. He yearned to touch her hair, to see if it was as silky as it looked.

She walked tentatively, peering about, but he thought she was uncertain of her direction rather than fearful.

Her dress was in sad shape, which was a pity, because as beautiful as she looked in it, one knew she would augment any gown. She should wear silk or satin, and have furs and jewels to enhance her beauty, not a fresh-caught salmon in one hand and a bent, decrepit fishing pole in the other. He thought her father should be flogged for letting such a beauty wander about unguarded. Still, there she was, and Giff MacLennan was not a man to let opportunity stroll away from him.

He slipped up closer, altering direction to avoid approaching her from behind and startling her. He did not want her to screech.

He looked down at his feet, fairly certain that if he was not looking at her when she spied him, she would think he had not yet seen her.

He heard the change in the sound of her footsteps on the wet ground. When she stopped, he looked up to find her staring at him, wide-eyed. Her eyes were beautiful, too, a clear light blue that looked almost translucent. Her lashes, like her eyebrows, were several shades darker than her hair, yet not dark enough to be called brown. She still gripped the fishing pole tightly in her right hand. The fine-looking salmon dangled from her left.

“Good morrow to you, lass,” he said. “Art lost in these vast woods?”

She nodded, still wide-eyed, her full, soft-looking lips invitingly parted, her round, equally soft-looking, equally inviting breasts moving gently beneath her bodice as the tempo of her breathing increased. She still had not spoken.

“I can show you the way if you like,” he said, flashing his most charming smile. Usually, it drew a responsive smile from its target, but she continued to regard him silently, soberly.

“Would you like that, lass, for me to show you the way?”

She nodded again, looking straight into his eyes.

“I would require only a small payment from you in return for such a rescue,” he said, still smiling.

He had not thought her eyes could widen any further, but they did.

Still she did not speak.

He stepped closer, holding her gaze, wondering if she would step back. The ground was springy under his feet, but for once he paid little heed. She was even more beautiful up close, and she clearly invited his attention.

Sidony continued to stare at him. The dark-haired stranger wore one of the leather, steel-lined vests that Borderers called a jack-o’-plate, with plain leather boots and breeks, the latter snug around muscular thighs and calves. He also carried a sword in a scabbard slung across his back and a dirk shoved down one boot, but not for an instant did she mistake him for a common man-at-arms or Border ruffian.

Not only was his shirt too white, too well made—and of fine linen, at that—but he carried himself with an arrogance that one saw only in the landed classes.

He was also one of the handsomest men she had ever beheld.

She liked the merry twinkle in his dark-blue eyes, and she liked the sound of his voice, too, for it was as smooth as honey, the sort of voice one could listen to just for pleasure. He was as tall and as broad across the shoulders as Hugo and Rob were, though, and she preferred men who did not take up so much space. Such men tended to loom over one and to assume that one would always do as they commanded. Her brothers-in-law were all such men. She usually did obey them, though, so perhaps she had given them cause to expect such obedience.

She was still wondering when he was going to tell her what her payment should be when he bent swiftly and kissed her right on the lips. To her shock, he even put a hand at the back of her head to hold her so he could keep kissing her.

His lips felt soft against hers at first, then harder, more demanding. He had closed his eyes, which was too bad, because they were the darkest blue she had ever seen. Like the water in the loch, they were so dark that they looked almost black.

His free arm slipped around her waist, and she knew that she ought to protest, perhaps even try to push him away. But no one had ever dared to do such a thing to her before, and she found it more pleasant than one might have expected—had one had time to expect anything at all.

But then his tongue slid between her lips, and she reacted without a second’s thought, pushing against his hard chest with both hands, the fish and the pole notwithstanding.

He let go of her, stepping back with a look of surprise.

“Why so violent, lass? You’ll surely not deny that you enjoyed that.” He grinned, putting his hands on his hips as if he dared her to contradict him.

Anger stirred so swiftly that again she acted without thought. Forgetting that she held the fish, she swung hard and gave him a clout across the face with it before he— or she, for that matter—recognized her intent.

He did start to raise a hand and step back, but the boggy ground betrayed him and the fish smacked him hard. His left foot lost traction and shot right out from under him, and to her horror, he sat down, hard, in the mud.

Sidony turned and ran as fast as she could, hoping to conceal herself in the shrubbery before he could get up again. However, before she had taken more than three or four steps, a hand of iron clamped round her upper left arm, jerked her to a halt, and spun her to face him.

“By heaven,” he said, still gripping her arm, his furious face close to hers. “I ought to put you across my knee and teach you better manners.”

Stiffening abruptly, Sidony found her voice at last. “How dare you!” she snapped. “Release me at once!”

To her astonishment, he did. But the extraordinary dark blue eyes flashcd fire, then narrowed ominously. “What the devil are you doing out here alone, dressed like a common serving wench?” he demanded.

“I thought you were a gentleman,” she said, giving back look for look. “Is this how gentlemen treat common serving wenches? I didn’t know.”

“Don’t try me too far, lass. I’m a tolerant fellow, but I don’t tolerate insolence from anyone.”

“Is it insolent to ask such a question?” She raised her chin. “I should think it much more insolent to go about kissing innocent serving maids.”

“They generally are not so innocent,” he said, grinning again.

“And why is that, do you think?”

He opened his mouth to answer but shut it again, frowning at her instead. “I wonder,” he said at last. “You ask impertinent questions, but you look as cool as if you were merely inquiring about the weather.”

“You do not answer my question.”

“Nay, lassie, and I am not going to, because either you know exactly why serving maids are generally not so innocent and asked your question merely to put me in the wrong, or you do
not
know, in which case you are too innocent for me to tell you. More to the point, you did not answer
my
question, which was a much more important one than yours. And I asked mine first.”

“I forgot what it was,” she said, although she remembered perfectly well.

For a moment, he looked as though he might shake her, and to her surprise, she looked forward to the experience with some interest. The thought sobered her instantly. What, she wondered, could have put such an absurd notion into her head?

With a patient note that she knew had nothing to do with what he must be feeling, he said, “I asked you what the devil you are doing out here alone, dressed like a common serving wench.”

“It is bad manners to comment on a lady’s dress, is it not?”

She watched with satisfaction as his eyes narrowed again. “I thought they would,” she murmured as he began to speak.

“What did you say?” he demanded.

“Nothing.”

He made a sound like a growl, then said, “Look here, are you really lost?”

“Aye, although now that I know where the abbey is—” She broke off, looking around and realizing that in her mad dash for freedom and subsequent capture, she had lost her sense of direction again. “I’m still lost,” she admitted.

“Where do you live?”

“I came to the woods from Clendenen House in the Canongate,” she said.

“I ken the Canongate fine, so I expect we can find Clendenen House. Sithee, you were walking away from the abbey. Had you simply turned the other way and followed the loch shore north, you would soon have seen it.”

“It was wrong of you to demand payment for helping me,” she said sternly.

“Aye, it was, but I enjoyed it all the same,” he said, grinning again.

“Did you?” She did not know what to make of him.

Giff stopped grinning, feeling yet again that unfamiliar sense of guilt that she had stirred in him only moments before with her naïve question about serving wenches. He was not certain what had stirred it this time, though. Surely, she had not elicited such a response from his conscience merely by speaking two words. But she looked so intent, as if the answer would mean something to her, as if he could hurt her by saying the kiss had meant no more to him than any other stolen kiss.

He did not want to hurt her. He wanted to see her smile. She had not smiled once, and her sober demeanor made him feel as if he had behaved badly.

His conscience, which had been delightfully inactive for months, if not years, stirred again. He had not behaved well, to be sure, but that had been as much her fault as his and surely was not sufficient cause for this strange unease. He was a man who took both adventure and pleasure where he found them, and he rarely counted cost. Nonetheless, he wanted to make amends now.

Still, he would not cater to her vanity by lying and telling her the kiss had been special. She was a beauty, to be sure, and he would not mind growing better acquainted with her, but a man of his sort had little time for dalliance. And he had no time to dally with a virginal maid who might expect marriage to come of it.

Therefore, more brusquely than he had intended, he said, “I must get you home, lass. Come, the Canongate lies this way. Does anyone even know that you came into these woods?”

“Aye, the gardener,” she said with a little sigh that struck him like a lance’s blow, for it told him as clearly as words would have that he had disappointed her.

“What the devil were you thinking to confide in the gardener but in no one else?” he demanded.

“I had been playing with my wee nephew so my sister Isobel could enjoy some conversation with our hostess, who is to marry our father next month,” she said, surprising him with her calm. “My nephew’s nurse came to take him away for his nap, and when I discovered that Isobel and Lady Clendenen were also sleeping, I walked out into the garden. I hadn’t expected the gardener to be there, and although he is very kind, I wanted to be by myself. So when he asked if I was out for a wee stroll, I told him I intended to walk in the woods.”

“He ought to have told you to stay in the gardens,” he said severely.

“Doubtless others will agree with you,” she said with that same strange calm. “But he just asked if I’d like to take a fishing pole with me, and he was so kind that I did not like to say no, so I did, and I caught this fish. Then I realized I was lost, and you came along just as I thought I knew where the abbey was,” she added with another sigh that made him feel as if he ought to apologize for disturbing her.

Curious about something else, he said, “But why did you want to get away? Was there no one else at Clendenen House with whom you could converse?”

“Oh, aye, two of my good-brothers were there, but they were talking privately and I did not want to disturb them.”

“Are they not kind to you?” he demanded, feeling a sudden urge to have words with men so careless as to let such an innocent walk abroad alone.

Suppressing a sudden urge to smile at his obvious displeasure with Hugo and Rob, Sidony said, “Nay, sir, they are very kind. ’Tis only that one hesitates to interrupt such men when they are talking privately. Moreover, I wanted time alone. You see, I have been in Midlothian for more than a year now, and I miss my home. Sometimes I just like to sit and pretend I am back there. Today was one of those days.”

“So you don’t ordinarily live in the royal burgh.”

“Mercy, no. I have been staying with my sisters. My sister Sorcha and I came to Midlothian when our older sister Adela did. Isobel was already living here, although she had been visiting my sister Cristina for a short time before that.”

“Look here, how many sisters do you have?”

“Six now. I used to have seven, but Mariota died tragically in a fall years ago, so now there is only Cristina, Adela, Kate, Maura, Isobel, Sorcha, and I. The others have all married, and now my father wants to marry Lady Clendenen.”

“Your father, aye. You mentioned him earlier but not when you spoke of Clendenen House. Is he there, as well? Did you just hope I’d not meet him?”

“He is at home now,” she said. “He came to Edinburgh last year with the Lord of the Isles when his grace came to pay his respects to the King of Scots. My father is a member of the Counsel of the Isles, you see.”