Bride of the Black Scot (6 page)

“Aye. I can no help wondering why your father would agree to
your betrothal to the Black Scot,” he said. “From the way you talk, I gather he
is extremely fond of you.”

“I told you before. It was simply because the king commanded
it. Perhaps I made it easier for him to accept.”

“How?”

“Because I wished for excitement.”

“Then you are a fool.”

“Perhaps I am, but it hasn’t been too bad so far.”

He turned his head to look at her. “Has it not?”

She smiled at him. “No. I find I have a taste for
adventure.”

“Our journey is young, lass. You are speaking prematurely.”

“I don’t think so. In fact, I have a feeling that I will
come to enjoy the next few days more than I have enjoyed the past ones.”

“Ours is a dangerous journey. There are many clans like the
MacBeans. Do not take it too lightly, or you will be caught off guard,” he
said, watching her with his disturbing blue eyes.

She looked at his face. “I fear that has already happened,”
she said softly.

He gave her a questioning look. “What are you thinking,
lass?”

“If you knew that, you would think me past foolish,” she
said, wishing she could call back her words. She had always been too free with
her tongue, speaking her mind when she should have remained silent. Perhaps
being around these closed-mouthed Scots would be good for her.

“Perhaps I think you past foolish already. You did say you
were agreeable to this betrothal to the Black Scot, did you not?”

She looked off. “Yes, although I must confess I have come to
regret that already…at least in part.”

“Changed your mind, have you?”

She turned to look him full in the face. “I find myself
wishing…” She caught herself.

His eyes seemed to gleam in the moonlight. She felt a shiver
of apprehension. The warm touch of his hand against her cool cheek made her
jump. His gaze seemed to penetrate hers, and she could feel the sudden pounding
of her heart.

“I find myself curious about what you were going to say,” he
said in a musing, almost careless voice as his hand dropped lower, his fingers
spreading between her breasts where her heart lay, beating in triple time. “You
are strangely quiet now,” he whispered in her ear, his lips brushing the
sensitive skin there. “I wonder why?”

She swallowed, trying to force away the lump in her throat.
“I…I find I have nothing to say at the moment.”

He nuzzled the skin below her ear. “Are you afraid of me,
lass?”

“No,” she croaked.

“You should be,” he whispered, his words coming from the
velvety darkness to brush softly against her skin.

“I am only afraid of the unknown,” she said, wishing for the
first time in her life that she knew more about what passed between a man and a
woman.

“Your heart beats fast,” he said, lowering his head, his
mouth touching the sensitive skin of her neck as if he were tasting the pulse
that hammered so wildly. She shivered again, feeling both hot and cold. She
dared not move.

“Tell me,” he whispered, his mouth dangerously close to
hers. “Tell me what you were about to say. You found yourself wishing…what?”

She closed her eyes, swallowing hard as he nuzzled her neck.
“Wishing you were the Black Scot.” She expected him to kiss her, or at least
for her words to shock him.

She felt disappointed and strangely bereft when he drew
back. “I ken you feel that way because I am the one you met first.”

“No, I say it because I like you.”

“Liking isna the same as loving, lass.”

“No, but it is a beginning,” she replied, feeling suddenly
shy. Her voice dropped so low, her words were barely audible. “I know I could
come to love a man such as you.”

“Aye, you probably could,” he whispered, turning her toward
him, his mouth brushing hers. He rose to his feet, reaching out and taking her
hand and hauling her upward. “Save that kind of talk for your betrothed,” he
said harshly, “or dinna you have any scruples? Is one man as good as another to
you?”

In her benumbed state, she could only answer what was in her
heart. “If that were true, I would not be so troubled. I fear it is my scruples
that cause me such distress. I have never felt this way around a man before.
You do strange things to me…things I do not understand.” She shook her head.

He stood holding her hand and looking down at her. He drew
her toward him and his gaze searched her eyes as if he were looking for some
hint of truth. “You had best be careful, lass. That kind of talk sets a man to
thinking things he has no business thinking.”

“Then that makes us well matched, for I have been doing so
all day.”

“Come on,” he said, pulling her along.

“Where are we going?”

“Back to camp before we both do something we will regret.”

“You should speak for yourself.”

“That is what I am trying to do,” he said, and she wanted
nothing more than to go to him, to kiss that hard mouth into such passion he
would take her for his own—take her and never let her go. She realized suddenly
that it was truly what she wanted, that she had thought of little else since the
moment she had first seen him. It took every ounce of pride she had to keep
from asking him to take her in his arms, to kiss her as he had kissed her
before.

“Are you really afraid you might do something you will be
sorry for?” she asked.

“Aye, I ken I already have.”

“You should never say something like that to an
impressionable woman,” she said. “If it is your wish that I wed the Black Scot,
you should be doing all you can to dissuade me, instead of telling me you find
me appealing.”

He jerked to a stop. “You misunderstand me, lass. I dinna
find you appealing in the least,” he said harshly. “My desire to return to camp
was only my desire to spare you the humiliation of my rejection.”

“You don’t lie very well,” she said, thinking his dark,
cynical beauty made him only more attractive to her. She came up on her tiptoes
and kissed him softly on the mouth. “You like me more than you are willing to
admit…”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.

“I know you better than you think, m’lord, and I find you
transparent as glass,” she said. She didn’t find him transparent at all, but it
sounded good and made her feel as if she had some power in this situation,
which had gotten terribly out of hand.

He jerked her against him, his hand coming behind her head
and holding her there, so her mouth was against his. He kissed her fiercely,
possessively, using the pressure of his mouth to force her lips apart.

She kissed him back with all the untutored passion she had
within her, knowing it was an inexperienced kiss at best. He seemed to take
over, his tongue coming roughly into her mouth again and again, as if he were
trying to frighten her. She moaned, not frightened at all. The kiss turned
suddenly gentle. She arched against him, melting when he groaned deep in his
throat, his hand coming up to close warmly over her breast. A desperate craving
consumed her and he whispered something in a language she could not understand.

He released her suddenly. “There will come a time,” he said
bitterly, “when you will find you dinna know me at all.”

Stephen sat before the fire, staring over the smoldering
coals to where Juliette lay sleeping in his tartan.

“I ken it is hard looking one way and rowing another,” Angus
said.

Stephen looked at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Angus sat down near him. “You seem to find yourself sinking
deeper and deeper into the quicksand of deceit. You should have told the lass
who you are while you had the chance. Before it was too late.”

“It isna too late.”

“Aye, it is.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You waited overlong, lad. The lass’s heart is involved
now.”

“It doesna matter. I will simply tell her.”

“Aye, but not without suffering her hurt and anger.”

“What do you think I should do then?”

Angus shrugged and picking up a stick, stirred the fire.
“The lass cares for you.”

“Aye, that complicates things for now, but it makes the
future look a bit brighter.”

“Aye, if you can tell her the truth without losing her
trust. I wouldna want to be in your shoes, laddie. A precipice in the front;
wolves in the rear.”

“I will find a way,” Stephen said, “for I will not lose
her.”

They rode hard for two days, taking few breaks to rest, and
only a few hours to sleep. The pace was difficult, and they were plagued with a
misting rain that seemed in no hurry to end.

For hours they had been riding without stopping. Cold, wet
and fighting a headache, Juliette sat wearily upon her horse, listening to
Edith complain, thinking Stephen had been right to covet silence.

Stephen
.

Her heart warmed at the mere thought of him—even knowing
that he had been avoiding her all day. For the hundredth time, she allowed her
gaze to search him out, her mind doing what it enjoyed of late, wistfully
thinking how different things would be if it were Stephen she was to marry
instead of the Black Scot.

For a moment, she allowed her thoughts to stray off in that
direction, something she found both pleasurable and agonizing. There was no
point in denying the truth. She could not lie to herself. She was falling in
love with him. The question that bothered her was whether or not Stephen could
come to feel about her as she felt about him—in the little time they had
together before they reached Craigmoor.

And if he
did
come to care for her, would he turn
against the leader of his clan for the woman he loved?

One look at the broad back and proud carriage of the man in
question and she knew the answer. Dishonor was as foreign as French to him.
Since infancy, Stephen had been fed liberal doses of pride and honor right
along with his porridge. He might come to care for her. He might kiss her a
time or two. But he would never, ever betray his laird.

Oddly enough, she found she would not want him to.

At that moment, she realized he was riding toward her and
her heart hammered.
Come to me, Stephen. Take me. Hold me. Tell me you care…

She smiled shyly, her heart pounding furiously in
anticipation. She looked longingly at his dark, impassive face as he rode past
her without so much as a brief glance in her direction.

Her heart shattered, trampled like her dreams in the mud
beneath the hooves of his horse. If there had been any lingering doubt as to
where things stood between them, he had clarified it now.

A deep, stabbing pain twisted her heart. She wanted to cry,
but in private…not bouncing along on the back of an obnoxious beast and in the
presence of eight stubborn, uncaring Scots.

She glared at Stephen’s back. She wanted to ride to where he
was and shove his arrogant face into the mud. If she were a man she could do
just that. “Take heart, lass. The lad fares no better than you.” Juliette
jerked her head around to see that Angus had ridden quietly next to her. If she
had not been so disheartened, she would have been in awe that he had spoken to
her at all. Instead, the words of consolation coming from such a stalwart man
made her ache with emotion. She felt sorry for herself. Wounded. Abandoned.
Tears burned her eyes and she prayed she would not cry. Not now. Not in front
of this silent old man who seemed to know her heart.

“Taking heart is easier said than done, I fear.”

“It is no as difficult as you make it, lass.”

She sniffed. “You don’t understand. I made a fool of myself.
I kissed him and now I think he hates me.”

The corners of his mouth twitched and Angus cleared his
throat. “I wouldna be too upset, lass. If Stephen hated every lass who kissed
him, there wouldna be any lassies left for him to like.”

She shot him a dark look. “If
that
was supposed to
make me feel better, it didn’t.”

“Weel, would it make you feel better if he did hate you?”

She lifted her chin, feeling a sudden surge of pride,
determined that he would not know how much it really did matter. But her
resolve seemed to crumple immediately. She felt a tear slip down her cheek and
she wiped it quickly with the back of her hand. “I have never felt so young and
naive,” she said. “I have always been taught to be honest, but I have learned
that honesty can also be a ruinous mistake. I spoke what was in my heart. I see
now that I blundered in thinking he would respect that. Now I feel as if I made
a fool of myself. I know I should not have kissed him, that I should never have
spoken to him so honestly. What I did was wrong, but there is no way to undo
what has been done.”

She wiped her eyes again, not looking at him for fear she would
burst into tears.

Angus’s unexpected friendliness exasperated her and raised
her ire until her tears were all but forgotten. She wanted to tell him to take
his meddling old self out into the forest and pet a mad wolf, but she managed
to hold herself in check, though she still couldn’t understand why this dour
Scot’s decision to suddenly take her into his confidence should make her want
to cry.

“Dinna fret, lass. No one whose heart is in the right place
will be denied paradise forever,” he said. With that, he spurred his horse
ahead, leaving her alone, the tears she had fought to hold back streaming down
her face, mingling with the now pounding rain.

The rain slowed again to a penetrating, thick mist, and the
rest of the day passed without event—another long day with too few stops,
another day during which Stephen ignored her.

When the sun should have been settling comfortably on the
horizon, they rode into the yard of a ruined abbey.

“We will make camp here,” Stephen said gruffly and
dismounted.

Juliette looked around. Only the abbey walls remained
standing, offering little protection from the elements or the Gordons’ enemies.

Angus came to help Juliette down. The moment her feet
touched ground, she turned abruptly and almost ran into Stephen.

His hands came out to grab her. He did not release her.

She glanced up at him, uncertain. Having been taught that
one gained more with honey than vinegar, she smiled.

He returned the smile with a lazy one of his own. It caught
her unawares, leaving her confused. Smiling was a mistake. She had a feeling he
had learned while in nappies to use that smile with such knee-weakening effect.

Too bewildered and weary to sort through her emotions, she
turned away, wrenching herself from his grasp before he had a chance to say
anything or give her another mocking smile.

As she hurried away from him, she realized this was the
first time she had even been in love. Why anyone would covet this miserable
feeling was beyond her. Seeing that Edith, as well as Stephen’s men, had disappeared
behind the walls of the abbey, she went looking for them.

She had gone no more than a few feet when she heard Stephen
coming up behind her. “You look tired,” he said.

She stopped, clenching her fists at her sides. She spoke
without turning around. “I
am
tired,” she said.

He came around her, blocking her way. “These walls will give
you some comfort tonight. Dinna expect a roof over your head.”

She nodded, ready to leave. “If I have learned anything
about the Scots,” she said, “it is not to expect anything that resembles
understanding or comfort.”

That seemed to amuse him. “There is a burn nearby that feeds
a small pool. I thought you might be wanting to take a bath.”

Her heart lurched at the thought, for she could not help
remembering what had happened the last time she had taken a bath. “Yes, a bath
would be welcome,” she said, putting the thought out of her mind. “Thank you. I
shall report to my betrothed that you treated me with the utmost courtesy.”

“I ken no man could ill treat a lass as kindhearted as you.
Do you think I would be capable of such?”

She looked at his dark face and hard mouth. “Will my
betrothed be so understanding when I tell him how I made a fool of myself by
kissing you?”

He hid his surprise well. “Those are your words, lass, not
mine. But since you ask, I dinna see why you have to tell him at all.”

“I would not have him thinking me something other than I
am,” she said, trying to maintain her dignity and finding it difficult with her
hair hanging limp and wet, and knowing her damp clothes gave off the odor of a
wet sheep. “I admire honesty in others. I can expect no less from myself.”

He lifted his hand to her face, stroking her cheek with the
back of his fingers. “Take heart, lass. As you once said, the Black Scot is not
as heartless as his name implies. I doubt your revelation would start a war
with the English,” he added with good humor. She said nothing.

Stephen continued in a light tone. “He might have
me
drawn and quartered, but he would no harm a hair on your golden head.”

“He might if he knew what was in my heart.”

His hand dropped to his side, but the look in his eyes told
her he desired her. No amount of harsh or jovial words could dissuade her from
believing that. She had no doubt that if she were not the betrothed of the
Black Scot, Stephen Gordon would do more than stroke her cheek.

And that is what hurts the most. I want him to do more.
As God is my witness, I do. I do…

The sound of his voice pulled her back from her thoughts.
“And what is in your heart that is sure to provoke his anger?” he asked.

She looked at him with hurt in her eyes. “Don’t mock me,”
she whispered, intending to run away.

He caught her before she could move. “Come here, lass,” he
said.

“No.”

Unexpectedly, his arms came around her and he drew her against
him, kissing her slowly, thoughtfully, and quite thoroughly. She felt herself
drawn to him, as if she were sinking into a warm, long-awaited bath.

Then suddenly his grip tightened. He loomed over her, dark
and dangerous, crushing her mouth until her senses reeled. His tongue forced
her lips apart, expertly probing with ravishing implication. His gentle
softness had become punishing roughness.

She knew that he deliberately meant to frighten her and thus
snuff out the desire that still burned inside her.

He did not want her to want him. She understood that. She
was forbidden to him, dangerous and destructive, yet there was something within
him that was unable to resist. His struggle touched her.

Is that what love was?

Her thoughts vanished as he continued to kiss her, allowing
his mouth to do to her the things the rest of his body could not. She arched
against him in complete surrender. Her hand came up to rest against his
bristled cheek. His jaw was hard and masculine. Her hand slid around his neck.
His hair was silky and cool to the touch.

She knew they should not be doing this, but something strong
within her pushed her farther into his embrace, until it was difficult to know
where she ended and he began. Everything he did touched her more deeply than anything
she had ever experienced. She made a small sound of need. He responded by
drawing her even closer, close enough to feel the hardness between his legs.
She moaned again, floating…drifting…wanting…

Suddenly, he broke the kiss, and she understood that he had
not mocked her, that he had revealed his feelings in the only way he knew how.

His voice came to her from out of the mist that seemed to
surround her. “Now you know,” he whispered, releasing her completely.

A moment later, she was left standing cold, wet and lonely
in the rain.