Cates, Kimberly (11 page)

She'd be mad as hell if she ever discovered that he'd glimpsed her vulnerabilities, but he'd deal with that later.

Carefully, Gavin edged the coverlets higher about her, his fingers stroking her hair as if she were one of his little half sisters come to him to cry out some heartache.

Gavin winced, the weight of his guilt crushing down on him afresh. Doubtless, Christianne, Eliza, Laura, and Maria needed comfort now, with their papa dead and their brothers hunted as traitors in the wilds of Scotland. He could only thank God he'd had the wisdom to convince his ailing father to sign over Strawberry Grove to Lydia before he'd died, before it could be snatched away by the crown, another forfeit of Gavin's treason.

Regrets. Gavin stared down into Rachel de Lacey's night-shadowed face and wondered if a man could be free of them.

He let his eyes drift shut, and savored the warmth of her. He wondered if this was one more act of self-deception, one more time he refused to see the truth. Was he holding Rachel de Lacey to soothe away her fears? Or was he holding her so that for just one brief moment he would not feel alone?

Only a coward needs to keep a candle lit to drive back the night.
She could still hear her father's voice, see his forbidding scowl, as if her request was an insult to him.

She could still feel the dragging terror of the dreams—dreams of endless corridors, black as the new-turned soil of her mother's grave, dreams in which the tears she held inside hardened, like diamonds that ground into her eyes until they bled.

No tears. No light. No one to hold her.

Alone.

Grief shoved hard against Rachel's heart—not grief for the mother she'd barely known, but grief at her own isolation. Somehow, this time was different. She could feel it—warmth, cocooning her, enveloping her, driving back the dreams. Something gentle stroking her hair.

Of her own volition, she melted into that warmth. Even in sleep, she knew it was weakness. But just for a little while... just for a moment, she needed that warmth so badly she didn't care. She sank into it, drowned in it, drank of it greedily. And somewhere in it, she found rest, a rest that she'd never known in her gold and blue bedchamber at Lacey House, nestled among the lace-trimmed counterpanes and mounds of pillows in her own bed.

But it seemed her dream-demons were jealous of her sleep, for they rattled their wings together until the sound assaulted her ears, pulled at the weighted rims of her eyelids.

What in heaven's name was making that racket? If it was Bunnie, the upstairs maid, Rachel fully intended to give the girl a dressing down.

Rachel opened her eyes as a door thudded open with a bang, light illuminating a rough-cut shape before her, further blurring her already foggy vision. Instead of a tidy-looking maid in cap and apron, with the sweet scent of morning chocolate preceding her into the chamber, a woman like a white witch from a fairy tale hovered in the doorway.

Confusion jolted through Rachel as she glimpsed long white hair draping in a lovely web back from a vaguely familiar face, the light from the oil lamp clutched in the woman's hand casting shadows across the rough stone walls of a cave. The tangled bedclothes, the heather mattress...

Reality slammed into Rachel the instant Mama Fee let out a cry of pure horror.

"What, by Deirdre's tears, is this about?"

The warm lump beside Rachel came alive. She was horrified to glimpse the traitor Glen Lyon emerging from his coverlets, his gray eyes bewildered, raw curses of pain emanating from the lips she realized had just been buried against her hair.

Sweet Jesus in heaven, the man was holding her in his arms, every inch of her pressed against him. The skin of his naked chest burned through the thin shield of her robes, leaving the feel of him—rough satin and hard masculinity—seared into the very core of her.

Mortified, Rachel let out a shriek of outrage, battling to get free of him, but her gown was pinned beneath him. In her struggles, the garment tore with a sickening sound, yet still she tried to put as much distance between them as possible.

Chill air swept over her skin, but it couldn't cool the places where Gavin Carstares had touched her, cradled her. The notion that even in sleep, she had sought comfort from this coward, this villain—her sworn enemy—was more horrifying than anything Rachel had ever known. That he should be the man who had plumbed the depths of her weakness appalled her.

"I'll be damned!" Adam's growl of astonishment filled the stony room. "The lady must not be as starched up as we thought."

"Rachel, for God's sake!" Gavin exclaimed, flinging a counterpane toward her, his face suddenly white as he bared his own naked chest. In that instant, she realized that the costume robes had disintegrated around her, baring her breast, her shoulder, the naked length of her right leg, all the way to the top of her thigh.

Something hot and prickly lodged in her throat, her eyes all but popping out of her head in dismay as she groped for the coverlets, then clutched them to her like a maid just surprised while abed with her lover.

The unfortunate image stuck like a thorn in Rachel's consciousness, a piercing realization. Oh, God, what this must look like...

She started to stammer out excuses, but Gavin was already levering himself into a sitting position, rubbing his chest with his hand. She knew he tried to disguise the fact that his arm was curved over his bandage. Why, then, did it appear like a gesture of sleepy sensuality, the effect heightened by the tangle of his hair about his shoulders, the creases the pillows had made in his cheek?

"Mama Fee, this—this isn't at all what it looks like," he began, but the little Scotswoman stalked over to the desk, slamming the tray down onto the cluttered surface with no regard to what lay beneath.

"Oh, that's to be your story, is it, young man?" She raged as she spun back to face them. "If you've a mind to break my heart, you could have had the courtesy not to add a bald-faced lie into the bargain!"

Hot color rose from his chest to darken his aristocratic cheekbones. "I can explain, if you'll just listen—"

"I cannot wait to hear this tale." Adam crossed his brawny arms over his chest, with profound interest on his face. "For once, I'm not the one stirring up mischief with a lady."

"Blast it, Adam, don't go jumping to conclusions, for God's sake. Mistress de Lacey had to sleep somewhere—"

"So you just moved over and said, 'Cuddle up, me lovely'?" Adam arched one brow, his eyes twinkling with barely leashed amusement. "In case you forgot, she all but shot you."

"Would that her shot had been aimed at another place, the poor lamb," Mama Fee said, her voice quivering with what could only be hurt. "Better she should have unmanned you than you should defile an innocent maid!"

Gavin swallowed hard, his tone painfully reasonable. "Mama Fee, I didn't defile the lady. I—"

"He didn't!" Rachel cut in, desperate. "I swear that he did not—"

"Don't you be lying to protect the scoundrel, now!" the Scotswoman warned, charging Gavin, her winsome face that of an avenging angel, or of a brokenhearted mother. "He's a winning lad, and don't I know it—full of charm with that smile that could melt the very stones. But that doesn't excuse him for taking advantage of a poor wee girl the likes of you." Her lips were quivering, her eyes overbright as she confronted the Glen Lyon. "I know you were aching to woo her, but I raised you better than this, I did!"

"Mama Fee, I swear I did not—"

Tears welled up in those vague, beautiful eyes, spilling over delicate cheeks, a sob catching in the lilting tones of her voice. "How can you lie to me, now, with the evidence o' your villainy on the bedclothes for all to see?"

"What the blazes?"

"Her maiden blood! Look at it!" One slender finger poked at the wad of coverlet Rachel clutched to her breasts. Rachel glanced down, saw bright scarlet stains. Had Gavin broken open his wound sometime during the night?

She turned to Mama Fee intending to tell her as much. "Truly, this is from—"

The words were cut off as Gavin's hard arm suddenly grasped her about the waist. "There's no point in lying anymore, sweetheart. They can both see my loving in your face."

"Your—your
what?"
Rachel choked the words out, nearly frozen with astonishment.

"It shines in a woman's eyes, turns her face luminescent when she's been loved by a man. You have that look about you." The man was gazing at her as if she were a pagan banquet laid out for him to devour.

"That's a creative path to lead to loveplay," Adam observed. "The woman shoots a man to get him into bed."

"Loveplay!" Rachel exploded. "Don't be ridiculous! The blood is from his wou—"

Nothing on earth should have been able to stop Rachel from spilling out the truth, regaining some sense of sanity, dignity in this mad situation. But she hadn't counted on the fierce pull of Gavin Carstares' eyes. They delved into her soul, resurrecting his tale of Mama Fee's six strong sons, lost in war, a grief-shattered mother waiting for her last boy to come home. But that boy wasn't coming home. Not ever. And somehow, Mama Fee had filled the gaping hole in her heart with these two men. Gavin Carstares had suffered untold pain in silence to keep this woman from realizing the extent of his injuries. Could Rachel expose the woman to more distress for something as brittle as dignity?

"I..." She couldn't tell the Scotswoman the truth about last night. But how could she even begin to pretend—what? That she had just shared a bed with the rumpled tiger of a man beside her? That she'd shared his body—allowed him to touch her... taste her... take her?

"I... I couldn't... couldn't help myself," she all but choked on the words.

"Of course you couldn't, my poor, innocent angel," Mama Fee crooned, obviously mistaking her stammering for virginal shame. "He's a fine figure of a man, is Gavin. Enough to tempt any maid with a heart. But you needn't fear. He'll do right by you, he will." Her voice took on a steely tone. "You will marry her, or I vow I will thrash you myself for the first time in your life!"

Rachel couldn't even enjoy the Glen Lyon's discomfiture, she was so touched at Mama Fee's outrage on her behalf.

"Mama Fee," Adam put in, "she's already betrothed to—"

"Adam, stop. That doesn't matter anymore. Mama Fee is right," the dread rebel allowed, guilty as a green lad caught abed with his lady-love by his mother. "I've behaved like the most despicable of villains. Mistress de Lacey, I can only pray that you will allow me to make right my sin by becoming my bride."

"Are you out of your mi—" she stopped, aghast, her gaze flashing from his face to that of the older woman.

"If I frightened you, I'm sorry. If I was overeager in my... attentions, I can only say that I was bewitched from the moment I laid eyes on you."

"That is my lad, my dearest boy," Mama Fee caressed the tawny mane of his hair, and cast Rachel a beseeching look. "You see, he might have begun badly, but he is sorry. I vow, he'll make you a grand husband."

This was insane. Another act in a play of sheer madness. She'd been neatly trapped again, by her own words, her clumsy actions, and an odd sense of loyalty to a woman she'd barely met. Or had she been snared by a pair of mesmerizing gray eyes?

"I'm certain you must have
some
tolerable qualities," Rachel muttered to her captor. "I just haven't stumbled across them yet."

He stifled a tense chuckle as Mama Fee continued briskly. "Never you worry, my sweet lamb. We'll have you wed the instant a priest can be found."

Rachel caught the inside of her lip between her teeth. She could only hope that the aftermath of the rebellion had driven every priest in Scotland into the bottom of the sea—not that it would matter if the pope himself were riding through the Highlands, Rachel assured herself. It was not as if she and Gavin Carstares truly intended to marry, yet the longer they could protect this old woman from more pain, the better.

"Adam," Mama Fee said, turning to the mountain of a man as if he were a stripling of twelve. "I shall be counting on you to find a priest so we can get your brother wed as soon as possible."

Adam all but strangled on a chuckle. "Abducted the girl... she shot him. Hell, yes, the bloody fool would have to marry her!"

"Adam, I've told you and told you, it is unbecoming to garble up your words so," Mama Fee scolded. "If you've something to say, say it so the rest of us can hear it."

Adam clutched his head with one huge palm, his face brick red, his eyes dancing with suppressed laughter. But he only muttered. "I'm sorry, ma'am."

"First, we should move the child out of this chamber at once," Mama Fee said.

"No!" "Impossible!" Adam and the Glen Lyon erupted almost at once.

The woman rounded on them, hands on hips, slender brows lowered in censure. "You needn't trouble yourselves to convince me. It isn't proper at all for the girl to stay where she is."

"You are absolutely right." Rachel leaped in eagerly. It would be far easier to escape if she was in Mama Fee's care, away from this cave prison and the man who watched her with intriguing gray eyes. "Of course, I cannot stay with him until we—we are properly wed."

She realized her mistake at once, as Adam closed in on her, the amusement that had shone in his features tempered to pure determination. His eyes flashed a warning as if to say
Don't dare to play this game, for you can only lose.
He started to speak, but the Glen Lyon was already cajoling Mama Fee in practiced tones.

"Mama Fee, do you remember what it was like to be young and in love?" His voice dropped low, husky, doubtless with shame over his bald-faced lie to this woman he cared about. Why was it, then, that the tones reached beneath Rachel's skin, leaving the places he had touched tingling, burning with renewed heat? "The times are so uncertain, filled with peril. I cannot bear to be apart from her even for a moment."

A faltering spark of awareness flickered in the old woman's eyes, and Rachel was aware of how important it was for her to remain captive. Gavin had actually risked stirring the embers of the woman's tragic past by hinting at the troubles engulfing Scotland.