Highland Enchantment (Highland Brides) (23 page)

"Nay," he said again, and turning away, scrambled out the door.

Rachel remained in naked dismay, staring at the portal, her heart thudding hard and steady against her ribs and her stomach turning over.

Never, she vowed. Never, for as long as she lived, would she be such a fool again.

They reached the village of Gateshead well before noon, found a likely spot close to the marketplace, and prepared for their acts. All except Rachel, who hid in her wagon and hoped for death.

Death, however, is rarely considerate. Instead, it was Rory at the door.

"Flora," he called, and since she was not lucky enough to be dead yet, she could do nothing but answer him.

"Are you ready?" he asked when she opened the door.

"Nay." She pushed her hair back. "I don't feel well today." And that was the truth.

"Maybe you but need some fresh air."

No. She needed to either kill Liam or die herself. "Nay tis—"

"Please," he begged and gave her a boyish look. Lachlan moved past, walking on his hands.

"We've already practiced. I will not ask anything difficult of you. You'll simply ride on me shoulder and help me call a crowd."

"Really, I couldn't."

"Well, not in that," he said, indicating her garments. "But if you remove the tunic."

"Nay," she said, and tried to pull the door shut.

He held it steady. "He left you again last night, didn't he?"

She didn't want to talk about it. Didn't want to think about it.

"Shall I kill him for you?"

"What?" she asked, freezing.

He laughed, the sound throaty. "I but wished to startle you back to life, lass. You look as pale as a spirit. Take off the tunic and come out, we shall make him wish he were a real man."

"Nay..." she began, but he grasped her hand in his own and pulled it to his lips.

"You are a real woman, Flora," he whispered against her skin. "Let us show him."

She knew she should say no, but in that moment she remembered Liam's tilted grin. "Admit it,"

he'd said. "There has not been a single man."

And suddenly she had to go.

Minutes later she stepped outside. But now, instead of the harlot with the red gown and the red-slashed sleeves, she was the harlot with the red gown and the bare arms.

Rachel swallowed. It had been a simple enough task to remove the laces at her shoulders, simpler still to tug off the sleeves. It was walking out into the world this way that was nearly impossible.

She felt someone's gaze and turned to find Rory staring at her. But in that instant, she felt Liam's attention too. Glancing sideways, she saw him jerk to his feet and take a step forward.

"You dull the very sunshine," Rory breathed, already clasping her hand in his. "Come."

She turned resolutely away from Liam. Rory led her to the sleek, white mare. Rachel swung easily onto the bare back. In an instant, he was behind her, nestled against her backside.

Liam watched her.

For a moment their gazes met, and then, with painful effort, she turned the mare away.

"You'll not regret this," Rory breathed in her ear.

She would not let herself. It was well past time she moved on with her life. Liam was not for her. How many times did he have to prove that?

The market was filling with people.

"Up on my shoulder," Rory said, his whisper close to her ear.

She turned toward him. "I thought you said—"

"I but said you'd ride on me shoulder," he said. "I did not say where I'd be."

She considered refusing, but one thought of the night before changed her mind. Move on. Move on, she told herself.

Holding tightly to the mare's mane, she rose shakily to her feet. Rory's hand was firm against her waist, then her hip, then her leg as she straightened. It took her several seconds to get the nerve to perch on his shoulder, though he felt solid and steady beneath her.

"Call them in," he said quietly.

"What?" She turned partway toward him, nearly lost her balance, wobbled a bit and steadied.

"What?"

"Tell them of the show."

But she couldn't. It was bad enough that she was half naked and perched on his shoulder like a flightless bird. Bad enough that she'd thrown herself at Liam the night before. What was she thinking?

There was little wonder he despised her.

But no. He loved aggressive women. Other aggressive women.

Good Lord, she was going insane, she thought. So why not go all the way? Straightening to her full, precarious height, she yelled, "Come experience the magic of the Roms." Her voice quaked, but she went on. "Never have you seen the like. You will be dazzled and amazed."

Already a crowd was gathering.

"Will you be there?" one man yelled.

She looked down at him from her great height, gathered all her nerve and said, "I will if you will, love."

The crowd hooted.

Excitement rushed through her. Maybe Liam found her lacking. But not every man did. Making a few more announcements she dropped onto the mare's back, and suddenly they were running, galloping through the village to find others.

By the time they reached their wagons, she was breathless and flushed, pumped with a rush of blood and her own wild freedom. Within minutes Catriona and Rory were performing, and seconds after that Liam began his juggling.

The tension that had been steaming between them all week was boiling now. The scarf Liam draped over her shoulders was like a physical extension of his anger, and when it bound her wrists, iron-hot shards of emotions sparked off each time he touched her arm or caught her gaze. The crowd was awed either by Liam's talent or their smoldering reactions to each other. But when the final trick was performed, Liam turned away, and suddenly Rory was there.

"Each time I see you, you become more alluring," he crooned, running his hand down her bare arm, and sparking off a million feelings that had been set aflame by Liam.

Rachel lifted her eyes to Liam's. Their angry gazes caught.

"Come with me, Flora," Rory whispered.

Liam stood unmoving, his ebony eyes moody, his body tense.

"I will give you what you desire," Rory murmured.

Liam wore the vest again, baring his arms and part of his chest.

"I will be the man he is not," Rory whispered.

The muscles stood hard and taut beneath Liam's leather. A thousand past memories flared between them.

"He cannot satisfy you."

"What?" Rachel rasped, realizing suddenly that Rory was leaning close to talk to her.

"Come with me," he urged, tightening his grip on her fingers. "I will show you heaven."

"Heaven?" She blinked at him.

"Aye. In me arms."

Realization came a bit slowly. "Nay," she murmured, shocked as much by the intensity of her own desires as by the Rom's boldness. "I cannot."

"But you can," Rory countered, closer still, his words a warm breath on her face. "As can I."

"Nay."

He laughed, the sound low and throaty. "Has it been so long for you that you need proof of me abilities?" he asked, and pressed up against her hip. Through the fabric of their garments she could feel the hard evidence of his arousal.

"Come."

"Nay." She drew back cautiously. Catriona appeared in the corner of her vision. She knew by Rory's sudden tension, that he too was aware of her presence.

"Later," he promised, drawing his hand from hers. "I shall meet you by the river, just beyond the bend."

Rachel opened her mouth to object, but he was already striding away. Stunned and tense, Rachel glanced toward Liam. His dark gaze bore into hers. But in a moment, he turned away and strode off. Rachel shifted her eyes to Catriona. The Gypsy met her gaze dead on.

Turning quickly, Rachel fled to the privacy of her wagon. Inside, it was dark and cool. She curled up on her blankets and wished for the first time in her life that there
was
a Laird Dunlock that she was promised to be married, that somewhere there was a man who wanted her, who cherished her, not for what she could bring him, but for what she was.

But that was hardly the case. She had nothing. No husband, no children, no future, just a royal mission that was growing dimmer every day.

She covered her face with her hand and let the minutes tick away. What was wrong with her?

She was not the sniveling type. She was Rachel of the Forbes.

And she had been called to Blackburn to tend the king. But somehow the mission no longer seemed urgent. Why?

Had she allowed her own petty problems to become more important than the future of all of Scotland?

The door opened quickly/Rachel sat up, braced to see Liam, but instead Catriona stepped inside. The portal closed just as quickly behind her.

"So tis not enough that you have your own husband fawning over you?" she asked.

Rachel's breath left her lungs in a hard whoosh. "What?"

"You have to have Rory after you too?"

Rachel shook her head. "Nay. I've no wish—"

"No wish?" Catriona's voice was level. Her hand dipped inside her full skirt. When it reappeared, she held a knife. "If you have no wish, you should not seduce him."

Rachel watched the blade with frantic shock. "I did not seduce him."

"I have heard that from others," she said, calmly fingering the blade's edge as if testing for sharpness.

"From...from whom?" Rachel asked. What man would be fool enough to stray from a woman like Catriona? She scooted to her feet, prepared to flee, but there was too little space.

"He is Rom, with a Rom's allure for women."

Catriona tossed back her hair. "Still, I grow tired of his roaming eye."

Rachel swallowed. "I didn't mean to cause trouble."

"Trouble? What did you think would happen?" She scowled as if mildly disappointed by the other's naivete. "Have you not heard that we Rom's are a hot-blooded lot?"

"I didn't mean to—"

"Tis my duty to be jealous of my man's attentions." She shrugged. "Although it is getting a mite tiresome."

"Maybe it would be no great crime if you neglected your duties this once," Rachel suggested, glancing at the knife.

Catriona canted her head. "I don't know. If I let one slide..." She shrugged. "Nay. I think..." she began, but a wail of agony shattered her words.

"Nay!" Marta shrieked. "Not my Lachlan!"

Catriona's eyes went wide. Dropping the knife heedlessly to the floor, she spun toward the door and leapt outside.

The camp was silent. Rory stood beside the fire, Lachlan's flaccid body draped across his arms.

Catriona ran to them. "Nay!" she shrieked. A crowd of strangers gathered about, their eyes bright in the firelight.

"What happened?" Rachel rasped, running from the wagon. It was then that she saw the stick protruding from the child's chest. "Dear God!" Her stomach lurched. She wanted to turn away, but everything she was held her there. "When did this happen?"

"He fell from the mare." Rory's face was pale. 'I thought he was only stunned, but when I picked him up..." He shuddered. The boy's body shook in his arms.

"Put him down!" Rachel snapped. "By the fire." Rory did as he was told. Catriona dropped to her knees beside the lad. "Move," Rachel said, pushing the girl aside. "What are you doing?"

"God willing, I'm saving his life!" Rachel snapped, and wrapped her hand over the stick. For a moment she gave herself up to prayer. But there was so little time. Tightening her grip, she drew a deep shuddering breath and pulled. The stick came away with a sickening slurp. Blood, bright red and hot, pumped out in its wake.

"You're killing him!" wailed Catriona, and clawed at Rachel's arm.

"Liam!" Rachel screamed.

He was there in an instant, running into camp. "What has happened? God's breath!"

"She's killing him!" Catriona whispered.

"Help me," Rachel pleaded. Covering the gaping wound with both hands, she turned her gaze imploringly to Liam. "We've no time to spare."

"What do you need?"

"Lachlan!" Catriona whimpered again, stroking the hair back from his pale forehead.

"I need her gone," Rachel said.

Liam grasped Catriona's arm, but she jerked out of his grip. "Who is she?" she rasped.

Liam crouched down beside the Gypsy, catching her gaze with his own. "She's the answer to prayers not yet prayed," he whispered. "Let her work her magic."

Catriona was silent as she stared first at Liam, then at Rachel. "Please." Her voice was low.

"He's my brother. Let me help."

Rachel delayed only a moment, then, "Fetch bandages," she ordered.

Rising shakily to her feet, Catriona nodded once and ran into the darkness.

"Blankets!" Rachel ordered, whipping her skirt up to cover the pumping wound with its fabric.

Liam lurched off toward the wagon and was back in an instant with an armful of woolens.

Lifting her gown away, Rachel shoved a blanket against Lachlan's wound. "Stoke the fire," she ordered. "Put an iron in the midst of the flame. I need boiling water. My herbs. More blankets. A clean tunic."

Liam rattled off orders to the others. The Roms hurried in every direction. Still pressing the blanket to the wound, Rachel tore Lachlan's shirt away.

Liam returned in a heartbeat with her rag pouch.

"The long leafy plant," she said, not glancing up. "Crumble it into a half-mug of warm water.

Catriona." She knew the girl had returned. "Cover him with all the blankets you can find."

"Tis hot—"

"Cover him!" she snapped. "Liam, I've no time to waste."

He handed over the mug. Rachel paused for an instant, then whipped the blanket aside and poured the liquid into the gaping hole in the boy's chest. Beneath her hand, the lad jerked and moaned.

"Lachlan," Catriona whimpered, but Rachel ignored her.

"Fetch me the iron."

"Please—"

"Now!"

Liam snapped it from the fire.

"Hold his arms," she demanded. "Rory, you too."

The men positioned themselves on each side of the boy's body and leaned on his arms.

"Be ready," she ordered, then, "Please Lord," she whispered, and thrust the hot iron against the wound.