Laird of Ballanclaire (14 page)

“B-but you’ve loved me for ages.”

“I think I loved who I thought you were, Thomas. It was stupid of me, I know that now. Good day to you. You may leave.”

“Is it someone else? Is that it?”

Her laughter rang out at that.
Is it ever
, she thought. She couldn’t tell him any of that, though. “Isn’t it enough that your halfhearted attempt to secure my hand was turned down? Aren’t you relieved?”

He frowned at her. “Why are you acting so strangely? You knew I would offer for you. I told you I would. You always told me you’d accept only me, and no other.”

“I’m not acting strangely, Master Esterbrook. I’ve simply grown up and stopped fooling myself. You’re not the man I thought you were. You’ve changed. I’ve changed. I didn’t realize how much until you failed to return my kiss. You don’t want me. You don’t desire me. You can’t stomach the thought of bedding me. You’ve been making it plain since spring. I’ve just not been listening.”

“You’ve a blunt way about you, of a sudden.”

“That’s probably due to your inability to hear softly stated words. I have to be blunt. So be it. I don’t want you either, Thomas. I don’t desire you, and I don’t wish to wed you. I can’t imagine bedding with you. We’d need all the lights out.”

“What? I’m insulted now.”

“Good. I’ve done what I set out to do. Now, please leave. I’ve chores to do, and you’re probably delaying some important business, too.”

“You’re trying to insult me? Why?”

“Because you won’t take no for an answer. You’re a handsome sort, Thomas Esterbrook. You’re wealthy. In goodly health. You are a fine specimen, too. Rest assured I see all that. It’s just that it’s not enough for me. Not anymore.”

“Not enough?” Surprise was written all over him. “What more do you want?”

“A man who doesn’t run from my passion. A man who can give as good as he gets in my bed. That’s what I want.”

“Good Lord! Where did you come up with such a thing? Gently bred young ladies don’t even think of such things, let alone speak of them!”

“Then go find yourself one of them. I’m rapidly tiring of your lukewarm company as it is.”

Constant had always attributed a spark of mischief to his eyes. She saw a new look to them. The clear green had darkened and looked bottomless and deep as he stared at her. The flare of his nostrils was interesting to see, too. She hadn’t been mistaken. Thomas Esterbrook was very handsome. He just wasn’t doing a thing to her pulse, or her emotions. It wasn’t his fault, though.

“I don’t think I want one of them. I want you.”

Constant shook her head to clear it. “What? You can’t mean that.”

“I do mean it, and it’s true.”

She rolled her lips in a horselike snort. Everything Kameron had told her about the rug-selling was true. She’d come too easily to Thomas, and he hadn’t wanted her. Now that she had turned him down, he wanted her. She shook her head. “But why?”

“This passion you showed. I want to have it. I want it so badly right now, I can’t understand it. We won’t need to dim the lights, either. Accept my hand, Constant.”

Her eyes were huge. “No,” she replied.

“I am finished asking for your hand. Now I’m demanding it. I won’t take no for an answer.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I want you for my wife.”

“Ask Rebecca Porter. She’s pining for you.”

“I don’t want Rebecca. I want you. I say it again. I want your hand in marriage. I’ve spoken to your father. He already accepted me. He listed the dowry he’ll settle on you and I agreed.”

“All this before you even knew I’d accept you?”

He grabbed both her shoulders and shook her. “You always said you’d accept me! How was I supposed to know you were changing your mind?”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have left me waiting.”

“Damn it, Constant! Accept me.”

She shook her head. He was the one pulling her close this time, and his mouth wasn’t remotely wooden. It was hot and wet and grasping and felt eternally wrong. Constant shuddered and pulled away. She barely restrained herself from wiping her mouth much as he had done.

She didn’t want his passion now that she had it. She knew what she wanted. She knew it was unreachable. Her heart hurt with it. Her entire form pained over it. Her eyes filled with tears.

“Now tell me I’m not manly enough for you.”

Thomas was panting; his hands, still on her shoulders, were trembling; and he was flushed clear to his widow’s peak. It was just as becoming as before.

“Let me go,” she whispered.

“I may have been a bit slow at speaking for you, Constant. I’ll make it up to you. I promise. Accept my suit. Let us take the news to your family. I’m begging you.”

“No,” she replied.

“Good Lord! What do you want from me?”

“I’ve changed, Thomas. I don’t want to wed you anymore. I’m sorry.” The tears were spilling over. She pulled from him to wipe at them.

“You have to marry someone, Constant Ridgely. You know it. I know it. I’ve just seen a side to you I’ve never seen before. It had me shocked, I admit. It also has me straining in certain areas I won’t mention. I just can’t believe the change in you, and that I might have missed it. Say you’ll wed me. Please?”

She snorted the reaction through her clogged nose. It probably looked as unladylike as it sounded. She lifted her apron to wipe at her face and eyes.

“Well? Please say yes. Don’t leave me in this sort of agony. It’s not fair.”

She couldn’t believe it. Thomas Esterbrook had started out detesting everything about asking her, and now he was not only asking, but he was demanding, and then begging her? What a strange morning it was turning out to be.

“I already told you my answer, Thomas.”

“Say you’ll think about it. Please?”

“If I say that, will you cease this and go about your business?”

“Only if it’s true. Look me in the eye and tell me you’ll think about it. I’ll know the truth of it that way.”

What harm was there in that sort of answer? After Kameron left her and things settled into a loveless existence, perhaps what Thomas offered her wouldn’t be such a poor substitute. She put her apron back in place and lifted her head. The uncertain look on his face almost made her laugh.

“I will think about what you’ve said to me this morn, Master Esterbrook. You may tell my father of it.”

“Will you kiss me again, too?”

Constant took special care with her appearance that evening. It wasn’t due to her father’s possible return. It hadn’t anything to do with Thomas Esterbrook and his aborted proposal that very morning. Her eyes flicked to the bloodstained and torn, but still recognizable, red British jacket lying across the chair in her bedroom.

It was because she was saying good-bye to Kameron.

Constant smiled over at Stream before turning back to the mirror. She had to turn before the smile became something else. She looked down at her work-worn hands, examined the chipped nails, the rough calluses, and the red spots that would become sores if she didn’t keep them out of water. That always happened when winter came. She turned each palm over and frowned. She didn’t have attractive hands.

It had never bothered her before.

Constant looked up. She did have large eyes, and right at the moment, they didn’t look remotely turquoise. They looked dark with her emotion, and awash with tears. She reached to whisk the wetness away. Tonight had to be her last night with Kameron. Anything else was too risky. She didn’t want to waste a moment crying. She had years ahead of her for that luxury.

She reached for her coronet of hair and slowly unwound it. She’d put her hair into two braids yester morn, and as she uncoiled each one, her hair sprang into ripples of dark brown. Kam had asked her what color it was and she hadn’t lied. It was dark brown. She hadn’t been gifted with one strand of the Ridgely reddish-gold hair. She hadn’t been cheated, though. Hers was striped throughout with a dark auburn-looking color.

Stream made a sound. Constant smiled at her in the mirror. She knew what her sister was saying, although no words came with it. Stream was warning her. Constant wasn’t going to listen. She had years ahead of her for that, too.

She picked up her brush. Her hair was always unmanageable the day it was washed, strands going everywhere but into the braid. By the second and third days, her hair was shiny, thick, and easy to coax into any configuration. She brushed it until the waves cascaded to her waist.

Kameron wanted to know what color of hair she had. Well, she would show him. Then she would get him ready to leave. She could do nothing else. He was a British spy. She was the daughter of a patriot. The red jacket was a silent reminder. Thomas Esterbrook’s banked passions reminded her. Stream even reminded her, with alternating frowns and then wide-eyed surprised looks. Constant tipped her head to let a stray tear wend its way down the side of her face.

Thomas had escorted her back to the house, running his hand along her upper arm in a manner that left Constant in no doubt about how he felt. More than once she’d caught him stopping and sucking in a breath before looking over at her again. She knew exactly what he was feeling. She only wished it was reciprocated.

Constant stood and rearranged her skirt. She ignored Stream’s folded arms and set expression. She knew she shouldn’t go to Kameron with her hair down. She should wear more than a thin cotton dress, held to her waist with an apron. She should be wearing more than a filmy chemise that had come straight out of her hope chest. She already knew all of that. She shouldn’t be going anywhere with no pantaloons on, but she didn’t care! She folded the homespun, which she’d nearly finished making into trousers, over her arm, picked up his jacket, blew a kiss to Stream, and settled the lamp wick back into the oil. No matter what her future held, there was only one man she’d allow to make her a woman. She dressed this way to make certain of it.

And then she’d help him leave.

 

 

Constant slid the stable door open, listening for any untoward sounds. The men had gone and taken most of the horses with them, leaving the stable strangely quiet with just the plow horse, Eustace, inside. Constant slid the door shut and drew the bolt down on it. The men hadn’t said when they’d return, only that they would. Constant hadn’t really listened; her entire being had seemed attuned to just one thing. Constant didn’t know what was the matter with her. She was afraid to look at it too closely. All she knew was the tense, coiled sensation in the pit of her belly had started the moment Thomas put the jacket in her arms, and it had grown until everything she’d done all evening was little more than a blur. She hadn’t even remembered what she’d cooked for their sup until she ladled a bowl of ham and beans for Kam.

Constant made certain to block the door with the wagon before picking up Kameron’s clothing and his meal. She wasn’t going to allow them to be interrupted. She couldn’t. She was creating a memory that was going to have to last a lifetime.

“Constant?”

Her lips twisted at the sound of his voice. He was dreadfully indiscreet. For a hunted man.

“It’s me.”

She put a foot on the ladder. He made it easier by adjusting the oil lamp, lighting the way to the loft. Like a beacon.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

She was at the top of the ladder before he spoke again and Constant lost her voice the moment he did. Kam wasn’t stretched out atop a log, or two saddles, or anything else. He was sitting facing her, leaning against a bale of hay. He had those massive arms folded across his chest and was looking entirely too masculine for a man with frilly, albeit dirtied, feminine underdrawers looped across himself.

She had to look away as he just watched her, his mouth set.

“You wore your hair down,” he finally commented.

Constant put the tray on the straw in front of her and maneuvered herself over the top rung without giving him a glimpse of her lack of underclothing. She was on her knees next, shivering convulsively. She was already regretting every bit of her preparation.

“I hope it wasn’t for me,” he continued.

Constant pulled the jacket off her shoulder and held it toward him. “I’ve . . . brought your clothing.”

“Was it for me, Constant? And if so—for pity’s sake—why?”

She didn’t answer. The hand holding out his jacket shook so much that it was obvious to both of them. Kam leaned forward, grimacing a bit at the movement, before plucking the jacket from her fingers. His golden-brown eyes never left hers. And then he moved them to his jacket. She watched with him as he turned the sleeves inside out and flipped it over, making it a nondescript black.

“This is a special coat,” he remarked.

“I heard,” she replied.

“It’s sewn with two sides. One red, as you’ve already seen, the other black. It’s known as a turncoat.”

“I know. They told me.”

“Such attire makes it simple to infiltrate groups where I wouldn’t normally be welcome. Verra handy for finding out what you colonists have planned next.”

“I already told you. I know. They told me.”

“I actually have several of these turncoats, in varying shades. I even have a homespun-looking brown one, a bit like that hank of material you brought. Helps me fit in with farmers and such.”

“Like my family?” she asked in a quiet voice.

“Exactly. I’ve done it an entire season. I thought I was verra good at it. I’ve never been caught afore. Shows a certain stupidity, does na’ it?”

“I think you’ve been lucky,” she replied.

“This is luck?”

“Not to have been caught before.”

“Oh. My thanks. Remind me if I’ve need of a compliment, na’ to come to you.”

“How can you expect to fit in? You’re too big, you’re . . . overly handsome, and you talk strangely.”

There was complete silence for a few moments. And then he answered.

“People see what they want to see, Constant, so I give them what they want. Aside from which, I am prone to hunching, I wear a large-brim hat, I put pomade in my hair to darken it, and I keep my mouth shut. That’s how.”

He shoved an arm into a sleeve with enough force both of them heard the seam rip. “Look at that. It’s in deplorable condition, too. I suppose that’s justice for you. It matters little. It’ll still cover me.”

“I’ve been tasked with sewing it into a quilt, using the alternating black and red in a starburst pattern.”

“Fancy that. I wonder who’d ask such a thing. Nae doubt it was the little black-haired fellow that enjoys breaking legs?”

Constant’s eyes flared at the way he spat the words. She watched him pull the jacket off and place it carefully beside him.

“Is that the same fellow you were with this morn, walking about the fields as if you had na’ a care in the world?”

She nodded and moved her gaze to the straw in front of her knees.

“I suppose that’s your erstwhile Thomas Esterbrook?”

She nodded again.

“I gather congratulations are in order. When’s the momentous occasion?”

“I didn’t accept his proposal,” she said quietly.

“That was na’ what it looked like to me.”

“He wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“So you had to ply him with kisses to find out the truth of his offer? What do you take me for? A complete simpleton?”

Constant lifted her head in surprise. Kameron was as angry-looking as his words sounded. She stared.

“Well?”

“I thought you’d be pleased.”

“Pleased? Me? Good Lord, why?”

“Be—because when I . . . turned down his offer, he reacted just like you said he would. Back with the rug-seller story, remember?”

“I’ve been more than stupid, worse than incompetent, and now you toss it in my face? My thanks, but I’d as soon na’ ken anything about your courtship with him,” Kameron replied in an acerbic tone.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“You never understand. I used to think it was refreshing and rare and entirely too enticing. Now, all I can think of is the hell I’ve gone and created for myself. You doona’ understand? So what? Puzzle it out.”

Constant’s eyes filled with tears. The straw beneath her melted and blended together until it became a golden-hued mess, akin to the shade of his eyes. She blinked rapidly to clear them.

“Did you bring your skean—I mean knife?”

She nodded.

“Good. I’ll be needing it. I think ’tis time I sliced my legs free and went on my way. They’ve swelled, but they’re na’ broken.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“Oh. Listen to that. You actually know something? What a nice change. So what say you be a good little lass, hand me your skean, and then go fetch me a length of cording. Can you do that?”

She swallowed.
A good little lass?
She repeated it to herself in disbelief. “You want a length of cord?”

“Aye. An auld bridle, a bit of rein, some baling twine. Something along that line.”

“Why?”

He sighed heavily. “Again with the why? I need a cord to finish this splint I’ve fashioned for myself. Your loft was na’ built verra well. Either that or I was angrier than I thought.”

He lifted a thin, jagged-edged board from the straw at his side.

“Where did you get that?”

“I just told you. I pried a board from the loft floor with my bare hands. It gave me something constructive to do with them instead of—oh, Christ. Stop me before I say another God-damned thing. And I’m na’ apologizing for one word. You ken?”

He stopped and then swore some more. Constant didn’t dare look to see what was wrong with him now. A long, uncomfortable silence followed his tirade, and when he spoke again, his voice was even colder.

“It’s na’ going to be perfect, but it should hold my injured leg in place so I can move. But nae splint will stay against my leg without a cord. Why are you still sitting there? Get something to strap it with.”

Constant scooted back from him on her hands and knees. She was afraid in this position she was showing too much bosom—after all, she’d chosen the gown for that effect—but she didn’t dare stand. The gown was sewn from thin cotton and clung everywhere. She heard his groan as she climbed over the top rung of the ladder.

She looked across at him.

Kameron was ripping the bandages from the backs of his legs, regardless of how painful it had to be. His blisters weren’t totally healed. She turned away before he saw her watching, clambered down, and slid over the bottom three steps, landing in a heap. It wasn’t but a moment before she was on her feet again. She couldn’t believe she’d dressed seductively for him. Kameron had changed since this morning. It didn’t seem possible. He wasn’t romantic or loving. He was a monster.

She grabbed up Eustace’s harness and tossed it up to the loft. Then she found a coil of rope. She tossed that up, too. She grabbed a bridle and the reins that went with it. She was preparing to toss it, too, when he spoke again.

“Are you attempting to knock me senseless?”

“It would be an improvement,” she answered, and flung the entire bridle up and over the ladder.

Silence. Her answer was nothing but silence. Constant gathered her skirt in her hand and started climbing again. She still had to finish fitting his trousers. She’d use large basting stitches. That would make it go faster, and grant her less time in his presence. She gritted her teeth. She couldn’t believe she’d been in a haze of anticipation as she prepared for this evening. She’d been a fool. Naïve. It was obvious. She’d been an easy mark for him; little more than a plaything to toy with while he recuperated; a way to pass the time. Every low description she could claim, she gave to herself before reaching the top rung.

“Do you have any more of this bandaging cloth?”

He had his legs atop the board, while he wadded up the bloodied, used cheesecloth. The motions made every muscle ripple and flex. Constant swallowed, averted her eyes, and crawled over the top of the ladder, carefully keeping her skirt to her ankles. When she looked back over, she caught him staring, unblinkingly, while his entire torso seemed locked into a display of strength and power. Her heart reacted, jumping so it filled her throat, then dropping to her belly to pound thumping pulse beats from there. She was being ridiculous.