Lord of the Highlands (12 page)

“Press your—? Ohhh . . .”
Ew. Thanks, but no.

“She is most definitely
spoken for
.” Will took her arm in his, and her heart did a flip-flop.

“Now that’s more like it,” she muttered.

“What were you thinking speaking with . . .
that
one?” he asked after Alexander, the grooms, and the horses had all gone their separate ways.

“What are your ‘great exploits’?” she asked eagerly.

Will ignored the question. “How long were you with Robertson?”

“Are you jealous?” She perked up. Did that mean he had feelings? Maybe
jealousy
was the key to Will Rollo.

He stopped in his tracks, a black cloud darkening his features. “Jealousy has naught to do with it. Just . . . simply . . . stay away from that man. He’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous? He’s a minister. How can he be dangerous?”

He stilled once more, and this time she stumbled slightly, catching herself.

“You are not to speak with that man,” he hissed. “Ever. He travels about doing the devil’s work.”

“Devil’s work?” She giggled at the unexpected reply.

He gestured for her silence.

“Devil’s work?” she asked again, in a mockingly grave whisper. “He said he just liked to see the countryside, meet—”

“He’s a witch pricker.”

“Pricker?!” A loud laugh burst from her. “That’s
exactly
what he was—a little pricker!” She had to wipe the tears from her eyes it was so funny.

Will glowered at her, and Felicity thought steam might whistle out of his ears at any moment.

“Listen well, woman,” he said in a voice that was deadly quiet. “This . . .
minister
. . . says he does God’s work, but I say he’s an ambitious prig who thinks to accelerate his ambitions through sensational trials that are a mockery of justice.”

She stared blankly. “What are you talking about?”

His jaw tightened. “The man claims he has a gift. For identifying witches. He kills those he finds.”

Dread prickled like ice in her belly. “Do you mean like . . . a witch hunt?”

“Aye, that’s precisely what I mean. He’s ordered the death of hundreds of women. And this has brought him fame.” Rollo looked quickly to the right and left. Gripping her arm, he began to walk them slowly toward the inn’s front door. “These were innocent women. Some were sick, perhaps. Some practiced midwifery. And others, I think, Alexander Robertson simply determined he didn’t like.”

“Oh,” she replied, subdued. “It seemed like he liked me . . . He asked so many questions. I think I answered them all right . . .” Her voice petered out.

“You must never forget who you are,” Rollo whispered urgently in her ear, and the feel of his breath sent an inadvertent shiver along her skin.

Focus.
She had to focus.

“You’re so guileless,” he accused.

“You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”

“Och, Felicity, lass, it’s a bonny thing,” he said with an earnestness that broke her heart. “But you betray yourself. With a mere look, a mere word.”

He slowed even more to buy them more time. “Why do you think we’ve been taking this godforsaken route, avoiding the larger burghs in favor of these pitiable villages?” He gave a squeeze to her arm. “To keep you safe, Felicity.”

He had to stop speaking, for they’d reached the door.

Rollo. Her Viking. He’d been so cold and distant. But it was because he’d been worried, trying to protect her.

Because she had more to fear than anyone.

She wasn’t like those innocent women.

She’d made herself travel back through time.

Which would mean . . .

 

 

Rollo hesitated at her door. What he was about to do was entirely inappropriate. He looked behind him. The hallway was dim and empty. Dinner had come and gone. Folk had returned to their rooms for the night, or were drunk in the inn’s common room. Nobody would see.

Or, he could simply turn and head downstairs for a mug of ale and some stew.

But Felicity had seemed so alone.

He knew he’d scared her. He was glad of it. The lass needed some scaring. It was as if she thought she were a part of some great and merry romp.

He’d insisted she stay in her room for the night. What she really needed to do was return to her own time. To let him help her find her way home. But she seemed determined that she’d come back for
him
.

Anguish pierced straight to his heart. A woman, wanting to lay claim to
him
.

It was too much.

Too tempting.

And too risky. She needed to get away, now, far away, from Will, from this time and place.

He dared not get too close. He didn’t want to know too much about her. Every day she spent with him was one day too many.

Danger simmered. Fear and greed drove men to heinous acts. Like beheading a king.

Like torturing women in the name of superstitions that should’ve gone out with the Dark Ages.

The thought brought the handle of his cane up, cracking a knock at her door.

He regretted it instantly.

She is likely afraid
, he told himself. She would long for company. Might fear the danger she found herself in.

The door opened, and it was like a wash of sunlight on chilled flesh.

She stood there, and he knew.

Perhaps the gravest danger was to his heart.

Chapter 9

“Hi,” she said in a relieved voice, stepping aside for Rollo to enter. “I’m dying in here. I’m sorry. I know you said not to leave, but I’m about to crawl out of my skin, and so I finally just ordered a bath. I heard the woman right outside, so technically I didn’t really
leave
the room, and she said she’d bring the hot water in here so—”

“Hush.” He touched a finger to her chin, then pulled his hand away at once.

The ghost of his touch lingered on her skin. She’d been desperate to eat, to bathe, to talk to someone, but that one moment of contact made it all fall away. Felicity stared dumbly as he clicked the door shut behind him.

“Do you think you can eat?” he asked.

“Are you kidding?” She brightened at once. “All I’ve had is bread and cheese. I’m
starving
.”

He gave a curt nod and turned to go.

“Wait!” She reached around him to slam her palm against the door. “You just got here. Where are you going?”

“Easy, woman.” He chuckled.

Wow, how she loved it when she made him make that sound. And calling her
woman
. . . It felt so seventeenth-century alpha male, in such a strangely good way.

She pulled her hand back, and let it graze along his side in an accidentally-on-purpose sort of way.

“I’ll return shortly,” he told her. His voice had grown tight, and she hoped maybe she and her hand were the ones to put the edge there.

But then fifteen minutes passed, and then another fifteen, as Felicity paced her room, waiting for Will to come back.

She heard another knock and sprang to the door, opening it with a broad smile on her face. “There you—!”

“Oh,” she said, feeling a fierce blush creep along her cheeks. “Excuse me.”

A virtual army of inn workers were assembled outside her door. A wall of smells assaulted her. Some good, others not so much.

“Can I help you?” she asked, muting a small cough.

“Aye, mum.” A woman stepped forward. Faded linen clothing like something straight out of the costume department hung from her plump frame.

“Lord Rollo asked that we deliver this.”

“Deliver—?”

The bodies all parted, revealing a small side table absolutely smothered in food.

“Ohh,” Felicity gasped. Those would be the
good
smells.

She stepped aside to let the wave of them bustle in, setting up chairs, arranging plates and cutlery, decanting wine.

“Wine!” She grinned, her hands fisting in anticipation.

Felicity felt eyes on her and looked up to find Rollo watching her intently from the doorway. She forgot her hunger, feeling her belly fill with butterflies instead.

Her grin muted to a tremulous smile.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, as the small army left.

“I couldn’t let you starve.” He smiled at her, and her knees buckled.

Rollo swept to her side, his cane clattering to the floor, to ease her into a chair. “Look at you. You’re famished, lass.”

His hands were warm and strong on her arm and at her back. The butterflies in her belly moved south, became a hard ache at her core. “
Famished
is an interesting word for it,” she murmured. “What did you bring me?”

He muttered a curse under his breath as he bent to retrieve his cane. Sitting across from her, he lifted a lid and the room filled with the smell of roast meat and wine. “You have before you beef in French claret, with bacon and onions.”

“Ohmygod,” she whispered, actually feeling tears prick her eyes. “That smells so good.”

“Scotland has friends among the French. We learned to prepare food from the best.”

She looked up, caught his eye, and his hand froze, the lid still perched over the serving dish.

Oil lamps cast a flickering, golden glow over the room. Light and shadows danced on Will’s features, his sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, and those intense eyes, focused only on her.

He sat so regally across from her. It took her breath away.

“
Lord
Rollo,” she mused.

“Aye?” There was a flicker of humor in his eyes.

“You’re a seventeenth-century lord. Who lives in a castle. You wear your velvet coats as easily as my stupid old boyfriends wore their ratty old T-shirts.”

The humor in his eyes hardened into something unreadable. “Your . . . boyfriends?”

“Yeah.” She waved a hand dismissively. “None of them did it for me. They all ended up being jerks.”

His brow furrowed, as if he were trying to make sense of her words. He began to slowly dish out their dinner. “There have been men in your life, and yet you’ve never married?”

“I’ve never been asked. Not that I would’ve said yes.”

“Never been asked? Modern men must be daft.”

She giggled, startled by the sentiment. “You really do care.” She thought about the food on the table and the roof over her head, and grew serious. “You’ve been so great to me, but I feel like all I’ve done is gripe and moan.”

He’d done so much for her. She’d doubted him, but he’d only had her best interests at heart. “I haven’t exactly been the nicest companion these past days.”

“You’ve not met my friend Alasdair MacColla,” he told her with a smile. “Trust me when I say you’ve been a delightful companion.”

She ignored the rare glimpse of humor, earnestly wanting him to understand. “But I should’ve trusted you more. I’ll trust you, Will, from now on.”

He watched her, quietly weighing her words. He cut such a dashing figure across from her. He’d shaved, and bathed, and looked so elegantly handsome in the lamplight.

He was like a prince in a fairy tale.
Her
prince. He was a gentleman, a lord, some great and noble hero.

He’d kept her safe. There was a fire in the hearth and food on the table worthy of the best French restaurant.

Of course he’d be familiar with fine cuisine, and things like claret, and brandy in cut-glass snifters, not to mention an army of butlers and maids. She’d lost sight of all that, on the road with him these last weeks.

She was suddenly nervous. “I . . . I hope I’m dressed all right. My hair’s a mess . . . I’ve got nothing good to tie it back with. And I aired out my gown”—she looked down, smoothing the lap of what was once her rose-colored confection—“but I’m afraid this thing could up and walk away all by itself.”

She felt his hand on her arm, stilling her.

“You look lovely, Felicity.”

“Ugh. I look like a wreck. Plus—”

“Shh.” He gave her arm a squeeze. “If you tried, you would still be nothing less that the loveliest woman in all Scotland.”

Something stilled in her chest. She thought it must be her heart skipping a beat.

“And besides, I think I might just be able to send my suit of clothes off with your gown. They can take a turn about the village together, aye?”

She laughed then, a tension-relieving giggle.

Will seemed so uncomfortable himself sometimes. Maybe that’s how he was so deft at recognizing her discomfort and easing it.

“Don’t fret,” he added, “I’ll make certain you have new gowns when we get to my family’s home.”

“You mean when we get back to your
castle
, right?” She gave him a sly smile. “Wait. Gown
s
?”

“Aye,” he laughed, “you may have a gown made in every color if you like.”

He pulled his hand away, and her arm felt chilled in its wake.

“And,” he said, his voice grown somber, “you can take them back with you.”

“Back . . . ?” His meaning dawned. “Oh no you don’t. I’m staying with you.”

“And meeting Robertson wasn’t enough to spur your departure? Felicity”—he gestured to the walls around them—“I’m afraid to let you leave this very room.”

His tone softened. “I will protect you, bring you to my home. But the stones and mortar of Duncrub Castle won’t be enough to save you if”—he scowled—“the
minister
has you in his sights.”

She crumpled back in her chair. Could he be right? Was she in danger? But how could anyone think
she
was a witch? If she kept her origins a secret, they wouldn’t. Felicity glanced back down at her dress. She was in period clothes. If she lay low, with Will’s help, wouldn’t she just blend?

Looking up, she studied him, sitting so stoically across from her. The light glowed on his thick chestnut hair.