My Fierce Highlander (31 page)

But then he’d said he loved her in his
lilting Gaelic tongue. The beauty of the roughly whispered words
had shattered her composure. No man had ever said those words to
her. As well, she had never loved a man. But she did love Alasdair,
with her whole being.

Why did this have to happen to me?

Their lives were on different paths, going in
opposite directions. They could not have a love match, no matter
how much she dreamed of it. She had to think only of her son and
his future.

I must stop!

She threw back the covers and dragged her
clothing onto the pallet. She shoved her head and arms into her
smock—which Alasdair had so hastily removed the night before.

No, I will not think of last night and the
forbidden, delightful things he did to me.

She put on her corset and fastened up the
front with ties. Her breasts were tender where he’d nibbled at
them. His mouth had been a tempting torture.

She blanked him out of her mind and struggled
into the rest of her clothing. With the comb Alasdair had given
her, she removed the tangles from her hair, recoiled it, then tied
a
kertch
on her head.

She emerged from her tent to find Alasdair
sitting with his cousin by the fire. Alasdair’s sleepy but intent
gaze lit on her and lingered. He had the look of a dissolute
debaucher with his midnight beard stubble and his tousled mane. She
had run her fingers through it numerous times the night before and
knew well how soft and silky his hair was.

I am not embarrassed.

Well, maybe a little. She glanced at Angus,
and he dropped his gaze to the fire. Did he suspect anything had
happened last night? She hoped they had not wakened anyone.

“Good morrow, m’lady.” Alasdair grinned.
“Angus reheated some bannocks—if you can stomach them.”

“I didn’t force you to eat them,” Angus
grumbled.

Alasdair laughed and slapped his cousin on
the shoulder. “Indeed, they’re gusty as ambrosia.”

“I must excuse myself first.” She gave a
shallow curtsy and headed toward the bushes. The scent of horses
and fresh horse dung was strong in the air as she passed their
mounts. When she heard someone following, she glanced back to find
Alasdair behind her.

“I will stand guard. If you require
assistance, call out.”

She nodded. “I thank you.”

Once she was finished, she found Alasdair
with his back to her, staring off into the distance and whistling.
Hiding her smile, she washed her face and hands in the cold water
of the stream, then dried them with the only thing available, her
sleeves.

With a bow, Alasdair motioned for her to
precede him.

Trying to fight back the memories of last
night, she sat down on a rock by the fire. Alasdair gave her a warm
bannock and cup of ale. The wholesome oat scent gave her hunger
pains of a sudden.

“We must be on our way quickly if we are to
catch up with Southwick. I’m hoping we’ll be arriving in Edinburgh
afore nightfall.” Alasdair glanced at Angus. “’Twould give us about
eighteen hours at this time of year.”

“Do you think Southwick stopped in Edinburgh
with Rory?” she asked.

“’Tis possible.” Alasdair seated himself
opposite her. “But the city is so large, ’twill be hard to find
them. Once we’re there, we must find Lachlan and have him join our
party. He has spent more time in London than I have and will be
much help to us if we end up having to go there.”

“I see.” Lord! She didn’t want to go to
London. Not only would Rory be harder to reclaim there, the mere
thought of running into people who knew of her disgrace took her
appetite.

But she would go through the fires of hell if
required, to save Rory and have him back beside her. What
significance were a few stares and snide remarks in the grand
scheme of things? She would survive them as she survived everything
else.

“Is anything the matter?” Alasdair asked.

When she glanced up, she found herself
sitting alone with him. Angus had taken himself off somewhere.

Alasdair’s gaze fixed upon her with concern.
“Of a sudden, you’re pale as a banshee.”

“I was thinking, I won’t be happy to have to
see my father and some of those other Londoners who have told many
a lurid tale about me. All true, of course.”

Alasdair’s face darkened, and his gaze grew
sharp. “If they insult you, they’ll regret it, I vow.” His brogue
intensified, and he muttered a few Gaelic words of dubious
meaning.

“I thank you,” she said, trying to keep the
wistfulness out of her voice. He was as chivalrous as an
old-fashioned armored knight. “But their words can no longer hurt
me. The only thing that will hurt me is to lose Rory to an
aristocratic beast who would abuse him.”

Indeed, that would be like death to her.

“You won’t be losing him to anyone. Trust me
on that.” Alasdair rose, strode toward where his bed had been last
night and rolled up his plaid.

His determined tone gave her pause. She
didn’t doubt him. No, indeed, she trusted him to the depths of her
soul. Adding a silent prayer for her son, she choked down the
remainder of the bannock and a few sips of ale. By the time she
arose, the men had everything packed, loaded and were ready to
mount.

She joined them. “I thank all of you for your
help.”

The men murmured responses and bowed
slightly.

Angus stood closest to her. “You should marry
the lad,” he said in a low tone. “Alasdair, I mean to say.”

“What?”

Angus sent her a wise but fleeting glance.
His cheeks above his dark beard were ruddier than normal. Good
heavens, he knew she and Alasdair had spent the night together.

What had Alasdair told him?

She glanced at Sweeney, not far away. The
young man, close to her own age, averted his gaze but she did not
miss the grin he tried to hide. She scrutinized the other men. They
all knew. She could see it in their mock blank expressions and
lips, tight or clamped between their teeth to hide their snide
smiles.

Mortified, she turned her back on them and
focused on her saddle—not hers, but Alasdair’s late wife’s. A woman
who had lain with him without shame, without the smirks of others
lashing down at her.

Leather and harness squeaked and jingled as
the men mounted.

Alasdair approached, stopping close behind
her. “’Tis time to mount.”

Angus and the other men walked their horses
ahead, giving them privacy.

“What did you tell Angus?” she asked.

Taking her arm, Alasdair gently urged her to
face him and shielded her from the others. “What do you mean?”

“He told me I should marry you.”

“Damnation,” he muttered and darted a glare
in his cousin’s direction.

“Did you discuss it with him?”

“Nay more than I had to. He was wanting to
ken what I was doing leaving your tent this morn.” Alasdair
shrugged and kissed her hand. “Don’t pay him any mind.”

Easy for him to say that. He was not the
whore in this equation. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from
savoring the softness of his lips on her skin as he kissed the back
of her other hand.

Because she had little choice in the matter,
she allowed Alasdair to assist her into the sidesaddle. She tried
not to think about his hands gripping her waist. Or the way the
other men watched them.

She would not be spending the night with
Alasdair again.

***

A mist of cool, drizzling rain greeted them
the next evening as they reached Edinburgh. All was gray and drab
in
Auld Reekie
—the grimy streets, the tall buildings, the
sky with its low-hanging clouds. Even Edinburgh Castle on the steep
hill above them looked mournful and bleak with its gray stone
walls. The foul air of the smoke-filled city and its sewage near
turned Alasdair’s stomach. He glanced back at his drenched and
bedraggled party. The rain matched everything else on this
miserable trip.

His men thought him a heartless rogue, bent
on torturing horses and debauching women. He had done neither. And
it irked him like a thistle between his trews and arse that they
would believe such of him.

Angus had been right; they couldn’t reach
Edinburgh as quickly as Alasdair had hoped. Which meant, in all
likelihood, that Southwick now had an even greater lead.

Alasdair drew up at a coaching inn on
Grassmarket and dismounted.

Since yesterday morn, Gwyneth had avoided
him. She was polite and civil but not receptive to any private
conversation or intimacy.

He’d told Angus he shouldn’t have said
anything to Gwyneth about marriage.

“Someone needed to tell her,” his obstinate
cousin had replied. “As much swiving as the two of you are doing,
you need to be getting hand-fasted or married. What’ll you do if a
bairn results?”

“Let me handle it. ’Tis not your concern,”
he’d said.

Now, neither Angus nor Gwyneth was very
friendly toward him. He would not propose to her again until he was
certain she would say
yes
and until Rory was safe, but if
she wanted him in her bed, he would readily comply. Betrothal or
not, each time he made love to her, he further tied her to him.
Perhaps she didn’t realize that.

He would prove to her he could straighten
things out with Southwick, and recover Rory. Though he didn’t yet
know how he would do it, he had to. He refused to let her and the
lad down.

Alasdair approached Gwyneth sitting atop her
mare. When he reached up to help her dismount, it was obvious she
was trying to avoid looking into his eyes. She didn’t want even
that small connection, but he felt her body tremble when he touched
her.

By the saints, I shall have you, Gwyneth,
body and heart. Don’t doubt it.

But he would not tell her that; he would show
her. He would prove they were right for each other.

As he lifted her down, her narrow waist and
slight weight within his hands bombarded him with instinctive
urges, to hold her close and protect her. Comfort her. To carry her
to the nearest bed for a repeat performance of two nights ago. Deep
pleasure and devotion. He would show her a love so pure as to be
blinding, if only she would let him.

Instead, he set her to her feet and pulled
away to instruct two of the men to take care of the horses.

Within the inn’s dining room, their party ate
decent mutton stew, cheese and bread. The men shoveled the food in
as if they had not eaten in weeks. Alasdair noticed, however, that
Gwyneth picked at her food. Hating the worried slant of her brows,
he vowed to take it away and set everything aright. Vowed to make
her smile. Deep down, he prayed her lack of appetite and her bout
of sickness early that morn signified something else—that she
carried his child.

A half hour later, after he had handled the
business of accommodations for their party and sent two of his men
to find Lachlan, Alasdair climbed the narrow, dark stairway and
knocked at Gwyneth’s door.

“Who is it?” she called.

“’Tis me.”

She opened the door slowly and stepped
back.

Her vivid blue eyes, wide with caution,
provided the only bright color in drab Edinburgh, but he forced
himself to look away, toward the newly kindled blaze. He approached
the small fireplace, hoping the heat would dry his clothing a wee
bit.

“I’m thinking you would like a bath after
being on the road so long, m’lady.” He admitted he was trying to
get back into her good graces.

“That would be lovely.” Gwyneth cleared her
throat. “Are you…staying in this room as well?”

He glanced back at her, for a moment
perversely enjoying her discomfort. “I told the proprietor we were
married.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Why? Why did you do
that?”

“You’re a woman in the company of six men.
’Tis better this way. No one will question your position.”

She frowned, apparently mulling that over. He
was right, and she knew it. He hated the mockery of pretending to
be married to her when he wanted it in truth.

“You mean to sleep here, then?” she
asked.

He couldn’t tell whether she hoped he would
or wouldn’t sleep there. How could she look so innocent, virginal
and demure of a sudden, when she had been such a wanton in his
arms? Wallowing in every carnal thing he’d done to her.

An image came to him, of her on top, riding
him into the mattress, her eyes closed, head thrown back. Almost as
she had done in the garden, but this time she’d be naked. Her
creamy skin lit by the sun and her long, unbound hair tickling his
legs. Her expression naught but pure rapture. He hardened
instantly, wanting the image to be true so badly, sharp desire
trapped his breath.

“’Haps I will sleep here. ’Tis not as if we
haven’t shared a bed afore.”

A pink flush crept over her face and her jaw
hardened. “I owe you more than I can ever repay, so if you want me
to…warm your bed in exchange for getting Rory back, I will
comply.”

How could she think him so low? He had asked
her to marry him twice. What more did she require to know he was
honorable?

“What are you blathering on about? You saved
my life, m’lady! I’m the one who’s owing you, and repaying you. And
even if I didn’t, I would still help you recover Rory. Aside from
that, you won’t be warming my bed in exchange for anything, except
the mutual pleasure between us.”

Damnation, he’d let his anger get the better
of him. His tone and glare had surely been harsher than he’d
intended. Drawing in a deep breath, he tried to swallow his
irritation.

“Well, I have no money,” she said. “I cannot
even pay for this room and—”

He stepped before her and tilted up her face,
stroking his fingertips over her blushing cheeks. “Listen to me,
Gwyneth,” he said in a rough whisper. “I would give you anything I
have. Can you not see that?”