The Devil of Jedburgh (27 page)

“No, sweeting, I said the thought of begetting you with child appalled.”

She understood that sentiment far better now. He’d lost both Lizzie and his babe during childbirth. Although childbirth death wasn’t uncommon, she appreciated his caution. Still, that had been before he’d known she was McAllen’s daughter, the very one he’d sought out for wife. He’d wanted her for her bloodline. So, why would he not keep her? Did he think her weaker than her mother, more fragile? Or was he simply looking for someone better suited to what he wanted in a wife?

“Well, we’re both ingenious when it comes to making sure that will never happen,” Breghan snapped, more angry with the world at large than at him, irritated at the uncertainty confronting her. Was he determined to send her back at the end of their year because he cared too much, or too little? She pulled her hand free and stepped back.

“Do you believe in love, Arran?” she asked more softly. “Do you believe there can be more between a man and woman than practicalities and necessities? Have you ever wondered if there’s someone out there who could make your heart beat faster with a mere look, who could take your breath away with a simple caress, who could fill your life with even a handful of memories that grow richer with time instead of fading?”

Arran’s gaze went over her shoulder, to some point on the blank wall behind her. He was silent so long, Breghan began to hear her own erratic pulse thunder inside her head.

“Such wistful emotions are a fatal luxury.” His gaze came back to rest on her, a cool and calm green. “I would run from such a person rather than seek her out.”

Such a person
… Someone not already in his life. Someone he had no wish to ever meet.

“I see.” The pain came on slow, as if the rest of her resisted what she’d heard and needed time to catch up. A dull, aching throb started low in her stomach, chipping away at pieces of her as it pinched and clawed up to her chest.

“You are the optimistic dreamer, Bree. That is why you are here, determined to bend and shape your world until it fits those dreams.”

“What if events, time, emotion have warped those dreams until I can no longer even see what I first wished for? What is the purpose of life if we are to remain static?”

“I take what I can get, when I can, and I’m grateful for it.” Arran stepped forward into the space she’d claimed. “Dreams may evolve, but reality seldom does.” He stroked a line along her cheekbone with the callused pad of his thumb, trailing a warm, familiar sensation beneath her skin.

“Perhaps you’re just too stubborn and arrogant to change your mind.”

He grabbed the point of her chin, holding her head high as he frowned down on her. “I’m not sure why, but I’ve made you angry.”

“No,” she replied on a sigh. It was no lie. Arran had done nothing wrong. It was her heart that had gone and broken the rules. Arran was honourable, responsible and pragmatic to the exclusion of almost all else. She’d woven a cloth of romantic notions around the man, blinding her heart and mind to the cold facts. “I’ve made rash assumptions based on—based on nothing, it would seem.”

Of all the mistakes she’d ever made, falling in love with the Devil of Jedburgh surely ranked as the most ridiculous.

She was everything he’d ever accused her of.

Reckless, foolish and headstrong.

It had taken such small tokens to convince her and once she’d decided he could, and did, love her back, she’d barged ahead without a pause for concern. She’d opened her heart wide, not bothering to consider how little she knew of the man she was inviting in.

“I’m overtired and always get emotional at this time of year,” Breghan added. “Nothing a good night’s sleep can’t cure.”

She swore to make that the truth, even if it took a hundred nights.

Arran brought his mouth down and covered her lips with a sensual kiss. Her senses caught the slow burn of his touch and taste and tingled through to her toes. He walked her backward, until she was up against the wall, trapped between his body and her own desire as his kisses descended along the curve of her throat. He cupped one hand beneath her breast, his thumb seeking out and rolling over the nipple until it was pebble hard.

Her blood heated at his touch, her skin tingled and parts of her melted completely, her entire body already craving what was about to happen. He had a power over her that eclipsed all thought and reason. She was beyond resisting. The reaction he elicited from her was instantaneous, always, no matter his stubborn heart.

She could leave here, she thought in panic, before the hurt became impossible, before Arran became so wedged within her heart that nothing short of her death would pry him loose. Her father wouldn’t harangue her return to Donague now.

“Arran, wait.” She squeezed her hands between them, splaying them on his chest. He allowed her to push him back a little, giving her the chance to take a deep, composing breath.

He looked at her, eyes a slate green beneath his puzzled brow. His strong, square jaw was shadowed with the day’s growth of dark blond beard. He started to say something, then turned his unspoken words into a slanted grin that softened the angles of his face and brought that dimple to his chin.

She placed the back of her hand against his cheek, her skin there thin and sensitive to the ridge of the scar that she barely saw anymore. There were other scars, down the one side of his chest, on the back of his thigh.

This man had been hurt, again and again, with swords and rumours and loss. He was what the land had made him. He was power, strength and honour. He endured by adapting to the unrelenting harshness of his Scottish Mistress and his hard heart was no exception.

She couldn’t hate him for that.

If possible, she loved him more for it.

“Bree?” He reached out to wipe beneath her eye with his knuckle. “Are you crying?”

She hadn’t realised there were tears rolling down her cheek until he smudged the moisture.

“No, of course not,” she murmured.

“I should let you get some sleep.”

She moved her hand from his cheek, around his neck, and curled her fingers into his hair there.

She knew she should leave him.

But she didn’t know how to…not yet.

“Or you could kiss me again,” she said, smiling, and her entire body melted against the wall as he did exactly that. She wasn’t sure how this was going to work, giving in to this desire while she trained her heart to close off. But if others could do it, if Arran could do it, surely she could learn to do it as well.

Early the next morning, Breghan called Greer and Annie up to her chamber. She opened the trunk of materials and beckoned them closer. Although this was the custom at Donague, her timing was blatant bribery.

“As part of your wages,” she told them, “you’ll receive a length of cloth twice yearly. Go ahead, the choice is yours.”

Annie’s eyes lit up. “Are you sure, me lady?”

“Of course.” Breghan smiled at Greer. “I heard Duncan asked for your hand?”

“Yes, me lady.” Greer twined her fingers around the long blond braid that hung over her shoulder. “I was going to mention it to you, me lady, I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologise, Greer.” She bent over the trunk and sifted through the layers, pulling out a pale blue brocade. “This would be entirely suitable for your wedding day. On the other hand, apparently Queen Mary wore a gown of pure white for her wedding and that will likely set a trend that is perhaps already being adopted.” She bent over the trunk again, muttering, “There’s nothing white, but, aha!” This time she pulled up a champagne satin.

With downcast eyes, Greer said, “The blue will do me fine, thank you, me lady.”

“Now, then.” Breghan clasped her hands together and gave them each a warm, lingering look in turn. “I have permission from the laird to release you from all duty if you so wish. As much as I’d love for you to stay on, if you feel you can’t work here, you are free to go without any repercussion from the laird.”

“Could I give it some thought, me lady?” Annie asked.

“As much thought as you require.” Breghan turned to Greer and waited with a patient smile.

“I’ll stay on awhile, me lady, so as I can be with Duncan,” she replied. “But if you mean what you said, I’d want to return to my parents’ cottage once we’re wed.”

“What if Duncan wishes to remain in the laird’s service?” Breghan probed.

“I could never, me lady.” A look of horror swept her face pale. “I could never raise me bairns here.”

Breghan accepted the inevitable with a nod. At least Greer had no ulterior motive to be with Duncan. Whatever happened next was up to them.

The weather turned ferocious and a blizzard swept through the dale on Christmas Eve, leaving a blanket of snow at least three feet deep. Three hundred candles flickered around the hall and both hearths blazed, one with the Yule log that would be kept burning throughout the twelve days of Christmas. The hall was decorated with so much holly and ivy, it looked as if the forest had encroached and laid claim.

Gardie had prepared warmed spiced wine to serve with a supper of roasted mutton and platters of apple, plum and meat pies. After the meal, the hall fell silent and Arran read a long passage from the scriptures. Breghan smiled as she observed Greer’s intense concentration, and wondered if the girl was waiting for the Bible to combust in the
Devil’s
hands.

Supper was a quiet, contemplative affair; the true festivities started on Christmas Day and would continue until the sixth of January. One of Gardie’s lads, John, was appointed the Lord of Misrule and presided over the proceedings in the hall while Breghan and Arran were free to sit and mingle where they would.

“This is a silly, reckless custom,” Arran grumbled. “I shouldna have let you talk me into it.”

“I’ve never been able to talk you into anything you didn’t truly want but were perhaps too afraid to admit.” Breghan snuggled closer to him on the bunk and popped a plum tartlet into his mouth. “For now, you aren’t laird of anything and have no worries or responsibilities other than taking care of me.”

She smiled up at him and waited, and finally the scowl eased from his brow and laughter crinkled the edges of his eyes.

His arm slid around her and his hand settled on her waist. “There may be some merit to this madness after all.”

As they looked into each other’s eyes, Breghan felt the strange sensation that something vital was slipping away from her, right here and now, and no matter how hard she tried, she’d never be able to hold on. The feeling was so vivid, she grabbed Arran’s arm and held tight, as if she could keep him by her side, as if she’d never lose him so long as she didn’t let go.

“Sweeting.” His head came down, his mouth covering hers in a deep, lingering kiss.

She
would
lose Arran, was already losing him.

Every new day was one day closer to that moment.

She pushed the panic down and buried it beneath a hundred promises to herself. She would learn to numb these feelings that threatened to overwhelm. She’d resigned herself to the singular fact that Arran didn’t want her forever and she was stubborn enough in her own way to block him from her heart.

Enjoying his kisses, his caresses and his lovemaking was her preliminary reward for the feat she’d most certainly achieve.

She’d pave her own future with the kind of husband she’d always dreamed of.

These things would come true.

Arran would hold a special place in her heart, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t find love and happiness when this ended. She would. She’d make it happen.

She also knew she’d never give up one moment with him before she had no choice in the matter.

Some of the men pulled out a haphazard variety of instruments to make music and, soon after, the dancing started. The three females were willingly passed around until their feet were blistered. Most of the men, of course, simply danced with each other, especially after they’d had enough wine and ale.

Arran took Breghan in his arms, ignoring the lively music for his own slow, swaying steps. She rested her cheek against his chest, their bodies moving in harmony, and he wished this dance could last forever.

Do you believe in love, Arran?

He hadn’t, not for himself anyway. Until she’d asked that question, and he’d understood the emotion warming her gaze, the tender urgency in her voice. The longing, the wanting, the need that threatened to consume him whenever he thought of Breghan leaving. For all his promises to never hurt her, he’d done exactly that if her question had been filled with half as much of the love he’d recognised in himself right then.

She shifted in his embrace, bringing her arms around his neck and looking up at him with a warm smile. His heart contracted over all the words that could never be spoken.

When I look into your eyes, darling, when I hold you in my arms, when I pretend reality can be changed and I’m allowed to have my heart’s desire…then, yes, I believe in love.

But Arran wasn’t a dreamer, he couldn’t close his eyes to reality, and admitting to himself that he’d fallen in love with Breghan only made him more determined to let her go when the time came.

On the third day of Christmas, Janet came down to supper wearing her new velvet gown. The square bodice was cut low, stiffened to hint at the swell of her firm bosom, and the green velvet lay flat against her hipbone before flaring in pleats to the ground.

“You look absolutely stunning.” Breghan chose to sit with her and Greer that night, leaving Arran to a table of raucous men.

Janet grinned at her. “I’ve danced with every man present except the one I want.”

“Perhaps tonight.” Breghan’s thoughts immediately streamed through all the men Janet had danced with, trying to pin her affections by elimination. She couldn’t think of one.

As soon as the music started up, Janet rose, her hips swaying to the lively rhythm. “I’m going to ask him to dance.”

“She’s a brazen one,” Greer said with a little frown.

“She’s not afraid to know what she wants.” Breghan’s gaze tracked Janet’s path through the crowded hall. When she saw where Janet stopped and stooped low, she gasped, “Surely not?”