The Laird's Forbidden Lady (17 page)

The sight of McKinly acting cheerful, when he must be feeling desperate, made Selina feel worse than ever. She could only be thankful he didn’t know who she was. He would surely not be inviting the daughter of his landlord to sit down at his table.

The sense of being watched made her glance at Ian and she found his eyes fixed on her, his eyes narrow, his lips pressed together, as if he was holding back words, yet his gaze when it rested on her was hot.

An answering heat flared in her body.

‘After dinner, we’ll talk.’ His deep voice held a promise.

Supper over and the children put to bed, Selina sat beside Ian on the settle with the obligatory dram of whisky in her hand. She took a cautious sip. This time it did not burn so much. Holding the cup between both hands in her lap, listening to the men chatting idly about the weather and crops, she could almost imagine living this way for ever. Preparing food for a husband and children and then sitting companionably in the evening talking about the day.
It wouldn’t be an easy life, but it would have purpose.

For the first time in a very long time she felt a sense of belonging. She sighed.

Ian’s hand closed around hers. Startled, she glanced up at him.

‘The glass was about to fall,’ he said with a smile. ‘You must be exhausted.’

It was a pleasant kind of exhaustion. Not the kind one experienced after a ball, when one’s head pounded and one’s feet ached from being trodden upon. It felt good. She nodded. ‘I should go to bed.’

‘A toast before you go,’ McKinly said, filling his and Ian’s glass. ‘To the Laird and his bride. May you be blessed with many sons.
Slàinte!
’

The two men downed their drinks in one swallow. Selina took another sip.

McKinly refilled his and Ian’s glasses. Selina held her hand over the top of hers. ‘No more for me, thank you.’

Ian raised his glass. ‘To my host. May your sons and daughter grow straight and true.’

McKinly looked pleased and the two men downed their whisky in unison.

Ian looked pointedly at her glass.

Oh, dash it. She tipped her glass and swallowed it down, sitting utterly still as the heat travelled down her throat into her belly and she tried not to gasp.

Both men laughed, but there was a pleased look in Ian’s eyes, a warmth that heated far deeper than the spirit.

‘It will help you sleep,’ he said.

‘Aye, and keep out the chill,’ McKinly said. ‘There’s no fire in yon room, but there’s privacy.’

‘Go to bed, wife,’ Ian said gently enough, but there was no mistaking the command.

She bristled.

He must have seen because he raised a dark brow. ‘I’ve a few matters to discuss with McKinly, but I’ll be there shortly. You will not be lonely for long, that I promise.’

Heat rushed to her face. He was making it sound as if, as if … Well, as if they really were man and wife.

She got up with a smile and sent a narrowed-eyed glance his way so he would be under no misapprehension that they would indeed talk. The grin he sent back was deliciously cheeky.

The man was impossible. And incredibly handsome.

Still, he was only playing his part—besotted bridegroom—when the truth couldn’t be more different.

Ian handed her a candlestick and escorted her to the bedroom door where he raised her hand to his lips.

‘I’ll be along soon,’ he murmured, his voice offering a sensual promise. She didn’t know if
she wanted to slap him, or rise up on her toes and press a kiss to his smiling mouth. She whisked into the room before she did either and shut the door behind her, leaning against it.

She heard his deep chuckle before he moved away. The sound drifted around her like smoke, weakening her limbs, making her heart open with tendrils of hope.

No.

The world had turned upside down. Her heart was lying to her. Ian was a dangerous man. He thrived on adversity. All she wanted was a pleasant husband, a house in a good part of town and a comfortable life with the people she knew in the society where she belonged.

This tramping around Scotland was like Marie Antoinette pretending to be a milkmaid in the gardens of Versailles. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t her life as she had planned it.

The sooner they parted, the better it would be for her peace of mind.

Running from the keep had been madness. She could have handled her father’s anger. And she would not have buckled under any amount of badgering. After all, who could possibly believe a feather-headed society miss would ever step out of the bounds of propriety to aid smugglers?

Father might suspect the worst after Lisbon, when she ran off without her chaperon, but suspicion wasn’t proof. Clearly in hindsight,
running away with Ian had been a mistake of monumental proportions.

Her only hope was to get to Alice before Father did. Hang waiting for word from Ian’s brother Niall. They had to go and go quickly, first thing in the morning. They’d wasted too much time here already.

‘That’s a right pretty bride you’ve found yourself, Laird,’ McKinly said, his deep voice carrying through the door. ‘And a good lass from what I see, but delicate. ‘Tis a shame about the limp. The Highlands is no place for the weak. You’ll need to guard her well.’

‘Aye,’ Ian said, non-committally.

A burst of anger filled her veins. Whether it was because he made no attempt to deny her weakness, or because of the lies they were telling a man who had shown them nothing but respect, she wasn’t quite sure. Either way it was only by clenching her fists that she managed not to open the door and tell them she could hear every word, thank you very much.

The voices reduced to a low rumble, probably moving on to other topics. There was no point in airing her grievances with Ian in front of one of his clan. She’d save her words for when they could be private.

She placed the candlestick on the table holding a ewer of water and a bowl and stripped out of her bodice, skirts and the breeches beneath,
leaving on only her shift, washing herself quickly with the rag provided and clenching her jaw to stop her teeth from chattering as the cold water hit her skin. If Ian could wash in a cold stream out of doors, she could surely manage this, even if she was sure she could see her breath rise in front of her face.

She stripped the blanket off the bed and dumped it on the small rug, then spread her cloak over the rough linen sheet before climbing in. Shivering beneath the thin covering, a sense of disappointment filled her. McKinly was right after all. She was not hardy enough for this life.

She watched the shadows from the candle dance on the rough ceiling and tried to stop the spasms of shivers by rubbing at her arms and legs to generate warmth.

Would her life ever return to normal? There would be no marriage, of course, no home or little Dunstan children, even if her visit to Alice was taken at face value. They’d all assume she’d jilted the young lieutenant. It would be the
on dit
in town for weeks. A man didn’t suffer that kind of embarrassment lightly.

She’d have to start all over again, looking for the right kind of man for a husband. Strangely, the loss of Dunstan didn’t bother her as much as she might have expected. Indeed, it was as if she’d been carrying an enormous weight and someone had lifted it from her shoulders.

Perhaps Dunstan hadn’t been such a good choice after all. Perhaps she wouldn’t marry anyone. The little bit of money left to her by her mother would allow her to live in independence, if not luxury.

She’d be an outcast. Considered odd. After she’d spent all her time these past many years trying to fit in with society’s expectations, too. All her hard work destroyed in a moment of madness. A moment of fear for a man she should have ignored altogether.

The voices on the other side of the door fell silent.

The door opened, the draught making the candle gutter. She sat up.

His gaze flicked down to her chest and back up to her face, his brows climbing.

Oh, right. She was wearing nothing but her shift. Heat flooded her face. She pulled the hem of her cloak up to her chin and opened her mouth to speak.

He pressed a finger to his lips and jerked his head towards the door, obviously not wanting McKinly to overhear their words. He closed the door and stared down at the blanket on the floor and then over at her.

She could not read his expression. ‘We must talk,’ she whispered.

He strode to the bed. He looked big in the dim light. Huge. In some way, he reminded her of a
predator stalking its prey. In another, of a male standing guard over his female. In either case, it was imagination playing tricks. He no doubt regretted their wild flight as much as she did.

The thought made her feel hollow.

Ian sat on the edge of the bed. The ropes creaked and her body tilted towards him as if it sought the comfort of his heat and his strength. She resisted the pull, leaning away, gripping the fabric in her hands more tightly.

‘I thought you’d be asleep by now,’ he said softly. ‘But here you are, waiting up for me.’

She gasped at the audacity of his words even as her insides melted.

He looked so beautiful, rugged, the haze of stubble darkening his jaw, his full lips curling in a half-smile that teased.

She drew in a quick steadying breath, determined to resist his allure. ‘Why on earth did you tell McKinly we were married? I thought we were going to give a false name. Tell him I was your cousin.’

‘He knows all my cousins. It was better than telling him you were my—’ He shut his mouth with a snap.

‘Your mistress?’

‘That is one word for it.’

‘He won’t be pleased when he learns who I am and that we are not married. I feel bad about lying.’

His mouth tightened. ‘We do have to talk about that.’

‘We can’t stay here. We must leave first thing in the morning. We have to reach Hawkhurst as quickly as possible.’

‘We will wait to hear from Niall.’ He touched a finger to her cheek. ‘I was proud of the way ye helped the young lass there with the meal.’

A warm glow suffused her skin. Furious at herself, at the way she responded to this man, she jerked her head away. ‘I did what anyone would do. Ian, listen, if I am to salvage anything of my reputation, I must get to Hawkhurst soon.’

His eyes turned hot. ‘Your eyes are beautiful when you are passionate.’ His low whisper strummed chords low in her belly.

A breath caught in her throat. Her heart stumbled. The glow turned to fire and she saw the answering blaze of heat in his face. And then his mouth was on hers and she was surrendering to the delicious sensations of the warm slide of his tongue, the feel of his large solid body under her hands.

Swept away by the passion he seemed to arouse in her so easily, she kissed him back. Whisky. She should not have had the whisky. It seemed to have muddled her head, taken away her will and left her longing for his touch, for the delectable sensations of the night before.

She dragged her lips free, felt the sting of regret. ‘We must not.’

His glace flickered to the blanket on the floor. ‘Ah, that is a hint, is it? It seems a little unfair when it is our wedding night.’

Blankly she stared at him, at the rueful twist to his mouth, the wariness in his eyes. And the regret.

A trick of the light? Or some sort of horrible jest? The kind his brothers had played on her that long-ago summer. Luring her on, then running away. Before he’d arrived and turned her world upside down. ‘I don’t think much of this joke.’

He reached out and forced her fingers free of the cloak. He frowned. ‘Are you always this cold?’ He enfolded her fingers in his and she felt his heat permeate through her skin. Seductive warmth.

She tugged at her hand, but he did not let go. His eyes regarded her intently. ‘It is no joke. You see,’ he said softly, ‘under Scottish law, if a couple says they are married and act married, before witnesses, then that is what they are. We declared ourselves wed before we set foot in this house. McKinly is our witness.’

She uttered a cry of horror.

He quickly covered her mouth with his hand. ‘Hush. Do you want to bring McKinly down on us?’

His hand was large and warm and gentle. She glared at him.

‘Speak quietly,’ he said.

She nodded and he released her.

‘I am not Scottish,’ she whispered. ‘It was just a story, to … to protect my reputation. We can’t possibly be married.’ The pitch of her voice rose in panic.

An expression flashed across his face. Anger? ‘The law applies to whoever is within our borders,’ he spoke flatly, his face like granite. ‘When McKinly questioned you, you confirmed it of your own free will. We are married.’

‘Y-you tricked me,’ she spluttered. ‘You don’t want to be married to me.’

Resignation filled his expression. ‘We have no choice in the matter.’

Hurt by his obvious regret, she glowered. ‘No one but McKinly knows. We can just pretend it never happened.’

His brows lowered, his expression became harsh. ‘Just because I’m a Scot doesna’ mean I have no honour. The law is the law.’

‘What about the law banning smuggling?’

‘That’s different. It is an unjust law.’

‘So you pick and choose the laws you follow?’

His lips pressed together. He shook his head. ‘Don’t you see, we dinna have a choice? You said it yourself. Your father will reach your friend before you do.’ He stared at her for a long moment
as if considering what he should say next. ‘I’m not unhappy about it.’

‘Nothing has happened between us.’

‘We kissed,’ he said softly, his blue eyes dancing. ‘You slept beside me.’

And there it was again. The pull inside her. The longing to melt against him. The desire to give in and enjoy.

No other man had had this kind of power over her. If only she could truly believe he wanted this marriage. That he wouldn’t regret it later.

Hadn’t she already seen the regret in his face? Heard him agree with McKinly that she was not the kind of lass who could live in the Highlands?

‘My father will never allow it. He will have it dissolved.’ Could he?

His expression darkened. He muttered something under his breath in Gaelic. ‘Let him try.’