The Marquess's Scottish Bride: A Sweet & Clean Historical Romance (The Chase Brides Book 2) (25 page)

Since their almost-kiss last night, Jason had said hardly a word. While she didn’t know how she felt about him, she did know she didn’t care for the awkward silence. “Isn’t it a beautiful day?”

“It’s hot,” he complained.

“It’s warm and clear, just as the green flash portended. Will you open your eyes? The clouds look like wool before spinning.”

She felt him shrug behind her. “They look like clouds to me.”

“Is everything so black and white for you, then?” One of her hands went into her pocket to feel for Adam’s miniature. For all his faults, Adam had an imagination. Too much of one, maybe; he couldn’t be less like Jason. “Do you never see gray sometimes? Or purple?”

“Black is black, and white is white. I see no reason to call them otherwise.”

“You’re grumpy this morning.” He was angry with her for rejecting him. Well, she was angry with herself as well. She sighed and tried to put a note of compassion into her voice. “Did you suffer the bad dream again last night?”

“I wish I could have.” With his free hand, he rooted in his coat pocket for his water flask. “It was rather impossible to dream given that I didn’t sleep.”

“Well, nobody said you had to sleep on the floor. I shared a bed with you the first night, and you didn’t hear me complaining.”

“Is that so?” He brought the flask before her so he could use both hands to pull out the cork. “Maybe that’s because you didn’t stay long enough in it—”

“Wheesht.” She cupped an ear. “Do you hear water?”

He shook the flask. “No. It’s empty.” Disgruntled, he corked it and shoved it back into his pocket. “Are you thirsty?”

“Aye. And I hear a burn. Running water. There, to the right—I mean the left.”

Following where she indicated, he guided Chiron off the road and along a small path that had been trodden through the trees.

Dismounting, she sighed in pleasure at the sight before her. The stream babbled through a sparse emerald forest, its banks studded with multi-colored pebbles that looked like so many wet jewels.

“Oh, it’s lovely!” She sat upon a log to remove her shoes and stockings.

Jason turned from where he was tethering Chiron. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

“I wish to take a stroll in the water. Does it bother you, then?”

He shrugged. “I suppose not.”

“You said it was hot. A wee wade would help you cool off.” While Jason didn’t strike her as a man to doff his stockings and wade in a burn, it was worth a try to get him out of his dour mood. “Come along,” she cajoled. “Be impulsive. Isn’t that what you called it when we went down into the tunnel? And you said it was fun.”

His eyes locked with hers for a long moment, clear and unfathomable. “Very well,” he said at last. “Get started.” He waved her along the bank. “Let me fill the flask and check the map, and I’ll follow along in a bit.”

The stream felt lusciously cold on her bare toes. Raising her skirt, she inched in until the water lapped at her feet and then her ankles. She wandered along for a few minutes, keeping a hopeful eye out for the dark green notched leaves of water betony as she skipped stones across to the other bank. The burn smelled fresh and enticing. Bunching her skirt in one hand, she bent to scoop a palmful of water with the other and took a deep, refreshing drink.

When she looked up, it was into the beady black eyes of a wild boar.

Caithren’s heart paused, then skittered before beating again. The beast stood a goodly distance away, perhaps twenty or thirty feet, eyeing her malevolently. She took a step back, pitched forward and had to catch herself from tumbling. The bottom of the stream wasn’t the smooth slope she’d been expecting. It dropped off toward the center.

The boar took a step forward.

“J-Jason?” she stuttered ineffectively, afraid to yell and provoke the animal. She stepped back again, more gingerly this time. The hem of her skirt dipped into the water, and she hiked it higher and tucked it into her belt.

Her hand went up to grasp her amulet. The smooth, polished emerald felt solid and reassuring in her clenched fingers. But the stone’s protective powers didn’t seem to be in force. Staring at her unblinkingly, the boar came two steps closer.

Her heart pounding, she reached her other hand into her pocket, her fingers closing on the grip of Jason’s little pistol. Slowly she pulled it out and cocked the flintlock.

At the distinctive click, the boar moved again. She would swear his eyes narrowed.

“Jason? Are you nearby?” Her hand shook as she raised the barrel. “S-stay back,” she ordered in the most demanding voice she could muster.

Ignoring her command, the boar came closer.

“Jason!” she wailed.

Her breath was coming in panicky gasps. The boar took another step. “Stay back!” she screamed. “Keep away from me, you mawkit beast!”

But it wouldn’t listen, and Jason wasn’t coming to her rescue. When the boar came yet closer, she closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger.

The resulting
bang!
left her heart in her mouth. The pistol’s kick sent her sprawling on her bottom in the cold burn, and the boar charged splashing into the water, straight at her. She scrambled to get up, but her feet skidded on the muddy streambed, and the pistol slipped out of her grasp, plunging to the bottom.

Just as she was sure she was about to die, the animal collapsed.

The silvery blade of a sword flashed in the sun, jammed between its shoulder blades.

Shuddering in both horror and relief, Caithren sat in the water, feeling a sudden warmth as the beast’s blood spread in red ribbons beneath the surface. Her gaze was riveted to the motionless boar where its hairy back made a hump in the shallow stream.

Jason waded to her side and reached a hand to pull her up. She stood there, dripping, her hands clenching her crossed arms in a futile attempt to control the shaking.

“It wouldn’t have attacked you if you hadn’t shot,” he said calmly.

“B-but he wouldn’t stop.” Her teeth chattered, although the day was no less hot than before. “He was coming towards me.”

“At a walk, no? He was only curious.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Boars don’t attack people unless they’re provoked.”

“H-how was I supposed to know that?” Her sodden skirt had come untucked and floated about her knees. Her bodice and shift were plastered to her skin. The pale ivory sleeves were streaked a sickening shade of pink.

She stared at the fallen animal until Jason took her by the hand and tugged her upstream. His fingers felt warm and reassuring.

“Submerge yourself,” he urged. He waded back to the boar, lifting his boots high, heavy with water. “Go ahead,” he called back. “The blood will wash out.”

Numbly she obeyed, watching him tug the sword free and rinse the blade. He slid it back into his belt, then plunged his arm into the water and came up with his pistol.

For a long moment he held it dripping above the surface, looking from it to Caithren and back again. He cocked a brow. “I reckon it’s best I keep this, no?” Tucking it into his boot top, he splashed his way back to her.

She plucked her soaked bodice away from her body, trying to gather her wits. “It’s sorry I am that your boots are ruined.”

“They’ll dry.” He shrugged, then his forehead furrowed. “You’re a lousy shot, Emerald.”

“I’m not Emerald.” Irritated, she waded out of the water at full speed. “I’ve never shot a gun before. I didn’t like it much.”

He emerged from the burn and sat on a stump, shading his eyes with a hand as he gazed up at her. “You were carrying a pistol when I found you.”

“Found me? Abducted me is more like it.”

He yanked off a boot and spilled out a gush of water. “What were you doing carrying a pistol if you don’t know how to use it?” His stocking came off next. He wrung it in his hands. Absurdly, she thought he had nice toes. “Well?” he barked.

Her head jerked up. “It was Da’s. Cameron made me take it. To protect myself from Englishmen like you.”

A look of uncertainty seemed to cross his face, but he regained his normal implacable expression while he poured slowly from his second boot. “You’re certainly one for the stories. Quick thinker, too.” He peeled off his other stocking. “It’s a good thing the outlaws don’t know you cannot shoot—that could put a damper on your business, I expect.”

She glared at him in disbelief, then turned and stalked upriver, back to where she’d left her things. “You’ve an aggravating master,” she informed Chiron. Plopping down upon a log, she spread her skirts around her, hoping they might dry a wee bit in the sun while she pulled on her stockings and shoes.

Her eyes were still trained downward when Jason’s nice toes marched into her field of vision. She squinted up at him. “Where is the food you bought yesterday? I’ll be wanting a chitterin’ bite.”

“A what?”

“A chitterin’ bite. Do you not eat something after a swim, to keep from catching cold?”

“No.” He stared at her as though she’d left her head in the water. “Is that another of your Scottish superstitions?”

“It’s not a superstition—it’s a health precaution. And I don’t care for the way you say
Scottish
.”

He raised a brow. “Will an orange do?”

“Aye. Sweet is preferable to savory.”

“I will file that information.” He fetched an orange from the portmanteau and handed it to her. “You’ll have to wear the red dress,” he said, pulling it out as well. He draped it over the log, a jarring splash of crimson against the green of their forest surroundings.

“Nay.” Ignoring it, she bit into the bitter skin of the orange and began peeling. “I won’t wear that dress again.”

Ignoring her in turn, he shrugged out of his surcoat and took dry breeches from one of the leather bags.

“Crivvens!” She jumped up, scattering orange peel all over the ground. “You’re not going to undress right here, are you?”

“There’s nobody around. What would you have me do, ride around the countryside soaking wet?” In one single lithe motion, he pulled his shirt free from his waistband and off over his head. “And I can’t be the first fellow ever to undress in
your
presence—not when you’ve had children.”

A small part of Cait registered fury that he still imagined her a parent despite her firm denial; the rest was transfixed by the sight of Jason’s chest. Lightly defined muscles rippled beneath a sprinkling of silky black hair. She had seen men’s chests before—Da’s, Adam’s, Cameron’s. But never a stranger’s.

And most certainly not a stranger who looked like Jason.

When he started unlacing his breeches, she made a strangled noise and spun away. “I’d rather not have to watch.” Her heart was beating fast from rage—and something else. “Indulge me in my false pretense of innocence,” she added sarcastically, moving away.

His laughter followed her. “Come back and take the red dress. I won’t have your skirt drenching my nice dry clothes as we ride.”

The skirt in question was dripping on her nice dry shoes and stockings. In disgust she turned back and snatched the red gown from the log.

“Here,” he said, digging in the portmanteau. “You’ll be needing this as well.” He held out the sheer chemise that had come with the dress.

Instead of arguing, she took it, though she had no intention of wearing it. Plunking the half-peeled orange on the log, she made her way through the trees, far enough that she was sure he couldn’t see her. She checked thoroughly for boars before ripping at the laces of her soggy bodice.

Goose bumps sprang up on her skin as she undressed. From cold, or confusion? This vexatious and misguided Englishman couldn’t even take her word on her own name…but he never hesitated to come to her rescue. He was overbearing and rigid…yet oddly compassionate and honorable in his way. And though she’d never been as angry with anyone in her life—the arrogant cur regarded the exploits of
her
womb a matter for
his
opinion?—his slightest touch sent her heart to racing.

That last point didn’t bear thinking about. Her current predicament only confirmed that she didn’t want to be with Jason or any other man. She wanted to find Adam and get back to Leslie where she belonged.

She realized she’d been wrong in her assessment of men, however: they weren’t all the same.

They were each oppressive in their own, uniquely awful way.

And Jason was right, curse him—her shift was entirely too soaked to wear beneath the dress this time. Handling the indecent chemise with distaste, she dropped it over her head and yanked the garment into place. Its gossamer fabric might as well be air for all the concealment it offered. She stepped into the gown, laced it up, and attached the stomacher with fumbling fingers. Covering her low neckline with both hands, she made her way back to the streambank.

She was sure her cheeks were as red as the gown.

Thankfully, Jason was fully clothed. But when his gaze trailed from her burning face to her hands splayed on her chest, he burst out laughing.

He noticed the murderous look on her face rather quickly. “Sorry,” he said, digging in his pocket and pulling out a handkerchief. “Here.”

She only looked at it.

“To fill in the neckline.”

“Oh. My thanks,” she mumbled, and shoved the cloth down the front of the dress, tucking it in as best she could. It felt like a peace offering. She reached for the orange. “You should have a chitterin’ bite as well.”

“Why? So I won’t catch cold?”

“Aye.” She sat on the log and divided the fruit, handing him half. “So you won’t catch cold.

He stuffed a section into his mouth and dug out some fresh stockings before joining her on the log. “I thank you for your concern,” he said. “I was under the impression you’d just as soon I caught consumption and died.”

Wheesht, what a thing to say!

How had she ever thought she could make friends with him?

“Not until you get me to London,” she snapped.