The Passionate One (10 page)

She did indeed know
a place or two Phillip had never discovered. Besides, Margaret knew the maze
nearly as well as she, and from the manner in which she cast sidelong glances
at Ash Merrick, she might well prove to be the last lady discovered... if Ash
was the seeker.

Sure enough,
Margaret lent her support to the proposal. “All right. I’m game.”

“Indeed?” One of
Ash’s black brows climbed consideringly, a lazy sexual quality in his regard.

Margaret tittered
unconscionably and Rhiannon felt her cheeks grow warm. She chided herself
viciously. Why shouldn’t he flirt with Margaret? He was unattached—as was
Margaret.

She moved away from
them, her feet carrying her swiftly as, with heated faces, the other young
women in the party added their approval. As soon as it was decided that the
women should have the count of two hundred before the men came to find them,
they disbanded, multicolored skirts belling out as they fled amidst laughter
into the maze’s evergreen corridors.

As soon as she
passed beneath the rose arbor that led into the maze, Rhiannon broke to the
left. Experienced hunters like her friends would drive to the back of the maze
and scout for a hiding place there, amidst thick hedges in the densest part of
the garden. But not her.

She would stay on a
side path. After the men had passed, she would sneak back toward the front and
the rose arbor she’d ducked under. There, the rose vine entangled with an
ancient yew, hiding a little nook she had discovered years ago. Outside the
maze she would be barely visible, but from within the maze no one would be able
to see her.

She waited for the
men to enter, her heart racing. She heard a muted hunting-horn sound and then
the men crashing through the entry, calling out. Before long Susan Chapham’s
squeal of outrage proclaimed her the first woman to be found. Had it been Ash?
Or was he seeking other quarry?

Cautiously Rhiannon
peered around the corner. The only sound she heard was that of St. John’s perennial complaints. She sped swiftly back toward the entrance. Crouching low,
she angled her body sideways and pushed her way through the thick growth.

And then she was
in.

She looked around.
The very center of the huge yew had rotted away, making a small empty room with
living walls. Slender needles of sunlight pierced the higher boughs, stabbing
the earth with brilliant pinpricks. The tight, unfurled buds of the red rose
adorned the dark green walls like rubies. Beneath, her feet crushed fifty years
of accumulated yew needles. Their fragrance rose, sharp and pungent.

She hadn’t been
here for years. Not since she was a little girl, driven from her bed to hide
from the redcoated devils who rode thundering through her dreams. Or had they
been dreams? Memories most like, taking advantage of sleep’s vulnerability to
attack once again.

Thank God, she’d
found haven. She’d found Fair Badden. She’d never have to face the landscape of
her nightmares again. Ever.

She vanquished the
memories, as she always vanquished the memories of her life before her arrival
here. She would think of nothing unpleasant. She was playing a game on a lovely
spring day and she was going to win. She could imagine Phillip’s surprise when
he strode confidently toward the bower he expected she’d be occupying only to
find it empty.

She grinned. She
would wait until he’d given up and then she’d walk serenely from the gate,
stringing a chain of daisies as she came.

Ash Merrick might even smile.

Within a few
minutes a triumphant call signaled the discovery of another lady and then
another. Two more ladies had been flushed. Another cry and more laughter. That
left only Rhiannon.

“She’s here somewhere,”
she heard Phillip say from nearby.

“Aha, Watt! She’s
outmaneuvered you! Best think twice before marrying a wench what’s smarter than
you.” It was John Fortnum.

“I’ll find her.”

But he didn’t. A
few minutes later Phillip called out, “There’s nothing else for it, lads. We’ll
just have to drive her like a partridge. She’ll be far back where the trees
overhang the maze. Likely she’s clambered up one and is swinging her legs
overhead, laughing as we stumble about nose to the ground.”

“Well, even if I don’t
win the kiss, you’ve just offered me reward enough to gain my aid,” another man
laughed. “Rhiannon Russell must have pretty legs.”

Rhiannon’s face
grew hot.

“I’m for it, too!”
John Fortnum answered, his voice moving off. “Lead on, Watt.”

Rhiannon settled
down to wait, leaning her head against the yew’s shaggy trunk. It could take a
goodly while before Phillip called quits. He was tenacious and he disliked
being bested.

Perhaps it was the
cool dimness chased with golden lights, or perhaps the hushed stillness, the
rich damp scent of a hiding place, but soon her eyes drifted shut and she fell
into a light, easy sleep.

“Tha thu agam.”
I have you.

Her eyes opened
slowly, uncertain of what she’d heard. Gaelic. She hadn’t heard the Gaelic
tongue in ten years. She raised her head, her vision slow in adjusting to the
sharp contrasting light.

Ash Merrick stood over her.

Sunlight dappled
his broad shoulders, sparkled in his black hair. His head was cocked to one
side and in the odd light she could not make out the expression in his dark
eyes, though she could see clearly enough the dark lashes surrounding them, the
shadow beneath the high cheekbone, the shape of his mouth.

“You spoke to me in
Gaelic.”

“Did I?” His voice
was quiet. “I was raised in the Highlands, for all my English blood, you know.”

“Aye. English...
How would you... ?” She stuttered, stopped herself, went on. “I didn’t hear you
enter,” she said, self-conscious beneath his mute appraisal. “How can that be?
I should have heard the sound of yew boughs breaking and—”

“Easy, Miss
Russell,” he said. “I came in by the roses.” He gestured toward a low opening
leading to the grassy gardens outside. “I walked the outer periphery of the
maze. Sometimes a man needs to stand back to see what’s before him.”

“Oh.” She
swallowed, brushing the hair back from her face. It didn’t seem fair that he’d
left the maze. It set unexpected anxiety shivering through her and she didn’t
understand why.

She tilted her head
back. He bent down, startling her. She jumped a little. He went motionless for
a heartbeat and then with a slow, wry smile, reached down and gently removed a
sprig of yew from her skirts. Flustered, she brushed the needles from the
folds.

“I’ve won,” he
said.

“Aye.” She did not
meet his eye.

“You didn’t expect
anyone to find you.”

“Nay.”

“You dislike it
that I did.”

“Aye,” she replied
sullenly.

“Why is that?

“I don’t know,” she
muttered. “I’d hidden where no one would find me. I thought I was safe.”

“ ‘Safe.’ An
interesting choice of words considering we were playing a game.”

“It’s a feeling, is
all,” she explained grudgingly. “I used to come here when I was just a lassie
newly arrived from... newly arrived at Fair Badden.”

“From the Highlands.”

“Yes.”

“You were what?
Nine years old? Eight? Your family had fought for the Pretender, hadn’t they?”

She nodded.

“Did you hide? When
Cumberland’s men came? Why? The troops didn’t seek children.”

“They sought anyone
that wore a plaid,” she replied in a hushed voice.

“And you hid in the
woods.” The words seemed to come from him without volition.

“Yes.”

“And no one found
you.”

“Me or the old lady
my mother sent with me.” She hadn’t ever told anyone of those days. Not even
Edith Fraiser. She’d tried once, but Edith had tucked her shivering body onto
her lap and told her to forget everything that had happened to her before she
came to them.

Rhiannon had tried
to do what Edith said. Like she had tried to do everything else the Fraisers
had asked, to be good and dutiful and never give a moment’s distress. Mostly
she had succeeded. She could barely recall her own parents’ faces. “We watched
the croft burn.”

He did not ask her
to elaborate and for this she was grateful. But he understood. She could see
it. Sense it. Following Cumberland’s defeat of Prince Charlie’s Highlanders at
Culloden she’d lost everyone: father, brothers, uncles, cousins.

“Do you have family...
besides your father?” she asked.

“A sister. A
brother.”

She nodded. “Where
are—”

“Then you found
your way here,” he cut in. “But you still felt hunted.”

“No.” She shook her
head. “Only sometimes at night. When the thunder came. I didn’t want to be a
coward and I didn’t want to hurt Mrs. Fraiser’s feelings—and they would have
been sorely hurt had she thought I didn’t feel safe in her own good home—so I’d
steal outside and come here.

“No one ever found
me. No one knew about it. I thought no one ever would—lest I told them. So it
was safe, you understand. And now it isn’t anymore, because you found me and I
don’t know that I’ll ever feel safe here again.” Or anywhere, she thought.

He studied her for
a long moment before extending his hand as he had yesterday after wrestling her
beneath him and making her aware of his strength, his tensile length, and his
weight. He’d made her feel weak, vulnerable. Yet it was not a conscious aim of
his. She could not fault him for making her feel that way, or in some odd way
liking it. Because if she’d felt weak, he’d felt strong and she knew he would
use that strength to protect her.

She placed her hand
in his. Effortlessly, he assisted her to her feet. He stepped away.

“You should be
safe. You should
feel
safe,” he murmured, an edge of anger sharpening
his tone.

“No matter now.”

“I won’t tell
anyone about this place,” he said. “In a few weeks I’ll be gone and it will be
your sanctuary once again.” His words came rapidly, as though he must say them.

He didn’t
understand. Whether he went or stayed, wherever he was, she would always be
cognizant of the fact he knew about this place. She would never be alone here
again.
He
would be with her. But his impulse was kind and she could
not rob him of that.

“Thank you.”

“But”—he stepped
nearer and she could see his chest rising and falling as though he’d been
running—“I still would have my reward.”

He stepped forward
and she moved back until her shoulders pressed against the yew’s green
branches.

“An toir thu
dhomh mo pog?”
he whispered.
Will you give me my
kiss?

She lifted her
gaze; it became entangled with his as surely as the rose vine entangled with
the yew at her back. As steadfast and ineluctably. “Aye.”

Slowly, carefully,
Ash drew near her. His hands hung loose at his side, his eyes held hers. He
angled his head and lowered his mouth until she felt his breath on her lips.
Her eyelids fluttered closed. Their lips met.

As soft as summer
mist. Delicately as dawn’s first colors. Tenderly his mouth molded over hers,
moved with breath-stealing sweetness and her own lips, readied for an
overpowering assault, were conquered instead by exquisite gentleness.

He raised his arms
and she, prepared to lean into his embrace, found that he did not embrace her
at all and that instead his strong arms reached past her, bracketing her head,
and finding purchase against the living walls behind her. He leaned forward,
deepening the kiss.

She sighed, her
head falling back, overwhelmed and shaken. She felt weak, her body drugged, her
pulse erratic. Unsteadily she laid her hand against his chest for support. His
heart beat thickly beneath her palm.

His mouth opened
over hers, his breath stole between her lips. She could feel him, taste him,
complex and exotic, spicy wine and fresh mint. The tip of his tongue gently
lined her lips, coaxing them farther apart.

Her legs trembled.
Her thoughts grew faint. All she was aware of was his mouth, his tongue gently
playing, seeking the sleek lining of her inner lip, the tip of her own tongue.
His heart thundered beneath her hand in an acute counterpoint to the leisurely
intoxication of his kiss.

A sound rose in her
throat. Her mouth opened wider. Her hands stole around his shoulders, pulling
her body tight against his hard chest— He let her go.

Dazed, disoriented,
lips sensitive and lush feeling, she stared at him. He stepped away from her,
clasping his hands behind his back. His face was still. His dark eyes
shuttered. Then he smiled and bent forward in a deep, courtly bow.

“I am well
rewarded,” he said. “I heard the others coming back. You’d best go. Now. Meet
them outside the entrance. I’ll follow later.”