Unlaced by the Outlaw (Secrets in Silk) (8 page)

“Aye, you did.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, resting her face against her palm. Cain watched her resting and added, “I like you better this way, lass.”

“What way?”

“You’re more like the girl I knew back in Scotland. The one who wanted her freedom.”

She opened her eyes, and met his gaze with her tired one. “Sometimes I grow weary of being a proper lady. With you, I can say whatever I like.”

“Aye, you can.” Cain saw the exhaustion lingering upon her face. He doubted that she’d slept much in the past week. “After this, where do you want to go?”

Margaret yawned and said, “I want to continue searching for my sister. But we won’t go anywhere until you’ve regained your strength. I’ve no wish for us to continue our journey until you’re able to defend me from anyone who might attack a lady.”

He didn’t want to admit she was right, but it was true enough that he could do little to protect her. “Another day or two, then.”

“A week,” she corrected. “At the very least.”

“It willna take that long, lass.” Although the burns still hurt, he believed he could endure the pain. “And you should send word to your family that we’re both safe.”

“I will later,” she agreed.

Cain couldn’t understand why she would hesitate, but he suspected it was embarrassment that she had not found Amelia and that they’d been stranded together.

“Will you heat a bit of water for me?” he asked her a few minutes later. “I would like to shave.”

“Of course.”

Margaret brought him a linen cloth and a small basin of warm water. Cain reached for the cloth and washed his face. His beard had grown in, and he asked her to find a razor for him.

At that, she began searching the cottage until at last she found what he needed. “Here.” Margaret held out a leather case containing a Sheffield razor, a strop, and a stone. “I think this will do.”

He unfolded the bone handle from the blade and sharpened it using the stone and strop. Then he soaped his face and beard with the warm water, acutely aware of how she was watching him.

The blade cut easily, and he kept his gaze fixed upon her. “Have you no’ seen a man shave before?”

She shook her head, her cheeks reddening. “I suppose I shouldn’t really be watching.”

“You could help, lass. If you’ll shave the parts that I miss.” Without a mirror, he could only shave by touch. He worked with the blade, and left a portion of the mustache over his upper lip.

“Will you shave that for me?” he asked, handing her the razor.

Margaret frowned, though she accepted the blade. “I’ve no idea what to do, Mr. Sinclair.”

He lifted his face toward her and pointed to his upper lip, shifting his tongue beneath it to make the surface easier to cut.

A smile escaped her. “You look like a chipmunk when you do that.”

“It’s so you won’t be cutting any of my skin,” he explained. He reached for her hand and drew it toward him. Guiding her, he showed her how to cut away the hair.

She stood between his legs, her face flushed as she studied the work before her. Her hands were gentle as she held his chin with one hand. He didn’t speak, not wanting to distract her. Instead, he studied the curve of her cheek and the dark green eyes that were so intent upon him. She revealed her emotions in those eyes, and right now, she was being careful not to cut him.

“How is your back?” she asked.

“It still hurts.” Though he didn’t want her to think him weak, the effort of sitting up was starting to intensify the pain.

When she’d finished, he said, “Run your fingers over my face and tell me if I’ve missed a place.”

Her fingers were gossamer as she slid them over his cheeks and chin. He closed his eyes, imagining her long fingers moving over his flesh. When her hands stopped, framing his face, he pulled her down to sit on his knee.

“Cain, I can’t,” she murmured. “It’s not proper.”

“Where have you slept these past nights?” he countered. “On a chair?”

“That’s none of your affair, Mr. Sinclair.” She was growing more flustered, and he pressed her further.

“Or did you sleep beside me?” he suggested, keeping her trapped upon his lap.

She stood and pushed back from him, her face crimson. “I slept on the floor, mostly. I would never dare to sleep beside you.”

She turned her back on him, and he decided it was time to retreat. “You saved my life, Margaret. That’s no’ something I’ll be forgetting.”

She took a poker and pushed at the peat upon the fire. He could read the embarrassment in her demeanor, and finally she admitted, “I’m sorry I forced you to help me search for Amelia. The wounds you suffered . . . they were my fault.”

Why would she believe such a thing? “ ’Twas an accident and you’re no’ to blame for it.”

“But if you hadn’t come with me, none of this would have happened.” She finally faced him, and he saw the shame upon her cheeks.

He stared at her. “I don’t regret any day spent with you, Margaret Andrews. No matter what the cost.”

Jonah Sinclair paced across the tiny space of their thatched cottage. His older brother had warned him to stay out of trouble, but he was itching to leave. He’d never left Ballaloch—not once in his fourteen years.

He knew every rock, every blade of grass in this region. He’d spent his days exploring every inch of the land, and he envied the Baron of Lanfordshire’s manor and the Earl of Strathland’s estate. He dreamed of owning a house like those, of having servants and wealth. But more than all else, he wanted to leave the Highlands. His brother, Cain, traveled all the time, and Jonah longed for that freedom.

He dreamed of traveling beyond the boundaries of Scotland, whether that meant sailing across the Irish Sea or going south to England. The thirst for adventure burned inside him, and he was old enough to look after himself.

Only fear of the unknown held him back. But . . . maybe he could find Cain. He knew his brother traveled regularly to London. Jonah was certain that if he followed the roads and took enough supplies, surely he could make it there. And Cain wasn’t here to stop him.

He had a little money saved, enough to get by. Surely he could make it far enough south. And if the money ran out, he could work until he earned more. He flexed his muscle and felt it with his hand. No, he wasn’t as strong as his brother. But he
was
growing, and he could manage the journey south.

Jonah gathered a few things into a bundle, along with a second bundle of food. Though he wanted to take more with him, it was already heavy with the potatoes he’d stored. He could make his way toward Glen Arrin and then continue on.

The door swung open without warning, and he saw Joseph MacKinloch standing there. “Going somewhere, lad?”

The man was older than Cain and had once worked for the Andrews family as a footman. He’d left a few years ago, after the manor house had burned in a fire.

“What are you doing here?” Jonah asked. “Cain isna here, if you’re looking for him.”

“It’s no’ him I came to see.” MacKinloch stepped inside the house and closed the door behind him. “Aren’t ye supposed to be living with Rory while Cain is away? He’s a friend of yer brother’s, isn’t he?” Jonah didn’t meet his gaze and MacKinloch continued, “I came to be sure ye weren’t going to do something foolish.” His gaze passed over the bundles. “Like run away from home.”

“I’m no’ running. I’m traveling,” Jonah said. “Cain asked me to meet him in London.” He tried to make the lie sound plausible by keeping his voice even.

“Did he, now? And who would be driving ye there?” MacKinloch’s expression held amusement, as if Jonah were behaving like a child. It irritated him, for he was old enough to make his own decisions.

“I’m walking.” Jonah lifted his chin. “I can get there on my own.”

“ ’Tis forty miles to the nearest coaching inn, lad. Why don’t ye try telling the truth?” MacKinloch crossed his arms and regarded him.

Jonah’s face colored, but he refused to admit anything. “I’ve heard that one of my kinsmen is traveling that way. I’ll ask if I can ride along with him.”

“As it happens, I’m going toward London,” Joseph said. “I’ve business there of my own. If ye’re wanting me to take ye to your brother, that I can do.”

Wariness coiled in the pit of his stomach. “And why would you help me?”

MacKinloch rubbed at his brown beard. “Ye may not remember my sister, lad, but she was all I had. I didna look after her the way I should, and now she’s gone. Yer brother shouldna be leaving ye alone so much.”

“I’m fourteen. Old enough to look after myself,” he said. “It’s what I always do.”

“Aye, ye do. But London is a far sight different than Ballaloch. A lad like yerself would fall into trouble fast.”

He shook his head. “I wouldna get into trouble.” It was adventure he wanted, above all else.

“Am I wrong that ye helped the others set the Earl of Strathland’s wool on fire that night, a few years ago?”

Jonah froze, for he’d never thought anyone had seen him. After Lord Strathland’s men had shot several of his kinsmen, it had been an act of vengeance that he’d committed with his friends. It had been both terrifying and thrilling, watching the wool go up in a blaze of fire.

Aye, he’d done acts of mischief before, but nothing quite like that night. And since then, Cain had kept a closer watch upon him, forcing him to live with Rory and Grania when he had to be away.

“They ignored ye, because ye were just a boy,” MacKinloch said. “But I saw ye there.”

Again, Jonah said nothing. Though if MacKinloch had seen him, then he’d been involved, too. At his questioning look, Joseph nodded. “Aye, lad. I set some of the fires, too, and I’ve no regrets for doing so. Strathland deserved to lose his income, after what he did to my sister.” His face darkened, and he added, “But that’s over now. The earl paid the price for his misdeeds, and he’s locked away where he can harm no one.”

“Why are you going to London?” Jonah asked.

“I was asked to leave Ballaloch, and since then, I’ve no’ been able to find a way to make my living. I thought I’d try being a footman in London. There are more people, more chances to make my way.”

“You need references,” Jonah pointed out.

MacKinloch patted his coat pocket. “I have those.” With a smile he added, “My mother taught me to read and write when I was young. No one will ask questions, since I’ve come from so far away.”

Jonah wasn’t sure about that, but he didn’t bother to contradict the man.

“If ye’re wanting to leave for London, I can take ye there,” MacKinloch promised. “We’ll travel by mail coach, and ye won’t be alone on the journey, lad. That is, if you’ve enough money for the fare.”

The uneasy feeling in his stomach wasn’t quite gone, but he knew the man was right. Forty miles was a goodly distance to travel on foot. It would take him far too long.

But he only had a little money—not nearly enough. Beyond that, he had only the clothes on his back. Nothing even to sell.

He knew his brother had money of his own, but Cain had never told him where it was hidden. Last night, Jonah had turned the house upside down, but there was not so much as a single coin. Clearly, his brother had a different hiding place.

“In two days, then,” he suggested to MacKinloch. “I want to gather a few more things. If that’s all right.” It would give him time to search for his brother’s money and question Cain’s friends. He would take what he needed and pay it back later.

A sense of excitement pushed back the fear. Perhaps it wasn’t a bad thing to go with someone. It didn’t matter if he found Cain or not—this was his moment to find adventure.

His friends had claimed that London was a place where anyone could become wealthy. If a man was willing to work hard enough, he’d have enough coins to do anything he wanted. But more than the money, Jonah craved the independence.

“I’ll return for ye then,” MacKinloch promised, before he left.

Two days to search
, Jonah thought to himself. He had to find the money somehow.

Chapter Four

ONE WEEK LATER

I
t was nearly dawn. The fire had dwindled down to embers, and Cain couldn’t sleep. Margaret had kept a firm distance between them, and he suspected she’d continued to sleep in a chair simply for propriety’s sake. It was ridiculous, for there was no one to care about it. And he wanted her to be comfortable. There was room enough on the bed for both of them, and there was no reason for Margaret to suffer because she was too embarrassed to share the space.

Silently, he got up, placing his pillow as a divider. His limbs were stiff, but he could move easier now than a few days ago. He saw Margaret twisted in the chair with her head resting upon her arm. Without asking, he reached out and lifted her up. She stirred, murmuring, “What’s wrong, Sinclair?”

“Naught, lass. Go back to sleep.” He laid her down on the other side of the bed with the single pillow between them. She wasn’t conscious of anything, but the moment she stretched out on the mattress, he covered her with the blanket. Then he lay down upon the opposite side.

The delicate scent of her skin ensnared him, making him want to pull the pillow aside and touch her. Over the past few days, he’d been acutely conscious of Margaret’s presence, even though she’d kept herself apart. He’d savored the last few nights, knowing they were as close as he’d ever get to her. Despite the rare kisses he’d stolen over the years, he knew the invisible boundaries between them.