Unlaced by the Outlaw (Secrets in Silk) (9 page)

Yet, Fate had handed him an opportunity. Here, there were no ballrooms or silks. The stark isolation of northern England was familiar to him, and he knew how to survive in the middle of nowhere. He’d be a fool not to savor this time with her, enjoying whatever moments he could. In a matter of hours, they would leave this place.

He turned to his side, but Margaret didn’t move. The dim glow of the fire revealed goose bumps rising over her bared arms.

She was still awake; he was certain of that. And whether or not she was feigning sleep, he reached out to touch her arm. Her skin was cool beneath his fingers, and he caught her involuntary flinch, as if he’d set her on fire. But she didn’t pull away.

Cain slid his hand over her arm in a silent caress. Damn the pillow between them. He removed it, setting it out of the way, and curled his body against hers. The sensation of her hips pressed against him caused a fierce arousal. She’d always had this effect on him, like a confection he wanted to devour . . . but wasn’t allowed to taste.

God, he wanted to peel away that gown, to run his mouth and teeth over her flesh. He wanted to cup her soft breasts, nuzzling them until she puckered for him.

His erection was straining against the sheets, and he drew his hand to her waist. “I know you’re awake,” he murmured in a deep voice. “But keep on pretending you’re asleep, lass.”

He gave in to impulse and pushed her fallen hair off her neck. He needed to taste her, to remind her of what there had once been between them.

His breath warmed her skin, and she spoke at last. “Please . . . don’t.”

“There’s no one here to see. No one would know.” He lowered his mouth to her neck, brushing his lips against her pulse. She shuddered, her hand reaching back to grip his knee.

“If I were your husband,” he continued, “do you know what I’d do?”

“You’re not my husband,” she responded. Her voice was the barest whisper, and there was no denying her apprehension. But her hand remained upon him, as if she wanted to hear his answer.

“I’d awaken you in the morning by moving in close.” He kept his mouth on her throat, letting her feel the hard length of his arousal against her backside. “I’d reach over and cup your breast in my hand.”

He moved his palm higher, keeping it just below the swell of her bosom. Beneath his hand, he could feel the constricted lines of her corset. “I’d touch you there, rubbing your nipple until it was tight, wanting my kiss.”

Margaret tried to break away from him, but he held her fast. “I’d use my tongue against your bare skin, teasing your breast until you craved more.” Her breathing had shifted, and he could feel the telltale trembling of her body. “I’d take you in my mouth, lass, and suckle you until you were ready for me.”

“Mr. Sinclair, please,” she begged. “Let me go.”

But he’d already relaxed his hand. She could leave any time she wanted to.

“I’d move on top of you and enter your body with my flesh,” he said. He moved against her, as if he were already doing so. “I’d fill you and thrust inside, until you begged me no’ to stop.”

Abruptly, Margaret broke free, and scrambled to her feet. She didn’t look at him, but she blurted out, “Stay away from me.”

Cain got up from the bed and faced her. “You felt it, didn’t you, lass? You’re afraid of me, no’ because you think I’ll harm you. But because you fear you’ll like it.”

Her chin jerked up, and she glared at him. “How dare you? Do you think I’ll fall prey to your whims, behaving like a woman of loose morals?” She reached forward and snatched a knife from the table, pointing it toward him. “If you
ever
try to touch me again, I’ll bury this in your black heart.”

Her face was crimson, but he suspected it was embarrassment more than anger. She hadn’t pulled away at first, making him wonder if there was a trace of guilt.

“I’ll go and prepare our horse while you get some food ready,” he informed her, letting her keep the knife. If it made her feel safer, he didn’t care. ’Twould be easy enough to take it from her before she hurt either of them.

Margaret said nothing as he went outside, but he knew she was seething over what he’d done. And yet he held no regrets. He’d never made it secret that he desired her, and he wasn’t the sort of man who spoke gentle words or behaved like a gentleman.

He was more like an outlaw. Rules didn’t matter to him, and he’d broken the law more than once. Though he supposed he should have regretted touching Margaret Andrews, it only left him wanting more. He wanted to pleasure her, to take her over the edge until she cried out with ecstasy.

When he returned to the vicar’s house, she served him a watery gruel. Vengeance in the form of food. He choked it down, and she packed up their meager belongings.

“I’m going to see the vicar and his wife and give them this necklace,” she informed him. “After their hospitality, I owe them that.”

He gave a shrug, but it bothered him that she would give up her jewelry on his behalf. Margaret ought to keep her baubles, and he didn’t like the idea of her handing over a necklace that might have been worn by her mother or grandmother.

“Meet me by the horse when you’re ready,” he told her, before she departed.

The morning horizon was a pale rose creased with clouded light. Cain didn’t doubt that it would rain again, likely within the hour, from what he’d glimpsed of the gray skies. Though his back was still sensitive to the fabric of the shirt Margaret had given him, he could endure the pain. The burns had healed enough for him to travel, and that was all he needed.

Margaret was busy packing supplies for their journey, and he went to pay a visit of his own to the vicar’s wife. He found the older woman inside the church. She was holding Margaret’s pearls, examining them in the morning light.

“I’m wanting those back,” he interrupted. “You canna have her necklace.”

“She promised it to us,” the vicar’s wife insisted. “We gave you our house and supplies for nearly three weeks.”

Cain moved forward, letting his height intimidate her. “And where will you find anyone to buy the pearls? No’ here.” From inside a hidden seam of his plaid, he withdrew a handful of coins. “These are of better use to you now.”

“The pearls are worth more,” she argued back.

Cain stepped even closer, forcing her to crane her neck to look at him. He took her empty hand and pressed the coins into them, holding her wrist firmly. “I wouldna advise you to keep the pearls. Especially when I could take them from you now.”

A shadow of fear crossed her face as she understood his meaning. Cain reached for the pearls, never taking his gaze from her face. “The coins will compensate the both of you.” He pocketed the necklace and added, “Margaret has lost enough during the past few weeks. She doesna need to lose her pearls.”

He stared hard at the vicar’s wife to ensure that the woman wouldn’t do anything foolish. No, the coins weren’t as much as the pearls were worth. But they were a generous offer for using their house for a fortnight.

Cain left the church and returned to Margaret, who was busy tying belongings onto the horse. He helped her mount the animal and then swung up behind her. “Are you certain you want to continue north, lass?”

“I do, yes. Though I know it’s too late to help my sister, I can go toward Juliette’s estate at Falsham, south of Edinburgh,” Margaret said. “I can stay there until I decide what I want to do.”

He detected a slight note of uncertainty in her voice. “What about your parents? I could take you to their home in Ballaloch.”

She stiffened against him. “I’d rather not face them. Not after what I did and how long we’ve been together. They will suspect the worst of me.”

He sensed that a good part of her frustration was directed toward herself for acting on impulse. This journey had been her idea, not his. And now that it had resulted in disaster, she blamed herself.

“You’ve done naught wrong,” he insisted.

“That isn’t true.” Her voice was a whisper, as if in memory of what had happened between them earlier.

“Are you
wanting
to do something wrong?” he asked, letting his hands rest against her waist.

“Of course not.” She pushed his hands away, straightening her posture as if to remind herself that she was still a lady. But there was a rebellious side to Margaret Andrews, beneath the white gloves and stiff corset. She could have protested the moment he’d lifted her out of the chair and laid her down on the bed beside him. Instead, she’d allowed him to lie beside her. And he had no doubt that he’d tempted her.

Cain guided the horse to the top of the hillside, shielding his eyes as he searched for his bearings. He was torn between wanting to take Margaret back to Ballaloch and allowing her to continue toward Falsham. Although he could leave her behind at her sister’s estate, he questioned the wisdom of it. So far as he knew, Juliette was still in London. He didn’t want to bring Margaret to Falsham without a family member there to protect her.

A moment later, the clouds opened up and began to pour down the rain. Margaret let out a sound of dismay, and he unpinned the brooch from his shoulder, freeing a length of plaid so she could shield herself from the downpour.

“Don’t you need something to cover up from the rain?” she asked, glancing back at him.

“I’m used to it, lass. It doesna bother me.” Thankfully it was summer, when the weather was somewhat warmer. Autumn rain was terrible, so cold it could freeze a man’s blood.

He led the horse through the open land, following a silvery stream north. After a few hours, he stopped to get water. He filled a small flask that he’d taken from his sporran and brought it back with him. Margaret had pinned up her sodden hair and was waiting calmly for him.

Cain handed her the flask and said, “Have some water.”

She took it and ventured a slight smile. Glancing upward at the rain shower, she offered, “I believe I have more water than I need, thank you.” But even so, she drank. “Is there any food?”

“Did you bring any of the gruel?” he teased.

Margaret grimaced. “I will be glad when I never have to cook again. I haven’t any talent in the kitchen, it seems.”

In response, Cain handed her some bread that he’d taken from the cottage that morning. He suspected it might not be very good, for Margaret had made it out of flour and water, cooking it in a cast-iron pan near the hearth. The bread was flat and hard, but Margaret accepted the small loaf. She tried to break it in half, but it was like trying to break a rock apart.

“I don’t have any faith in this,” she admitted.

“Soak it in water and see if that softens it.”

Margaret poured water from the flask and eventually was able to separate the two halves. Cain took his, waiting for her to take the first bite.

The moment she did, Margaret spat it out. “Ugh! It’s like eating paste.” She tried to offer some to the mare, but even the horse wrinkled its nose and turned aside.

He decided that now was a good time to keep his opinions to himself. “I could try to get fish, if you’re wanting more to eat.”

Margaret took a small sip of water, then another. “A fish luncheon would be welcome right now, if you could manage it. My bread tastes like mortar.”

“You tried.” He walked toward the stream, trying to decide the best way to trap fish for them. Margaret followed him through the meadow, still clutching at her skirts. Even caught in the midst of the wilderness, she was every inch a lady. But she was walking with her arms crossed over her torso in a way he didn’t understand.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “You’re walking strangely.”

She shook her head. “It’s just that I have no spencer or shawl to cover my gown. I should have brought a wrap of some kind, but I forgot, since we were in a hurry.”

Cain stared at her, realizing that the rain had soaked her bodice, revealing every curve. The gown she was wearing clung to her skin, but the green shade had grown discolored over the past few weeks. “You can wear my coat,” he suggested.

“Please,” she agreed. “It’s cold from all the rain.” Margaret pulled the coat closed before lifting her skirts and stepping toward the stream. When her back was turned, he spied shapely calves and tiny bows on the back of her stockings.

Interesting.

Shielding his eyes, Cain studied the stream. It appeared that the water widened farther out, and it was possible that one of the rivers fed into it. On the opposite side, several trees hung low over the water. If he was going to find something for them to eat, it would be there.

“Look around and see if you find anything else to eat,” he instructed her. “Berries or fruit. In the meantime, I’ll see if I can get fish.”

Margaret nodded and crouched down beside the stream, uncorking the flask with one hand. While she busied herself refilling it, she asked, “How far are we from Scotland?”

“A day or so longer. You must have strayed off the main road when you brought us to Wickersham, for we’re closer than I’d thought. We’ll keep on this road and go as far as the border.”

Once she was safely at her sister’s estate, he could continue west toward Ballaloch to look after Jonah. In the past, Cain had given the boy into the care of Rory and Grania MacKinloch, but the woman had died a few weeks ago. He worried about whether Rory was able to take care of Jonah, now that they were both alone.