A Promise of Love (22 page)

"But in the cove, MacLeod?"

"Yes, Judith, in the cove. You were, perhaps, too occupied with treading water to fear me so much, were you not?"

She looked at him, the truth apparent in her eyes. Although one part of her had not believed he would let her drown, the fact that she could not swim had occupied most of her mind. There had been no room for terror, or anything other than the thought of all that water beneath her feet.

At least at first.

She blushed and he thought that she had never looked so lovely. Her hair was mussed around her face in damp curls, her skin still held a rosy glow - although how much came from his loving and how much from simple embarrassment, he did not know - her lips looked swollen and well kissed. It was the expression in her eyes, however, that caused his breath to still and his heart to turn over in his chest.

They held no fear.

They were, however, still misted with anger.

He bent down and kissed her, hard, and for the briefest of moments, she opened her lips under his. She moved away and he chuckled.

"Get used to it, Judith," he said softly, "we will do it often, I think. And now," he said, rising, "get dressed. I have many things to do today, and wish you with me."

"Perform your own chores, MacLeod, without me. I have my own duties," she said, emerging from the other side of the bed, the sheet wrapped around her.

"No," he said, the smile still playing around his lips. "Not today." He did not tell her that he wanted her with him to spare her long thoughts. She would do nothing but hoard up her embarrassment until nightfall.

She only saw the implacable set of his chin, and sighed.

"Very well, MacLeod," she said stonily. "But," she announced, her own stubbornness adding a glint to her eye, "do not expect to tumble me on the moors."

"Judith, your inventiveness intrigues me. Think you the sheep will mind?"

She wished she had something to throw at him.

****

Judith did not have time to be humiliated.

The MacLeod was a busy man, and it was difficult to keep up with him and remember her embarrassment.

She followed him over the track through the moors, trying to match his broad strides, but even so, he would not wait for her. She found him, finally, stood and waited while he gave the older men instructions on how to care for the newly sheared sheep. It was important for them to be watched, carefully, for the first few days after their protective coat of fleece was gone. Parasites could bore within a cut or scrape and the MacLeod was taking no chances on losing any of them. She and Alisdair skirted the empty weaving shed, but neither spoke of the fact that it was empty, the loom left bare.

Judith followed him to the fishing huts, located some distance away from the main village. The stench of curing fish permeated the air, along with the odor from the huge fields of seaweed spread out to dry.

Each activity was an industry unto itself, each populated by members of the clan, some of whom glared at Judith. The others simply smirked.

The MacLeod was having none of it.

Without seeming to do anything out of the ordinary, he would pull Judith into the circle of his arms, introduce her to people she had not met formally before, and by doing so, announced his message as clearly as if he had signaled a trumpeter.

None of them missed his meaning.

Their eyes would meet the MacLeod’s over Judith's head, or when she turned away. Without a word spoken, his intent was conveyed to every member of his clan.

She was his wife.What you do to her, you do to me.

Some would remember the scene in the cove and wonder at the sight of her now clothed in the crow's dress that hid every inch of skin from their gaze. They would remember the sight of her wrapped around the sturdy length of the MacLeod, but these memories were only indulged in after their laird strode away, his wife struggling to keep up. Still others would recall the scene in the glen, when she’d admitted being an English soldier’s widow. Those clan members could only wonder at the MacLeod’s actions. Their criticism was never voiced aloud - there were many people in the glen who owed their survival to Alisdair MacLeod’s efforts.

Judith thought it strange that Fiona was not present. Did she have no duties to perform? When she said as much to Alisdair, he only grinned, wondering if it was jealousy made her eyes sparkle, and turned her blush a deeper rose.

"She is in Inverness, Judith, visiting her aunt. Do you miss her presence?”

Her look was filled with irritation, a fact which caused Alisdair’s grin to widen.

"I am sorry that you have not become friends," he said, ignoring her question. He did not want to talk about Fiona's marital state, or in this case, the lack of it. His kinship with Fiona did not dictate that he was responsible for her morals. He did not know who Douglas's father was, but he did not condemn her for the child’s illegitimate birth. In the last few years, other priorities had supplanted the rigid teachings of the Kirk. As long as they did not include him - although he knew that Fiona wished otherwise - he was not overly concerned as to her plans for the future. He had no doubt that she would eventually find some eager mate willing to pay for her favors by offering marriage.

"Friends?" Judith looked at him in wonder. How could he be so obtuse?

He grinned again and could not resist fueling the fire. "She thinks you're a cuif," he said calmly, waiting for the question. It was not long in coming.

"What's a cuif?"

"A ninny."

"I'll ninny her," Judith snarled and for the next few minutes, strode angrily in front of the MacLeod. He thought her anger a glorious thing.

She thought him the strangest man she’d ever known.

He could not have protected her more, if he had wrapped her in a blanket and carried her from place to place. By keeping her with him, he announced their bond. She was not part of this land, nor was she part of the clan. Nor, in honesty, did she know if she ever would be. She belonged to the MacLeod, however, and not only was that message becoming apparent to every member of the clan, it was also becoming very obvious to Judith, also.

She began to wonder about this man who had accepted her into his life with more grace than she had acknowledged her own place in it.

Who was he?

He was not like her father, whose contempt for her had punctuated her childhood. She suspected that Alisdair would treat a daughter of his with as much tender care as he lavished on Douglas. Nor was this new Scots husband of hers like Peter, whose gentleness was only a mask for weakness. The MacLeod did not claim to be gentle, yet his actions of the past days had proven he was both compassionate and kind. He was not like Anthony, who had wielded his sword with cruelty and his husbandry of her in the same way. Yet, the MacLeod had fought in battle, surviving when many had not. He had yelled and roared at her, but had held her close to comfort her. He had charm, and wit, and patience, and at the same time could be caustic and surly and unkind.

He had told her she was beautiful.

By dusk, Judith was no closer to understanding him then she had been at dawn.By the time they returned to Tynan, it was turning to night and with night came another problem. What would happen now?

Alisdair had noted her glances when she'd thought he was not looking. He'd seen how her brow wrinkled when she was deep in thought and noticed the frown that marred the space above her nose when she was perplexed about something. It had come as no surprise that her humiliation had dissipated. It was difficult to feel anything but fatigue after walking for miles across the moors.

Alisdair was not unduly surprised, either, by the sight of her anxiously scanning the skies as if to hold off the night, or her faltering steps as she reluctantly entered the courtyard.

The key to alleviating Judith's fears, he had decided, was the same response he'd had when trying to restore his life after the decimation of his family and his clan.It was impossible to live as he had once lived. Alisdair had realized, upon returning to Tynan, that the only way to abide with, and accept, his past was to alter the present. Memories hung like dripping shadows from each room of Tynan and he consciously sought not to replicate them. He never ventured near those suite of rooms he had once shared with Anne. He would not sit by the fire in the great hall, as he had so many times with his father and his brother. He never took his meals in the dining-hall, where they had all supped before, amidst rollicking discussions and fierce debates. He would not even leave Tynan by the seaside door, much as he had as a young boy.

He would never, consciously, duplicate Judith's past, either. Judith’s horror bloomed in silence, so he would show her that words could cure. She had feared being punished for her feelings, therefore he would encourage each one of her many and varied emotions. Whatever had made her uneasy, he would make normal. Whatever she had known as normal, he would make rare.

It was both a vow and a promise.

CHAPTER 20

The slut was in Scotland.

The smile he wore was not one of humor, a fact more than a few members of his regiment had discerned over the last year. When Bennett Henderson had that expression on his face, it did not mean he was in charity with the world.

How utterly perfect that she was here. And how like her to have found a protector. She was a survivor, he had to give her that. It was that very quality which had made mounting her such delicious enjoyment. All those nights, when she’d fought him, it had made the pleasure that much greater. To know that he’d mastered her, conquered her, beaten her, wiped the rage from her eyes and replaced it with fear, ah, it almost made him laugh.

She was growing brave again.

He would leave her alone, then, until she thought herself safe. Until she began to believe that a Scot could protect her from him. Until she began to think he planned no retribution, no vengeance for her act. Only then, when she’d become hopeful, when her tenseness melted to relaxation and her fears to laughter, would he visit her again.

Perhaps then, he would introduce his group into a different pleasure, show them what treasure these barren hills and misty glens could hide.

Until then, he ached for another woman, one who could keep him satisfied until he saw Judith again. A temporary replacement, that was all, to assuage his body while his mind fed on the anticipation of it all.

Judith.

He could hardly wait.

CHAPTER 21

He had barely spoken ten words to her all day and now he wanted to talk! Judith rolled over and tried to ignore him, but it was the sound of his voice as much as his words which drew her attention. It was too deep and alluring, she thought, undoubtedly the result of much practice. She punched the nearly flat pillow into shape and edged closer to the side of the bed. It was no use. The MacLeod was too big and the bed too small. Each time she moved, he followed her.

She squeezed shut her eyes, trying to sleep despite the fact he had insisted upon lighting a branch of candles on the bedside table. Finally, in desperation, she turned and glared at him.

"MacLeod, do you never cease? Are you more than human? Do you never sleep?"

Alisdair drew her up next to him and she sighed again, loudly. Judith would much rather be in another bed, but he had refused to allow her to return to her old room.

"Judith," he coaxed, "were you not paying attention? Here I thought you hung onto my very words."

"I do not want to talk about it, MacLeod."

"Alisdair," he corrected softly.

"Very well. Alisdair, I do not want to talk about it." She turned her head away when he would have kissed her. He nuzzled her cheek, instead.

"But, Judith, it is a subject I could warm to, without much encouragement."

"You seem to be warming to it without any at all, MacLeod." She frowned at him.

He chuckled. "I think they're very nice breasts and your waist curves so sweetly to your hips."

"Will you cease?"

It did not escape his attention that her face was flushed. The candles also illuminated her full lips, the sheen of her hair, the budding perfection of her breasts.

She wished he would stop looking at her that way - it made the sheer nightgown seem even more transparent. She should have refused the gift in the first place, but Granmere had labored so long over it that she did not have the heart to do so. Now, she felt exposed, inviting.

He reached out one finger and touched the tip of her breast through the cloth, but she jerked away and pulled up the sheet. It was a futile protection, she thought, against his words.

"Your nipples felt so good in my mouth, Judith," he said, a small smile curving his lips, "but not as good as you felt when I entered you, all hot and soft and liquid."

She rolled over onto her side, away from him. Would he not simply hush? Her body felt ablaze with embarrassment.

"You seem intent upon reliving the entire experience, MacLeod, word for word!"