Amanda Scott (27 page)

Bewildered, she allowed him to draw her forward, not objecting even when one of his large hands cupped the top of her head protectively to keep her from bumping it against the sloping rock ceiling. To her astonishment, when he guided her hand, she found herself touching wood, then metal. When she felt with her other hand as well, she too began to chuckle.

“Kegs? Whisky kegs?”

“Aye,” he said. “I’ll wager that’s just what they are, and full ones at that if you’ve got a thirst. There seem to be about a half dozen of them, which explains why Dugald did not lead us here in the first place, and why he was loath to see us come here. I daresay he is sitting in the other shelter right now, begging his Maker to see that we proceed only far enough inside to get out of the rain.”

“For that matter, sir, why
did
we come so far?”

“Because I possess a curious nature,” he said. “And don’t suggest, lassie, that I should call Dugald over here now to explain this.”

“Are you angry with me?” she asked bluntly.

“I am.”

When he said no more, she realized that her heart was pounding again, harder than it had years before when her father had called her to account for some childhood misdemeanor. She wanted to explain herself, to soothe away his anger. As it was, she could not even obey his suggestion that she sit on one of the kegs. They were small, and the ground in the cave was uneven, making them tipsy. As a compromise, she sat on the sloping floor with her back against the rough wall. When he sat beside her, a disconcerting quiver shot through her body.

She edged away, glad when he made no move to stop her.

Drawing courage, she said, “You have no cause to be angry, sir. I do not answer to you.”

“More’s the pity,” he said. “How came you to be so foolish as to travel out of Appin with only that idiot brother of yours to protect you?”

“We had Dugald as well,” she said, affecting dignity.

“From what I understood Duncan to say, you had only just met the fellow.”

Unable to contradict that fact, she kept silent.

“Well?”

“Very well, that’s true, but it is still no concern of yours.”

“Was it Dugald who organized the cattle raid, or Allan Breck?”

“What would I know of cattle raids or of Allan Breck?”

Barely aware of movement before his fingers dug hard into her shoulders, she found herself jerked forward. For a moment, she feared that she would be violently shaken, but he only held her tightly.

His voice was fierce though when he said, “Don’t duel with me, lass. I’ve kept my temper with you till now, but it’s a near thing. I know now that Allan Breck is your cousin. Thus, what little doubt I may have held that you bear no responsibility for his escape disappeared long ago.”

“Then why did you not report me to the authorities?” Her voice sounded harsh, and she wanted to clear her throat, but to do so would imply a weakness, and she had no desire to reveal weakness to this man.

“I did not report it,” he said, “because I lack evidence to prove it to anyone else. Many would take my word over yours, however, so do not tempt me.” The words sounded measured, as if he were determined to control them. He went on, “Surely, you realize that your cousin may well take you down with him when he is caught. And he will be caught, lass. Have you any idea how flagrantly he flaunts his presence, whether he is in Rannoch, Lochaber, or Appin?”

He had not eased his grip on her arms, and she knew his fingers would leave bruises, but it was not pain she feared. Her unexpected physical and emotional reaction to his nearness frightened her much more. Ignoring her pounding heart and tingling nerve endings, she forced herself to focus on what he had said. “We hear different tales every day about where he is,” she muttered. “They are but rumors.”

“Not all of them. Your cousin drinks too much, lassie, and his mental powers grow as befuddled as any other man’s when he is inebriated. People remember not only which alehouses he honors from night to night, but what he says at each one. He seems to have put off that silly French uniform and red waistcoat of his of late, but most ale-drapers know him whatever he wears, and he shares his low opinion of the British government with far too many people.”

“His low opinion of Campbells, as well, I’ll warrant.”

“That, too. I said he is unwise. He has threatened Glenure more than once. Indeed, I’m told he even tried to convince a man to bring him Glenure’s hide in exchange for two pecks of meal.”

“That’s all grog-house talk,” she said, horrified that Calder had heard the same tales she had. “My brother has threatened Red Colin, too, and so have I. I daresay even Mary would like to throttle him for trying to turn us out of our home.”

“You had best not repeat such threats to others, however,” he said grimly.

“Why? Because I am a Maclean? It is all right for Campbells to issue threats but never for a Maclean or a Stewart to do so?”

“I did not say Campbells can issue threats with impunity.”

“Fiddle-faddle, you distort the truth, sir. Ian says Black Duncan has even threatened to murder
you!
He frequently threatens to murder Ian, and for all I know, he’s threatened Red Colin, too. Duncan loathes him. That’s plain fact.”

“We were talking of your cousin, not mine,” he said, adding before she could utter the retort that sprang to her lips, “In fact, we were speaking of you.”

“Let go of me.”

“Not before you hear what I have to say to you.”

She nearly told him that he was hurting her, but she could not seem to say the words. She could smell the damp wool of their cloaks, and something more, a light citrus scent that was strangely his own. It was tantalizing, different from any fragrance she knew, and it seemed to make her dizzy, although she had never known any scent to affect her so before.

His next words brought her quickly to her senses. “It is a pity your father is dead,” he said harshly.

“How dare you! What a thing to say!”

“Be silent and listen to me. You made a bad enemy in Duncan, and no less of one in Glenure. Just where do you think you will live if he does throw you out?”

“I don’t mean to let him throw us out.”

“Even if you can stop him, what do you think will become of your mother if Duncan learns where she is? And before you say the words itching to leap from your tongue, think what will happen to anyone he finds harboring her.”

“My father still being alive would not help,” she said bitterly, unable to repress a shudder. “Black Duncan would just want to hang him, too.”

“Nonetheless, a father might shake some sense into you. What stirs you to risk your life like you do? Why did you not heed your cousin Mary’s warning about the danger of leaving Appin today?”

“I thought she meant only that we must take care along the road.”

“Is that all she generally means?”

“She did not have one of her visions. Those are dreadful. I know, for she said she had horrid ones when her brothers and my father died at Culloden. She saw the faces and heard their cries as if she had been with them. Then she collapsed. It was days before she was herself again, she said. This feeling was nothing like that.”

“I see.” His grip eased, but he did not release her.

“Why do you care?”

He was silent for so long that she thought he did not intend to answer her. She was about to try to change the subject when he said quietly, “I wish I knew, lass.” The atmosphere altered subtly then, and she found herself more aware of his touch than when his fingers had been bruising her arms.

Swallowing carefully, she felt suddenly as if they were alone in the world, as if no matter what happened next, no one would come to her aid, or his. She knew that if she did not move or protest, he would kiss her again. Breathless, she waited.

One of his hands slid to her shoulder and around to her back. She did not resist, nor had she any wish to do so. Distantly, she heard thunder, but it was as nothing to the thudding of her heart. She could taste his breath before his lips touched the left corner of her mouth, kissed it lightly, then moved to kiss her more possessively, more passionately.

Hunger leapt within her, and although she wondered vaguely what power he held over her, and why she found him irresistible, his kisses soon consumed her every thought. He had clearly practiced the art.

That thought gave her pause, and her fingers curled to claws at the mental vision of another woman in his arms. Then his tongue invaded her mouth and she felt his hand at her breast. Flames ignited within her body, banishing rational thought. No man had ever touched her so or kissed her so. No man had ever dared. Yet she made no protest. Indeed, she pressed nearer, kissing him back, her hands reaching for him, touching him, her senses reeling with his caresses, her passion urging her to return them.

“The rain has stopped, your lordship.”

The sound of Dugald’s voice echoing through the cave startled them both, and Diana heard Calder groan with irritation then grunt with pain when his head made unexpected contact with the rock wall. He released her at once.

“That’s good,” he said in what sounded like his customary tone. “I’ll be right glad to get out of the dark.”

“As to that,” Dugald said, eyeing him warily as they emerged from the cave into gray light, “daylight is near gone, me lord. We should make it to the top o’ the road afore darkness falls, but it will be full dark, I’m thinking, afore we reach the glen, and there willna be any moon the nicht.”

“Then we must make haste,” Calder said.

Visibly relieved, Dugald shouted to Neil to come along, and the four began making their way up the steep slope. Diana’s skirt constantly got in her way until she bunched it up a bit in the front and tucked it beneath her bodice, deciding that her stockings and boots covered her legs decently enough to avoid censure.

As she climbed, her thoughts remained fixed on the incident in the cave. By daylight, such as it was, she could not imagine what had possessed her to submit so easily to his lordship’s kisses. Had she gone daft, she wondered, or was she merely besotted with a handsome face and manly figure? Whatever the case, she had allowed him to take liberties with her person that no decent woman would allow a man who had not already committed himself to marrying her.

The last thought brought her up short. Marriage with any Campbell being completely out of the question, she decided that she must indeed be going daft.

Rory was also questioning his impulses. From the moment of learning that Duncan was on her trail, especially since she had left Appin with only her brother to protect her, he had fully intended to give Diana Maclean the tongue-lashing of her life. She still deserved to have her idiocy brought home to her in no uncertain terms. However, when he had come upon them and seen Duncan’s hand on her, and Duncan’s face threateningly close to hers, he had experienced such a strong desire to murder his cousin that it had taken all his strength of mind not to do so. Still, the wish to shake Diana until her teeth rattled had also remained strong, right up to the moment when the opportunity to do so had presented itself.

He had no sooner touched her, however, than an even more basic, less destructive urge had swept over him. Holding her in the darkness within the cave, he had wanted to possess her completely, to make her his own, to be certain that in future he would have every right to protect her, even if the threat came from another Campbell. What, he wondered, could he have been thinking?

Seeing her look back now as she followed Dugald up the step, rocky slope, as if to be sure no one were tracking them, he felt warm pride in her strength and competence. She was no ordinary woman, this daughter of the Macleans. She would make a fine match for any man. If only she were not a Maclean.

But she was. He heard rocks rattle as Neil briefly lost his footing, then Diana’s command—for he could call it no less—to take more care. She was as sure-footed as a goat, and yet much more graceful to watch. When they had left the horses, she had picked up her small satchel and slung it over her shoulder. She carried it easily now, as if it held only feathers.

Surely his appetite for her stemmed from being too long without ordinary feminine company, augmented by a mild infatuation. But even if that were all it was—and he was having a hard time convincing himself—his Balcardane relatives had discerned his interest, and they clearly did not approve. What Argyll would say when he learned of it, as doubtless he would, Rory did not want to imagine.

He could not deny that his impulsive desire to protect Diana and her family conflicted with his loyalty to his clan. He had already drawn deserved censure from Duncan, and would doubtless draw more, thanks to this last confrontation.

These thoughts and others like them passed through his mind as he climbed, following Diana closely in case she happened to slip. It was getting dark when she stopped, and he nearly bumped into her before he heard Dugald’s hushed voice.

“Whisst now,” the big man warned. “The road lies yonder, but there be someone a-coming up along it the noo. They’ve horses, too.”

“How much farther to Glen Drumin?” Rory asked, keeping his voice low.

“We go up a mite, then down some,” Dugald muttered. “This be the Great Glen side o’ Wade’s road over the Corriearrack. The track into Glen Drumin lies north of it halfway tae the summit from here. But whisst now. They come.”

The four of them had scarcely taken cover behind large boulders before Rory heard masculine laughter and voices, one of them less cheerful than the other.

“We searched every cart, sir,” that one said indignantly, his voice carrying clearly through the evening stillness. “From morning onward, we had a steady stream o’ carts. We searched hay carts and turnip carts, carts full of sheep, and carts full of wool. But although we examined each and every one with infinite care, sir, nary a dram of whisky did we find.”

“I tell you, the whisky went through,” the other voice said with a chuckle.

“I say it did not. I did think it would be in that dray full of oats, the one that made a dash for it when the funeral cortege held everything up. Lord bless me, what a mess that was, stopping everyone for such a time while the box parade passed by! But we caught that dray and searched it front to back, to no avail. The queue of carts continued till long past five, but we found nothing worth our time or trouble.”