Highland Enchantment (Highland Brides) (17 page)

And now Liam did clear his throat, did fidget. He waited to burst into spontaneous flame. It didn't happen. Not immediately anyway, and that was some comfort. "Tis not as if this were my idea,"

he began.

"You could have argued."

"As could you," he said. "You could have insisted that you could not sleep with me. That you are my sister. How could they know different? It is not as if I am drooling over you." He snorted his derision, but here she was dressed in the world's homeliest costume, without having gone so far as to remove her damned shoes. "It's not as if I'm..." He searched momentarily for a good lie. "It's not as if I'm hopelessly tempted." As lies went, that was an impressive one.

For a moment she didn't speak, then, "Indeed, Liam, I think I can trust you," she said coolly.

"After all, Rory is camped just beneath the wagon."

"Rory!" He knew he should remain silent, should quit while he was ahead, but anger and frustration were building to a fine boil within him. "You think you can trust him, but you don't trust me?"

Even in the darkness he could tell she shrugged.

Her casual attitude did nothing to improve his mood. "You think that I'll... what? Throw myself upon you? You think I'll be so overcome by your beauty, your charm, your... allure..." This last word was almost choked. "That I'll lose all control?"

She sighed dramatically as she sat down and slipped a blanket over her legs. "The truth is, Liam, I know you too well."

"You do not know me atall."

"You are mistaken."

"Oh? And what do you know of me, Rachel? What, but that I'm a bastard and a peasant?"

He could feel her gaze on him suddenly, chilly and steady. "I know that you lay with Elisa when you were but five and ten."

He felt the air leave his lungs in a hard whoosh. "You know about that?"

"Aye." Her voice was deep in the darkness. "All of Glen Creag knew. I doubt there was a soul she neglected to tell. It seems she was quite thrilled. But then she was a simple lass. It didn't take much to excite her."

Liam loosened his fists and silently vowed to neither throttle her or kiss her. "Maybe wee Elisa was a connoisseur in the ways of love, and was only thrilled by the most thrilling of men."

She snorted. Liam tightened his fists again.

"In truth, I was surprised she settled on you. Tis said old Rendel showed some interest in her."

"Rendel cleaned the garderobes! He reeked of dung."

She shrugged again.

Her casualness made him grind his teeth. "Have you ever considered that maybe she begged me?" In actuality, she had.

"Nay," she said, "I haven't."

"Well, maybe you should."

"And maybe you have the morals of a snake," she hissed suddenly.

"Me? And what of yourself?" Anger and building frustration made him move closer. "Tis you who said you'll have little chance for... adventure once you're wed. Indeed, tis that very reason you gave for..." His mind steamed as he remembered their time together in the cave. Her kisses, hot as summer; her hands, quick and soft and heavenly as they skimmed his body. "For losing control in the cave."

"I did not lose control."

"Truly? Then, why?"

"I told you, I merely..." Her words failed for a moment. "I merely wished to take a bit of pleasure. Surely a man of your ilk can understand that."

"A man of my ilk?" He leaned closer still.

She leaned back, but they were still close enough so that he could feel her breath on his cheek.

"A man who takes his pleasures wherever he wishes."

"Wherever I wish! Is that what you think of me?"

"Aye. I do."

"Well, you are sadly mistaken, lady!" he growled, "for if such was the truth I would—"

"What?" The question was soft, as if no more than a thought carried on a whisper of wind.

Liam watched her lips move, watched them form the word, watched them remain slightly parted as she breathed between them, and suddenly there was no hope for him. He could not resist. His hand raised without his command. His fingertip touched the ridge of her plump lower lip and smoothed feather soft along the curve. It was as soft as satin, as smooth as glass. He should draw back. He
must
draw back! But in that instant, he felt her tremble.

The movement shivered through his finger and up his arm, smiting his heart.

For a moment he struggled. For an instant eternity he tried to obey his conscience, but it was so dim and unfamiliar, while she was so clear and as familiar as a thousand dreams. His knuckles skimmed onto the silky lawn of her cheek. Any minute she would strike his hand away. Any second!

He knew it. But instead, her eyes fell closed. She was breathing faster now, and she tilted her head ever so slightly against his fingers.

It was too much! Far too much. He was just a nameless bastard from Firthport. He had no morals. He couldn't be expected to resist her. He couldn't be expected to...

"Rachel!" he rasped, and slipping his hand behind her neck, he kissed her.

Pleasure seized him. He pressed closer, and she opened her mouth. Lightning exploded inside him, petrifying his muscles, galvanizing his desire. It pulsed against her thigh. He wrapped an arm about her waist, pulling her closer as he kissed the bewitching corner of her mouth, her cheek, the thrumming dell between her collarbones. Her skin was so soft there, so fantastically sweet. But lower still... Lower!

"Liam!"

He barely heard her. Indeed, it took several seconds before he realized she had a palm pressed against his chest, longer still to absorb the fact that he had already loosened the laces of the garish gown.

He dropped his arm from about her waist and stared in bewildered fascination at the dangling laces."

"What..." He lifted his gaze to her face for a moment, trying to get his bearing. "What were we talking about?"

She was breathing through her mouth, her dusky lips parted. Liam tightened his hands into fists and refused to move closer.

"You were about to tell me what you would do if you took pleasure wherever you wished."

He tried not to wince. "As you can see you needn't worry," he said, and turned hopelessly toward the wail. "I'm perfectly in control."

Rachel rose with the dawn, but the others were already awake and going about their morning chores. John and Hertha were working over the fire while their daughters, two nearly identical girls who reminded her of half-grown goslings, carried wooden buckets full of water from the nearby stream.

Some distance from camp, Rachel saw Catriona lift a white palfrey's front leg. Curious, Rachel wandered in that direction.

Catriona straightened when she neared.

"Was she injured?" Rachel asked.

"Just a bruise to the sole. She's healing well now. A beauty is she not?"

"Indeed." Rachel ran a hand down the elegant ivory neck. "Even the Flame would think..." She stopped herself abruptly, realizing belatedly that it would be unwise to reveal the fact that her aunt was the notorious lady of the MacGowans. "Anyone would think her a bonny lass," she finished, lamely finding her brogue.

She turned away, but still she could feel the girl's catlike gaze on her. Running her hand down the mare's sturdy back, she endeavored to turn attention away from her blunder. "Where did you find such a mount?"

"She was injured, starving, and skittish as a lark when I first saw her. Her master was happy enough to make a trade."

"Skittish? She seems a friendly sort."

"Aye, but high-strung." The girl shrugged and glanced for a moment at the bear just rising from the water, his freshly caught breakfast still flapping between his jaws. "Tis said by some that I have a way with the animals."

"Aye," Rory said, approaching from the woods and putting a hand to the small of the girl's back.

"I was as wild as the winds when I first met Cat."

Catriona managed to look wry and peeved all at once. "I have more control over some animals than others."

Rory laughed. Rachel forced a smile, but turned rapidly away. Control seemed to be something she was sadly lacking at least where Liam was concerned, for though her mind refused to admit it, her heart knew that if he had not drawn immediately away the previous night, she would have offered him all.

Just after breakfast it began to rain. The wandering band packed their belongings into their wagons and headed north. The horses plodded resolutely through the mud. They stopped twice that day, but Rachel barely noticed, for fatigue still wore at her and she slept when she could in the cozy warmth of the wagon.

That night she was again confined to that same small space with Liam, but she turned quickly away. She may be a fool, but she knew her limitations.

By morning the fog was as thick as bedbugs. Breakfast was damp and quiet.

The horses were harnessed again, and everyone made ready to travel. Marta motioned Rachel onto her own wagon. With some misgivings, Rachel did as requested.

Catriona snapped the lines over the horses' broad backs. They moved out with a jingle of harness. Lachlan rode behind on his silver-dappled pony. Marta said nothing. She sat hunched on the hard wooden seat, her shawl drawn up over her head.

But just when Rachel was certain the old woman had fallen asleep, she spoke. "We'll have our nooning in the sunshine."

"What?"

"The sun will shine when next we eat."

Though the fog lay around them as heavy and gray as a woolen blanket, Rachel didn't argue.

Neither did she see the significance of Marta's statement. The trio fell into silence for several minutes before Marta spoke again.

"I'll have you pick dewberries," she said.

"What?" Rachel asked. She was beginning to feel foolish. It could be the old woman was simply toying with her, for in the past she'd sensed a restless sort of humor in the ancient Gypsy's eyes.

"We shall stop in a wee glen. On the hill behind a stand of hawthorns, there'll be a thicket of berries. You shall go alone to pick them—and to touch the sun."

What? Seemed a silly thing to say again. Still, Rachel could think of nothing more intelligent.

But before she could ask, Marta continued.

"I'll not see my familia endangered because of your fair skin."

The truth dawned on Rachel finally. She even remembered her brogue. "You want me to darken my face."

Silence for several moments, then, "Do you not think the men will wonder if your shoulders are pale as goat's milk and your face dark like a hazelnut?"

Rachel shook her head. "I've no intention of allowing men to see me shoulders."

The old woman stared at her. "What we intend and what we do be two roads that seldom meet."

"Tis not that I don't appreciate your help," Rachel said. "But I have no time to—"

"You'll do the lad little good if you die before you reach him," Marta interrupted.

"What lad?" Rachel hissed, her heart pounding in her chest.

But the old woman only shrugged. "If you do not want the evil to take you, you will do as I say,"

she insisted, and closing her eyes, she fell asleep.

They stopped their small caravan just past noon. Moments later, the sun burst out from behind the clouds.

Climbing down from the brightly colored wagon, Rachel stared up at the azure sky with some misgivings.

"Is something amiss?" Liam asked, striding up to her.

"Nay." She knew that her cousins sometimes thought her eerie. But there was nothing eerie about her. There were just times when she knew things other people didn't. Twas simple enough. But Marta— "What did the old woman want?" Liam asked, his voice low.

"I didn't want to eat her alive if that's what you're thinking/' Marta said. For a person as old as the earth, she could approach with amazing silence. They jerked toward her. She gave them a toothless grin and handed Rachel a basket made of reeds. "Tis time," she said. "I shall fetch you when the meal is ready. Unless..." She shifted her sly old eyes. "Unless, you'd rather have your husband fetch you."

"Nay," Rachel said, snatching the basket to her chest. "Tis certain you have other tasks for...

Hugh."

The old woman grinned. "Aye, I've jobs to keep everyone busy. As for you, lad, you can help Catriona chain up the bear lest your love has to fight him for the berries."

Liam scowled, first at Marta, then at Rachel. "Maybe I had best help Flora..."

Marta laughed out loud now, and taking Liam's arm, steered him away. "Methinks you are the first lad to ever object to helping me granddaughter with anything."

Rachel could see him scowl over his shoulder at her. "But—"

"Your lady will be well," Marta interrupted. "I will make certain of that."

Rachel lifted her garish skirt and turned to climb the hill to the woods beyond. Up ahead, a tree pipit sang, and the sun felt lovely on her face.

Past a copse of hawthorn trees, just where Marta had said to look, Rachel found a patch of rambling dewberries hidden in the midst of the woods.

Setting her basket on the ground, she began to pick the dark berries, but even in the depths of the trees the sun found her. After the rainy morning, it felt warm and friendly, and even though it seemed she'd done nothing but sleep for the better part of two days, she felt drowsy again.

Finally, able to deny her fatigue no longer, she wandered to a kindly spot where the sun slanted down through the bright spring leaves. Setting her basket aside, she sat down on a bed of moss and removed her homely coif. The sun touched her face with tender fingers.

"The evil." Rachel remembered the old woman's words with some misgiving. "If you don't want the evil to take you, you will do as I say," she'd said.

Twas ridiculous, of course. Just an old woman's means of getting her way, Rachel thought. But Liam, too, had referred to "the evil." As if it was a tangible, finite thing.

Rachel scoffed at the idea, but if the truth be told, she had felt the bite of the ragged evil, had felt it in her heart like a poisoned spear. There was no explanation, no understanding. Yet she couldn't deny it.

Someone wished her ill. Though she couldn't say why, she knew that much was true. And if it was true, it certainly wasn't too much to believe that that someone knew how she looked. Thus, she'd have to be extremely careful. She couldn't afford to fail. She must get to Blackburn Castle, and she must get there soon. So, yes, maybe it would be wise to take some steps to change her appearance.