Highland Rogue (11 page)

“And you claimed to welcome the challenge,” Claire retorted. “Is this your idea of making an agreeable impression upon your future relations?”

She almost choked on those words. The prospect of attending Ewan and Tessa’s wedding, celebrating holidays with them, perhaps being godmother to their children …

Ewan rose to his feet, but slowly. It had been most rude of him to remain seated after she’d stood up. “I was a fool for thinking ye meant to give me a fair chance! But then, ye’re used to playing me for a fool, aren’t ye, Miss Talbot?”

Did he know? Claire’s stomach gave such an alarming lurch she feared she might retch up what little breakfast she’d eaten. She must get a breath of air!

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Ewan Geddes.” She strode toward the door. “I doubt if you do, either!”

“Ye know well enough.” He was following her—the rogue! “Don’t try to pretend ye don’t.”

Claire considered ducking into her cabin. But in his present mood, she feared Ewan Geddes would have no scruples about pursuing her. If that happened, who knew what a pathetic fool she might make of herself? She still desired the man as much as she detested him. Laws, she must be mad!

Instead, she charged back up toward the deck, hoping he would not come after her. Or if he did, that the presence of the crew might shame him into minding his manners.

He quashed her first hope under his forceful tread as he followed her along the galley way. “Ye never had any intention of giving me a chance, did ye?”

The volume of his voice told Claire her second hope had also been in vain.

Once the deck was securely beneath her feet, she spun about to confront him. She had not dared risk being pitched into his arms again. “I beg your pardon?”

He had followed so close on her heels that when Claire turned, she found herself staring up into his blazing eyes, almost as close as they had been during their waltz at the Fortescues’ ball. She tried to back away, only to find the unyielding barrier of the mainmast behind her.

“Ye can’t have it.” Ewan Geddes loomed over her, tall, menacing and devilishly attractive—damn him! In reply to her puzzled look he added, “My pardon—ye can’t have it. It was a low trick, luring me aboard by acting sweet as pie. Then the minute we weighed anchor ye started goading me at every chance, so ye’d have plenty of tales to tell yer sister about what a lout I acted.”

Claire would have laughed in his face if she hadn’t feared he might strangle her in his present rage. Was
that
what he thought she’d been trying to do? If only he knew the truth!

“I made every effort to see to your comfort and offer you my best hospitality!” she protested, with a clear conscience.

“By talking on and on about yer blasted fortune? Rubbing it in my face? Well, let me tell ye something, Claire Talbot—”

She refused to let him bully her with his bluster or his magnetic presence. “I have no doubt you will tell me, sir, whether I give you leave or not.”

To her surprise, that seemed to take the wind out of his sails. His mouth opened, then closed again. Fell open a second time, though no sound came out.

“Well?” she demanded. “Do you mean to tell me or not?”

“Aye.” He seemed to force the word out, and Claire had a bewildering certainty that whatever he was about to say would not be what he’d originally intended. “I’m telling ye I’ve had enough and I want off.”

“I beg your …” She stopped herself from giving him another opportunity to insult her. “That’s impossible. We cannot—”

He raised his hand and pointed. Claire glanced over her shoulder. The
Marlet
was passing very close to an island off the southern coast.

“Tell the captain to put in there,” said Ewan, “and let me off.”

So he could catch the first train to London and compare notes with Tessa? Her sister would elope with him on the spot and probably never speak to her again.

And what might Ewan Geddes do to revenge himself upon her? The Brancaster shares Tessa had inherited from their father were few, but in the hands of a man more clever than scrupulous …

“No.”

“What are ye saying, woman?”

“I believe my meaning is plain enough, sir. You will remain on the
Marlet
until we reach Scotland. After that, you may go where you wish.”

Was she mad? her better judgment protested. What good would a few more days do? At this rate, it would be a wonder if they managed to reach Strathandrew without killing one another!

Indignation and desperation drowned out the quiet voice of reason. She would not allow Ewan Geddes to dictate to her. Without even trying, he made her say and do too many things against her will.

For a moment she feared he might strike her … or take some other equally shocking action. Then he appeared to master his passion by a fierce act of will.

“Fine, then.” He strode past her. “I’ll swim to shore.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” The words had scarcely left her lips before Claire realized they were the worst possible ones she could have uttered.

Ewan pried off his boots and stockings, tossing them onto the deck. “Just ye watch me.”

Suddenly she was aware of the unnatural hush on deck, and the crew of the
Marlet
watching them both.

“Are you just going to stand there?” she cried. “Someone stop him!”

No one moved, but from the helm Captain MacLeod called, “We can’t hold the man against his will, miss. That’d be kidnapping.”

Dear heaven! Might he have her charged with attempted abduction? Claire could just imagine the newspaper accounts.

“You could drown!” she warned him.

Ewan clawed at his neck linen and collar buttons as he struggled out of his coat, waistcoat and shirt. The sight of his broad, naked shoulders and muscular bare chest took Claire’s breath away.

“I’d rather take my chances with the sea than with ye!”

He was bluffing. He must be.

“Please.” She would have to order the captain to head for shore. “Don’t be a fool.”

“I’ll be and do what I want, woman. I’m not yer servant anymore!”

Before she could relent, Ewan scrambled over the deck railing and dived into the ocean.

Had he lost his mind?

The question tumbled over and over in Ewan’s thoughts as his body tumbled through the air on its plunge from the deck of the
Marlet.

It was a far longer drop to the water than he’d realized. Or perhaps it just seemed that way.

He slammed into the waves, knocking the wind out of him. When he finally came up, sputtering, the
Marlet
had already moved some distance away. There could be no question of swimming back to it. Not that he’d give Claire Talbot the satisfaction, anyway.

So he struck out for shore, which looked much farther off than it had from the deck of the yacht. He swam hard for a while, propelled by the power of his outrage.

But outrage, he soon discovered, did not make an ideal fuel. True, it blazed hot. But that only made it burn itself out faster. Soon cold ocean water quenched even the embers.

After swimming hard for what seemed like a long time, but coming only a little closer to shore, Ewan once again began asking himself if he’d lost his mind. A simple
yes
would have troubled him less than the answer he got from his conscience.

It informed him, in no uncertain terms, that he’d been an ass. And not just for diving off the ship just now.

He hadn’t given Claire Talbot a fair chance. He’d wanted to and tried to for a while, but the first sign of coolness on her part had set him on the offensive again. Being late for dinner had soured his mood. He never should have downed that first whiskey so fast, let alone two more.

Perhaps the lady hadn’t meant to offend him with all her glittering jewelry and rich food. In some awkward fashion, might she have been trying to do him an honor—showing him that he was worth dressing up and putting out the best victuals for? More than possible, Ewan acknowledged as a large wave broke over him, setting him coughing and struggling to stay afloat.

Things looked different depending on your vantage point. He’d learned that long ago during his gillie days. The water and shore had both looked closer from the deck of the
Marlet,
perhaps because he’d wanted them to. Claire Talbot’s actions had appeared haughty and hostile because that was how he’d wanted to see them. And if his uncouth behavior had made her lash out at him, who could blame her?

His arms felt as weak and limp as two long bladders full of suet. But when he tried to rest, the water’s coldness began to seep into his bones. Mustering his strength, he kept on swimming.

The chill of fear snaking through him made the Channel waves feel positively warm by comparison. What if he did not make it to shore? What if he had thrown his life away over foolish, misplaced pride? Considering his actions, what grounds did he have for pride, anyway? Damn few. But plenty of grounds for shame.

His bewildering feelings of lust for Claire Talbot foremost. She was not to blame for those, no matter how he’d tried to excuse himself by pretending so.

Would he ever get the chance to tell her he was sorry?

As she watched Ewan Geddes dive into the Channel, Claire feared
she
would drown … in guilt.

She had been wrong about him. The man was no fortune hunter. After she’d flaunted her wealth in front of him, he had jumped into the ocean to get away from her. What more compelling evidence did she need?

She should have seen the truth for herself, last night at dinner. Perhaps she would have seen it if she had not let her feelings toward him blind her.

“Man overboard!” She scarcely needed to add her cry to the others. The crew had been watching. They would be witnesses that she had all but pushed him into the water with her own two hands. “Captain, bring the ship around!”

“It’s no good, miss.” Captain MacLeod shook his grizzled head. “If we try to get any closer to shore, we’ll founder on the shoals.”

“The boats, then!” Claire jumped into the nearest one, a tiny affair that would not hold more than half a dozen people in a pinch. She and Tessa had often rowed around the shore of Loch Liath in it.

The captain bellowed a warning, but Claire ordered the two nearest crewmen, “Let it down,
now!”

They were too well trained to hesitate, let alone refuse. Or perhaps they were anxious on Ewan’s behalf and eager to do what they could. The little boat had barely hit the water when Claire realized she should have ordered one of the crew to jump in with her to man the oars.

“No help for it now,” she muttered, taking them in her own hands and pulling for all she was worth. “Please … don’t let him drown … before I get a chance … to tell him I’m sorry!”

It wasn’t exactly a prayer. Her experience with earthly fathers had not predisposed her to put much trust in a heavenly one. At the moment, though, she felt a need to call on some source of strength beyond her own.

After several minutes of strenuous rowing, she rested at the oars and tried to take her bearings. Seeing no sign of Ewan, she grew anxious. Could he have drowned so quickly? Surely he would not have jumped overboard unless he’d been confident he could swim to shore.

Then she spotted a dark, round object low in the water. His head? As she peered closer, an arm rose out of the sea, pale against the murky waves.

Her own limbs went quite weak with relief for a moment, but she could not afford to let them stay that way. Keeping her left oar at rest, she rowed a few strokes with the right one to adjust her course. Then she struck out in his direction, silently begging him to stay afloat until she could reach him.

Her palms began to sting from rubbing against the wet wood. She would soon have a wicked crop of blisters, no doubt. How she wished she had put on a more serviceable dress this morning, rather than this bit of pink frippery that hampered her movements. It would be a wreck after this escapade, but that was the least of Claire’s worries.

As she rowed toward Ewan, an appalling thought struck her. What if he refused her help once she reached him? After the way she’d treated him and the things she’d said, she could hardly blame him if he did.

Then she spotted him, only a little way off. The waves would soon bring the lifeboat abreast of him.

“Ewan!” She held one oar out to him. “Grab on to it! Please!”

He seemed dazed by the sight of her. For a moment, Claire feared the waves would sweep her past him before he understood what she wanted him to do.

“Here!” She bent as far out of the lifeboat as she dared. “Grab the oar …
now!”

When his hands suddenly thrust out of the water to do so, a ragged sob escaped Claire’s lips. With renewed strength, she pulled on the oar, towing Ewan closer to the boat, until at last he was able to throw an arm over the stern and hang there, gasping. She tossed the oar back into the boat, then bent to hoist him aboard.

She could feel the flush burning in her cheeks and the sweat prickling her brow. Rivulets of water trailed down Ewan’s face from his sodden hair, but he looked too exhausted to wipe them away.

Though she had little spare breath for speech, there was something she must say now, before pride froze her tongue. “Ewan … ?”

“Claire …”

In the same breath, they both gasped, “I’m sorry.”

His words surprised her so, Claire nearly lost her grip on him. Ewan started, too, and almost let go of the boat.

The fear that he might fall back into the water roused them both to one final effort. Claire pulled with all her might at the same instant Ewan gathered the last of his strength and hauled himself up. For an instant, the bow of the lifeboat rose dangerously into the air. Then Claire tumbled backward, while Ewan fell on top, pinning her beneath him.

All the air gushed out of her lungs. As fast and hard as she gasped, she could not seem to recover it. Her head spun and her back protested painfully where she had slammed onto the bench. If not for the sturdy whalebone frame of her corset, she might have broken a rib.

Ewan sprawled on top of her, panting and shivering, his head resting against her bosom. With the tattered remnants of strength in her arms, Claire raised them to wrap around his bare shoulders. How often had she dreamed of lying beneath him, cradling him in her arms? She’d never imagined it quite like this, though.