Highland Scoundrel (Highland Brides) (30 page)

Dugald shook his head. He must be wrong. Yet the fact remained that danger seemed to be stalking Shona. And now she had been injured. Did someone wish her harm? And if so, who?

Dugald closed his eyes to the irony. Mayhap someone
was
trying to kill Shona. But it certainly wasn't he. Nay, he could not hurt her, had failed miserably in his plan to do so, in fact. So why not go one step further? Why not become her protector?

Shona awoke slowly. She was lying on her side and could feel her pulse beat in the bump at the back of her skull. Her head pounded with it. Still, it was the cut on her cheek that was most noticeable. But Rachel had assured her the scar would only make her face more interesting.

Shona's sojourn to the great hall, however, had proved that "interesting" was just a euphemism for "frightening." Upon seeing her, William had stared at her in blank silence, Hadwin had gone pale, and Stanford had wept like a baby.

So much for interesting. The isolation of her small chamber seemed much preferable to such ridiculous dramatics. After all, it was only a cut...a few stitches...a rather impressive bump...oh, and a black eye. She'd looked worse after her last attempt to save a toad from the well.

Still, it had taken a good deal of cajoling to convince Rachel to allow her to sleep alone in her own borrowed chamber. But a small show of tears had worked. Generally Rachel would have laughed at such histrionics, but surprisingly, she had relented. Still, Shona barred the door behind her, just to guarantee her solitude.

She lay in silence now, letting her thoughts tick away. By the darkness and the lack of noise, she guessed it was some hours yet until dawn. She wasn't certain what had awakened her, but she assumed it was her own nagging worries. True, she was concerned about her face, but a face was a face, pretty much like any other. Her teeth were all still intact, her uncanny eyesight undiminished, and Rachel assured her that all would be well in time.

What worried her far more was the accident itself. She had ridden in Dugald's saddle. True, he was not a huge man, but he was muscular and solid. If the girth hadn't failed under
his
weight, why would it break under
hers?
How had it broken? Could someone have tampered with it? And if so, had it been Dugald? The thought caused a dull ache to begin in her heart.

He hadn't been in the hall at supper. Why? Was he so unconcerned for her well-being that he could not even spare the time to see how she fared? Was he, even now, flirting with Mavis? Or worse? Were they, perhaps...

She wouldn't think of that. Twas none of her concern.

The fact was, he made her careless. She should not have let him challenge her. What if she had been seriously wounded? What then would happen to Kelvin? Indeed...

Her thoughts came to an abrupt halt as a breath of noise disturbed her thoughts. What was it? A rodent? But no. Five plump cats roamed the castle. The wind? No, for there was not so much as a breeze this night.

She lay perfectly still, listening, concentrating. And then she heard it—someone's breathing, someone close, not three feet from her bed. She lay frozen in fear. Who was it? What did he want?

Had someone indeed tried to kill her? Was he determined to finish the job now? She didn't want to die.

But suddenly her mind cleared, and anger boiled up. This was her home, her chamber, and she wasn't about to let some midnight marauder frighten her. She had but to scream to bring the whole castle down upon them.

But by then he might already have escaped through the window. He must have come through there, but she had no intention of allowing him to leave the same way. But how would she apprehend him? She had yet to regain her full strength. But wouldn't the intruder assume that? Thus, surely the element of surprise would be with her.

She had put the knife Hadwin had given her on the trunk beside her bed. Even in the darkness, she could see the dim glow of jewels that encrusted the handle. All she had to do was grab the knife, spin around, jump out of bed, and grab the brigand before he escaped out the window. Simple, really.

Elementary. A child could do it. A woman could do it. A Flame's daughter could certainly...

She was stalling. Fear was an ugly thing.

One quick prayer, one moment to draw her courage around her, and then she acted. She was spinning about even as her fingers folded over the knife. Her nightrail billowed behind her as she leapt in the direction the breathing had come from. His face flashed across her line of vision.

She grabbed lower, hoping to nab his shirt, but her balance was still slightly off and she slammed into him. He grunted beneath her impact, but already her right hand had come up and poised the blade at his throat.

For a moment there was no noise but the sound of their breathing, the rush of her excitement, before, "I shall assume then that ye are healing well," he said softly.

"Dugald!" she gasped, startled and breathless.

"Aye." His voice was low.

She steadied her thoughts. In truth, she should have known it was he by the speed of her pulse, for surely one midnight intruder would not worry her so. Twas his presence that disoriented her. She backed away a half step, but then all her doubts about him rushed back to the fore, and she pressed the knife more firmly to his throat.

"What are ye doing here?" she asked.

The muscles beneath his shirt felt firm but relaxed beneath her clenched fist.

"I am watching you," he said evenly.

Against every ounce of good sense, she could feel warmth spread through her at his words. But she fought the sensations and pressed the tip of the blade harder against his neck.

"Why?"

"Because I cannot help myself."

She felt her composure slip another notch, but she held onto it with desperate resolve. "Ye lie,"

she said.

She heard him release a soft breath. "Frequently," he said. "But you can believe me in this, had I been able to stop myself, I would not have come. I but needed to be certain you were well."

With considerable effort, she remembered falling, remembered the ground slamming against her head, remembered Eagle's gargantuan hoof rapping hard as steel against her cranium. Twas because of him.

"Why did ye cut the girth?" she asked, gripping the knife harder still.

He remained silent. "You think twas
my
doing?"

His tone did not shift a whit. Her certainty wavered, though she dared not show it. "Who else?"

"Who indeed?" he asked. "Can you not think of any enemies you have made?"

"Enemies?" She considered lying, but it seemed like too much effort, for her head was pounding louder still and her confidence was slipping away like sand in an hourglass. "I spent a year at court.

Enemies abound."

He was silent for a moment, then said, "Any that would do more than spread gossip behind your back?"

She was not so naive as to think that all of the king's advisors appreciated her closeness to the throne. Still, that was no one's business but her own. This interview was not going at all as she had planned. In fact, she was beginning to feel rather silly holding a knife to his throat. But she had begun down this road and had no wish to appear foolish by turning back.

"Quiet!" she snarled, twisting his shirt in her fist. Her knuckles brushed his chest. She could feel the indentation between the hard mounds of his pectorals, and for a moment her entire consciousness riveted on that one narrow piece of flesh. But she marshaled her senses with an Amazonian effort. "I am the one asking the questions."

He was silent for a moment, then, "As you wish. What would you like to know?"

She breathed deeply, trying to collect her thoughts, but instead, her nostrils were filled with the scent of him. "Who are ye?"

"What?"

She closed her eyes, trying to clear her head, but the dichotomy that he was baffled her and needed explanation.

"Who are ye really?" she asked. "The man who worries more for his hair than the safety of Scotland, or the man who would climb a dark tower wall to make certain I am safe?"

"Can I not be both?"

For a moment it seemed a logical answer, but then she shook her head. "Who are ye? Where are ye from? What do ye want here?"

"Why do you ask?"

She was silent for a moment. "Because I cannot help myself."

He remained silent for a moment, but then he spoke, his voice low. "I am called Dugald, after my father, whom I did not meet until I was twelve. I live on Isle Fois, to the north and west of—"

"But where
really?"
The words sounded desperate to her ears. "Ye are not just some blithe Scottish lad. Are ye?"

He was quiet again, then, "Nay," he said slowly, but his unspoken words intrigued her, perhaps even more than the muscles she could feel flexing beneath her hand.

"What then?" she asked.

"My mother was a great beauty."

That she could believe, but she had no idea what that had to do with the conversation.

"Half Japanese, half Spanish," he said.

A dozen of Roderic's fanciful tales sprang immediately into Shona's mind. "A beautiful princess married to a dashing nobleman?" she asked.

Her naivete was rewarded with a sliver of a smile. "A pale-eyed peasant girl sold into virtual slavery. They call them geisha. Revered by some, but not by her family. Still, they did not let me die when she gave me to them."

"Die!"

"I represented two generations of sin. My grandmother was raped by a European. My mother was given to one.

“What are your plans for that knife?''

She felt foolish for once again she had forgotten its presence. "I plan to get the truth from ye."

"Thus far you've failed to ask anything to which I feel a need to lie."

"Why are ye here?"

"I told you. To watch you—"

"Nay," she interrupted. "I mean, why did ye come to Dun Ard atall?"

He shrugged. "For the same reasons as the others. To gain my fortune through marriage. Tis a time honored western tradition, is it not?"

She watched him carefully. The moon had slipped from behind a fat cloud and shone through her window now, gilding his face in its pearlescent glow.

"I dunna believe ye. Had ye meant to win my hand, ye would have been less irritating and far more charming."

He laughed. "Shall I be insulted?" he asked, "or shall I remind ye..."

She could have sworn he never moved, and yet, suddenly, her knife was gone and her hand empty and resting against the oaken strength of his chest. She stared at him in befuddled amazement.

"None of those who fawned over you have held your attention nearly as surely as I. Admit it,"

he said, and took a half step closer.

It was a small step, an insignificant distance, really, and yet she could feel his closeness with renewed excitement, as if her blood was pumping from her body into his and their lungs shared the same air.

"I am the one in your bedchamber," he added, and moved even closer—so close, in fact, that the hard planes of his chest brushed her nipples.

The feelings shivered from her chest to every sparkling nerve in her body, but she held them at bay and stepped quickly back.

"Ye are only here because ye have forced your way into my room."

"Into your room?" he asked. "Or into your thoughts, into your imaginings?"

She licked her lips. Where was her knife? "Into my
room"
she said.

"Truly?" He touched her hale cheek with his fingertips. "And who do you think of when you dream, then, Damsel?"

There was such a dark allure about him that suddenly she could not speak, could not even move.

"Who do you think of?" he whispered, leaning closer. "Tell me tis William you desire and I shall leave."

William! Dear God, she'd forgotten about him again. Shame spurred through her. But she would not betray his trust again. She would send this scoundrel from her life here and now. "Tis W—" she began, but suddenly his mouth covered hers.

Lightning seared her. Thunder rolled through her. She was consumed by the feelings, lost in his touch, but she could not do this. Could not!

Shona jerked away, breathing hard. "I canna!" she rasped. "I must not."

"Why?" He took a step toward her, his hands clenched and empty. "Because you do not wish to or because you are promised?"

Mayhap she would be wise to lie, to tell him he did not move her, but how could he believe such a thing when every time she saw him she squashed herself against him like honey on a scone?

"It would not be fair to William."

"William!" he snarled. "You worry about being fair to William?"

She raised her chin at his aggressive tone, but stood her ground. "I am vowed to him."

"Then you are vowed to die young."

It took a moment for his words to sink into her consciousness. "What?"

"You were right, lass. My girth was cut. But not by me."

"Ye lie!"

"Do I? Think on it. If I wished you dead, I could have killed you a hundred times by now, and none would be the wiser. But someone cut the girth. Who?"

"I dunna know!" She shook her head, baffled and scared. "What enemies have ye made?"

A muscle twitched in his lean jaw. "In truth, lass, most of
my
enemies are no longer amongst the living. So I wondered, who would gain most from my demise?"

"No one," she said. "At least, no one here at Dun Ard."

He laughed out loud. "Could it be that you do not realize they know?"

"Know what?"

He stepped forward. Electricity flared through her.

"Know that we are drawn to each other, that no matter how we fight it, still we are drawn. Do ye think that would not disconcert your suitors?"

"Ye accuse one of them?"

"Doesn't it seem unusual that you are always present when there is trouble?"

"Not really," she said wryly, and winced. "Tis usually the way of things."

"Did you not think it strange that the wolf was alone?"

"What?"

“The wolf that attacked Kelvin. Twas a female. Generally they run in packs," he said. "Does it not seem strange to you that this one was alone?"