My Fierce Highlander (32 page)

Beyond a trace of tears, the blue flame of
her eyes burned into his. Her small hand fisted in his doublet,
tugging him closer. He lowered his head and brushed his lips across
hers. Slowly he tasted her lips, and between. Such female
temptation she was. Luscious torment. He wanted to lick her head to
toe, devour her in a few hungry bites. Hands at her waist, he
pressed her close, against his hard shaft. He could not overcome
his obsession to have her. In every way.

Loud pounding on the door startled them.
Gwyneth jumped back and pressed a hand to her lips, her darkened
eyes filled with guilt.

“
Muire Mhàthair
,” Alasdair muttered,
turned his back to her and sucked in a deep breath. He tried to
shut down his arousal and think of something unappealing.
Damnation. Nothing was coming to him.

The knock sounded again.

Thankful his doublet was long enough over his
trews to hide his erection, he wrested the door open.

Lachlan stood there, grinning like a mouse in
a loaf.

“
Ciamar a tha sibh, mo bhràthar
?”
Alasdair clasped his hand.

“
Glé mhath
.” Lachlan came in and bowed
to Gwyneth. “Lady Gwyneth. Don’t be worrying your pretty little
head about Rory. We’ll be getting him back afore long. Aye,
brother?”

“That we will.” Alasdair wondered at the way
Lachlan addressed Gwyneth. Their clansmen must have filled him in
on all the latest, including her appropriate title. And, no doubt,
that Alasdair had spent a night in her tent. He dreaded the teasing
Lachlan was sure to have in store for him.

“Have you any inkling where the scoundrel is
what snatched him up?”

“We haven’t seen a sign of Southwick or Rory
since we left Kintalon. All we ken for a certainty is that they
passed through Aviemore three hours before we did. After that, they
must have ridden like the devil. They may be here in town, or
proceeded on to England.”

“They may have taken a ship to London.
’Twould be the fastest.”

“Aye, and ’haps we should as well.”

“We’ll go arrange it.” Lachlan faced Gwyneth.
“You’ll be happy to know I’ve found you a governess position here
in Edinburgh.”

Nay!
The feeling of a large stone
smashing into Alasdair’s stomach near knocked him flat.

Chapter Fifteen

Gwyneth’s face brightened. “Surely you jest,
sir. A position for me? Here in Edinburgh?”

“Aye. Just outside the city.” Lachlan said.
“Alasdair, you remember George MacAvoy, Baron Lunsford. He’s on the
Privy Council now. He and his wife have three small lads and
they’re wanting someone to tutor them.”

Alasdair wanted to punch Lachlan in his
smiling mouth.

“They’re right good people, and I’m thinking
’twould be perfect—” Lachlan frowned at Alasdair. “What’s
wrong?”

“I would have a word with you downstairs,”
Alasdair growled.

“I thank you, Lachlan, for your help,”
Gwyneth said.

Lachlan bowed and opened the door.

Alasdair followed him, then turned back. “I
will have a hot bath sent up for you. Other than that, don’t open
the door for anyone.”

“I thank you.” She smiled—devil take
it—because of Lachlan and the position.

Alasdair slammed the door closed behind
him.

After speaking to a chamberlain about the
bath, he followed his brother to a dim corner of the inn’s sparsely
populated public room. Lachlan ordered two tankards of ale for
them.

“I ken what you’re snarling about,” Lachlan
said. “But let me explain. As I told you afore, ’tis safest for
everyone—Gwyneth, Rory, and the entire MacGrath clan—if she leaves
the Highlands.”

“You shouldn’t have gotten involved in this,”
Alasdair snapped. “I’m having a hard enough time as it is, and you
go and make it worse.”

“’Twas because of her the MacIrwins burned
the village.”

“She saved your son’s life.” Alasdair wanted
to smash his fist onto the thick planks of the oak table but
restrained himself.

“Aye, and now I’m showing her my appreciation
by helping her get something she wants. ’Twas what she asked of me
in repayment.”

Alasdair shook his head and stared into his
ale. Hellfire, now what was he going to do? Even if he did recover
Rory, Gwyneth would likely never marry him. Damn his lack-witted
brother.

“I ken you have seduced her, but you can find
another lass to warm your bed. A less dangerous one.”

“You have no inkling what you’re talking
about!” All Lachlan knew of women was bedding them. Beyond the
physical, he’d never had any feelings for one.

“Sweeney and Boyd told me you stayed in her
tent one night.” Lachlan sent him a devilish grin.

“If you were not my brother, I would kick
your daft arse all the way back to Kintalon and beyond. Hell, I
might anyway.”

Lachlan studied him with narrowed eyes. Then
shook his head. “You’ve gone soft-pated over her.”

His muscles tense with restraint, Alasdair
hoped his glare would burn a hole through his brother. Lachlan
wouldn’t be so damned cheerful if he’d just lost the person who
brought his life into sharp, colorful focus and provided fuel to
his soul.

“She’s a bonny lass, to be sure. And if not
for Donald MacIrwin, I’d want you to bring her back to Kintalon
with you. Once Donald is arrested—if that ever happens—then you
could come to Edinburgh and ask her to marry you.”

“You’re naught but a lunatic. If she gets
settled in Edinburgh with a family, she’ll not be interested in me
anymore.”

“Then you’re better off without her. If you
must marry, you want a woman who is completely devoted to you.”

“You ken muckle about marriage, so don’t be
giving me advice on it.”

Lachlan shrugged. “Very well.”

Alasdair shoved his anger away for the moment
and focused on another important issue. “Did you get an audience
with the Privy Council yet?”

“Aye.” Lachlan kept his voice low. “They are
sending someone out with a message telling Donald MacIrwin and his
son to appear before them here a fortnight hence.”

“Good. I must schedule time to give my
testimony as well.”

“’Twould strengthen the case against
them.”

“As will the testimonies of other members of
the clan.”

Alasdair caught Lachlan up on the happenings
at Kintalon since he had left, and they discussed the MacIrwin
situation for the better part of an hour.

“More ale,” Lachlan called out to the
tapster, then turned his attention back to Alasdair. “I’m sorry
about the predicament with Gwyneth. ’Haps ’twill work out in the
end.”

“No thanks to you.”

“If you keep sending her hot baths, flowers,
comfits and such, I’m sure she’ll change her mind.” Lachlan
smirked. “You have the sensibilities of a gentleman-husband.”

“She got very wet and muddy in the rain. I
wouldn’t want her to catch an ague.”

Lachlan chuckled and raised his tankard.
“Since most people think baths cause agues, ’tis a flimsy excuse to
have a woman in your debt.”

Alasdair sent his brother a hard stare.

“Aye, I can see you’re calf-eyed over
her.”

“I cannot wait for the day you meet a lass
who ties you up in so many knots you’ll never be free again.”

“Och! How can you place such a curse upon
me?” Lachlan’s expression was one of exaggerated insult and
shock.

“’Tis only a matter of time, I wager.”

“Never mind that. There is something I’ve
been wondering about. This knave who took Rory, am I to understand
that he is Rory’s natural father?”

“Aye.”

“What of Baigh Shaw?”

“Gwyneth married him after the fact, to give
her son a name.”

Lachlan raised his brows. “Ah. ’Tis not a
terrible situation, then, is it? He may gift Rory with property one
day.”

“Aye, but ’tis likely Southwick will mistreat
and abuse Rory. He slapped Gwyneth down once. I’m tempted to
strangle him for that. She also said she has heard of him beating
his servants and ’haps even killing one, but no one could prove
it.”

“Hell, you’re right then. The lad shouldn’t
be with him, especially since he’s so young.”

“I cannot let her down.”

“You would do anything to make her happy,
aye?”

“I’ll do what I can. Southwick is a vile
serpent. In truth, I cannot stand for him to take custody of wee
Rory. I was tempted to sever Southwick’s limbs from his body when
first I met him.”

Lachlan snorted. “Mayhap you will get your
chance. In the meantime, I will ride to the Newhaven docks and talk
with some people I know to see if Southwick and his party have
boarded a ship of late.”

“I’ll go with you. How far is it?”

“About two miles north. But what of the lady
in her hot bath? Do you not want to check on her?” Lachlan
winked.

“Nay.” Alasdair stared into his ale,
remembering the last bath of hers he had intruded on. She was
temptation itself, her skin warm and damp, scented like flowers.
Again, he would need to taste her essence, sweeter than honey,
drugging like lotus. Och! He was daft, in truth.

He wouldn’t impose upon her, mentally or
physically, anymore.

“And why not?” Lachlan asked.

“All she will be thinking of is the damned
tutoring position you’ve found for her.”

“I’m sorry I’ve made your task harder, but
I’m thinking you’re up for the challenge. A good swiving does
soften up the lasses and make them look at you with dreamy
eyes.”

“You’re a goat.”

Lachlan laughed and rose. “We should be on
our way—if you’re certain you’d rather visit Newhaven than the room
above stairs.”

***

In her room, Gwyneth savored the warm bath
water and the soothing fragrance of the chamomile, bog myrtle and
wild thyme soap she’d brought with her. A thrill trailed along her
nerves. Lachlan had found her a tutoring position. Thanks be to
God. Now they had only to recover Rory, and she would have what she
wanted.

They would get him back. There was no other
alternative.

She imagined herself teaching three small
boys, along with Rory, at a beautiful country estate just outside
Edinburgh. It would be a good life.

But Alasdair’s absence would linger like a
great, dark cloud in her bright day. She would miss him. She would
have to lock her heart away in a chunk of ice. But she must, for
Rory’s sake.

She lathered her hair. What other man would
have sent her up a bath? None.

He was willing to risk life and limb to help
her recover Rory, even willing to pay for this trip, their lodgings
and food. If they took a ship to London, that would be another
cost. Perhaps it was nothing to him, being an earl. But she
cringed, thinking of the money he was spending on her account. She
felt an obligation to repay him the money, and she would once she
earned wages.

Unlike Donald, Baigh, or her father, Alasdair
supported her emotionally. He did not wish to strip away her
strength, but reinforced it with his own. This was something
completely foreign to her. And because of it, her gratitude ran so
deep it hurt her not to be able to give him everything he asked of
her—and she would, if it were in her power. But it wasn’t. Her
responsibility to Rory superseded everything, even her own
heartbreak.

After her bath, she dried her hair before the
hearth, recalling the night she had sat on Alasdair’s lap while he
combed his fingers through the snarled strands.

How tempting he was.

How I love him.

Tears dripped onto her cheeks. She wished he
would knock on her door.

She waited what seemed like hours, her hair
long since dry, then finally crawled beneath the covers of the bed.
She was alone. It was no more than she’d asked for. She didn’t have
Rory nor Alasdair to hold. Her throat ached, and her tears soaked
into the pillow.

When next she became aware, knocking sounded
on her door. Dawn light filtered through the small window.

“Gwyneth?” The voice belonged to
Alasdair.

She rose, wrapped her
arisaid
about
her and opened the door.

He stood in the corridor, his large frame
overpowering the small space. Even in the dimness, the dark circles
beneath his eyes told her he probably had not slept last night. “We
need to board ship within the hour. Southwick and his party,
including Rory, sailed day before yesterday.”

***

Two days later, Gwyneth stood on the
threshold of Southwick’s London residence. Alasdair’s presence
behind her did little to calm her nerves.

“La—” Gwyneth swallowed past the constriction
in her dry throat. “Lady Gwyneth Carswell and Laird Alasdair
MacGrath, earl and chief of MacGrath, to see Lord Southwick, if you
please.” Not for more than six years had she called herself
Lady
. And she felt like a fraud doing so now.

The stuffy, gray-haired steward in blue and
gold brocade livery gave a curt bow and widened the carved walnut
door.

Because Lachlan had several friends and
connections in London, he’d soon learned Southwick was at his home
and an unidentified boy with him.

The steward ushered them across the pale gray
marble floor, opened a door off the main hall and motioned them
inside. “Pray, wait here. I will notify his lordship of your
presence,” he said in a nasal voice.

Gwyneth stepped into a huge book-lined
library, three times the size of Alasdair’s cozy one at Kintalon.
With its gilt furnishings, tapestries and dark wood furniture, the
room had a regal quality that further increased her jitters. The
scent of musty, leather-bound tomes usually calmed her, but this
time the smell reminded her she was back in England. Back where
she’d made the decision that had forever altered her life.

Wearing his finest blue and black plaid kilt,
along with a midnight blue doublet, Alasdair stepped close to her.
“I still say we should’ve stolen Rory back.” His eyes gleamed dark
and dangerous.