Rogue's Challenge (13 page)
"More like an albatross,” she muttered, disgusted with herself for bringing all this about. If she'd just not run from him that first night...
A boisterous laugh echoed in the hallway. “Och, doona say she's thrown ye out, lad!"
"Oh no,” she moaned. Now he was to be humiliated too? His unwilling bride had tossed the infamous rogue out of his own bed.
Jenny chewed the inside of her cheek, trying hard not to laugh. Well, he probably deserved it for one of his many seedy liaisons in the past. But it did seem a bit unfair since he was only trying to protect her.
An idea bloomed and with a nod she stumbled across the room to the door. Flinging it wide, she froze at the sight of the small crowd gathering in the hall. Maids, the innkeeper's wife, even Michael, or so she thought, as she squinted at the group. But she would not be deterred. At least she could still tell which one was Ian. He was the only tall, blonde, broad shouldered man among them.
She threw her arms around his neck. “Darling! I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it.” He stumbled into the room and grasped her waist for balance bringing him close, very close. Close enough she could actually see him. She attempted to resist the urge to sigh with pleasure, but failed. She could only hope he hadn't heard it with all the noise in the hallway.
"Well, lad, kiss the lass. ‘Tis the only way tae make up after a spat,” Mr. Dougal said.
"Yes, that, um, is the custom,” she said, knowing she'd hate herself for it later. The man didn't want her, but she wanted him in more ways than she thought humanly possible.
"Aye, ‘tis the only way,” Ian murmured. His lips brushed hers with the softest of touches sending tingles down her back and along her arms. It wasn't a wow kiss like the others, this one was different. Sweeter than any sugar—or sugar replacement—she'd ever tasted.
"Och, now there's a fine sight,” the innkeeper's wife said. “Let the lover's be, dear. Come tae bed."
"Aye, a fine sight indeed,” Mr. Dougal said, and the door clicked closed.
They were alone, and Ian was still kissing her. Oh how she wanted it to be real, but the truth of it brought her to her senses and she pulled back. “I'm sorry. I was only trying to—they were—you were—"
She planted her hands on her hips. “I couldn't sleep with all that racket.” She spun away after spouting out that whopper and climbed into bed. “You do what you want. I'm going to bed.” And cry myself to sleep, she thought.
Ian stared, his arms painfully empty, as she covered her beautiful body with a pile of quilts and laid her head and all that long hair on the pillow. Her chemise was nearly see-through, a fact he was certain she was unaware of, considering her lack of spectacles, and to feel all of her pressed against him had gone straight to his head ... and other regions of his person.
He was thankful he'd been the one directly in front of the door when she'd thrown it open. All those elegant curves had been made visible by the firelight from behind her, and when she'd grabbed him, he was lost.
She sighed softly, and he had no doubt that she'd fallen asleep. The woman could drop off at the slightest whim.
A grin stole over his mouth. She couldn't sleep because of the noise? Hardly. The lady felt sorry for him. She cared, in a way, but it warmed him further, which was not good.
He took a deep breath, turned from the temptation to climb into her bed and find out for certain what her feelings were, then went back into the hallway to stand guard.
Michael was there waiting with a frown on his face. “Glad I am tae see you didna stay abed."
He gave the lad his sternest glare. “She is a lady."
"Who has no’ sense in her head where you're concerned."
Ian narrowed his gaze. “She was merely trying to save face."
He chuckled with a shake of his head. “Aye, you keep tellin’ yourself that one.” He strolled down the hall to their assigned room and slipped through the door.
The day came too early for Ian, but he mustered himself and made his way down the hall to Jenny's room. Michael stood as he approached.
"Is the lady awake?” he asked.
"Aye, she's been rustlin’ around in there for several minutes."
Ian nodded and turned to knock on the door.
"Just a minute,” Jenny said. With more scuffling, and a faint muttered curse, she opened the door. “Good morning."
Ian couldn't withhold his smile at the sight of her bright cheery face. She seemed to have slept well, and yet, there were faint circles under her eyes. He wondered if she spent the night tossing and turning as much as he did once he traded watch with Michael.
But no, she was sleeping soundly when he left last night. ‘Twas likely her worry over finding a pair of spectacles and the need for much more rest after their journey. She wasn't used to such things.
"Are you ready for some nourishment, mistress?” he asked.
"Absolutely."
He placed her hand on his arm and escorted her to the dining room. The three of them had a quiet meal and discussed their plans for the day. Dougal didn't know of a peddler, but directed them to a shopkeeper not too far away that might know of such a man.
"I will go and see what he knows. The two of you stay here until I return,” Ian said, and was promptly rebuked.
"Not on your life. I'm going with you. I didn't come all this way to be stuck in here while you do all the hunting. I want to experience what I can while I'm here. And you need me to pick out the glasses."
"And I didna come all this way tae go home empty-handed. I'll need me gift for Fiona. Perhaps this shop will have the verra thing I need,” Michael said.
He sighed. “Fine, I am far too tired to bicker with the two of you."
Michael and Jenny turned to one another and chatted on about the things Fiona might like. A conversation Ian felt compelled to stay out of, but knew full well all the girl wanted was a ring. Still he kept his mouth shut then gulped down the last of his tea.
"Let us be off,” he said, and rose, taking Jenny's hand without thinking. It was becoming habit, he supposed, since the girl couldn't see and needed aid. But he was enjoying it far too much.
They made their way down the street, while Jenny pestered them with question after question. He chuckled at her inquisitiveness, the scientist in her wanting to know everything, the girl in her thrilled with the adventure. He no longer thought she would hide in her laboratory once she returned home. She had changed in the short time he'd known her. Her very words,
I want to experience what I can
, proved him correct. And although she was still the most inquisitive, talkative woman he had ever known, she was also the most alive and vibrant. He was going to miss her when she left.
Shaking off the uncomfortable thought, he guided his little group into the shop Dougal had told them about.
"I doona know of a peddler, but I have a few of them fancy spectacles, if you'd like tae see them,” the shopkeeper said.
"Oh, could we? That would be wonderful,” Jenny said, her eyes wide with wonder and delight.
Ian knew she'd truly believed they wouldn't find a single pair of the things. He wanted to gloat, but could only smile instead. She looked so charming trying on the horrid things and blinking owlishly at him.
It was obvious she couldn't see any better with them than without. He hated the disappointment he read in her face.
He slipped his arm around her waist and squeezed her tight against his side. “We are not yet done, little one,” he said softly in her ear. “The peddler will have more to choose from."
"Yes,” she said, nodding with a forced smile. “Of course. Thank you, sir, for letting me see your fine assortment of spectacles.” She stepped out of Ian's grasp and handed over the last pair.
"Jenny, what do you think of this?” Michael said, holding up a ring.
She shook her head with a crooked grin. “You know I can't see it."
The young man smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, lass. I keep forgettin'. But ‘tis a ring, like you said she might be wantin', I think."
"Oh? Here, let me have it,” she said, holding out her hand. She lifted it the tip of her nose and ran her fingers over it carefully. “These inscriptions, what are they? I can't see the detail."
"Celt inscriptions. It reminds me of Tuck's ring. Do you no’ think she'll like it? Should I no’ get one like hers?"
As the two talked of Fiona and her likes and dislikes, Ian could only stare at Jenny. She had said when she was very close to something she could see it, but he hadn't really understood until now the limits she suffered. He had to find her those bloody spectacles. He would search every shop, every peddler's cart, he'd go as far as London if need be. But he would not fail her in this.
He paused in his musings and wondered where this intense desire for her and for her happiness came from. It was nothing like he'd ever experienced before. He wasn't sure he cared for the feeling.
"You need to choose a ring that makes you think of her. When you hold this,” Jenny said to Michael, “who or what do you think of?"
The young Scot laughed. “I think of the money it costs, not my Fiona. I'm beginnin’ tae understand."
"Finally!” Ian laughed, forcing himself into the conversation and safely away from his own thoughts. “That alone will be the greatest gift the young lady shall receive upon our return."
Jenny laughed but swatted his arm. “Stop teasing him, Ian."
He snatched the offending hand and pressed a kiss to it before he could stop himself. Her stunned expression then shy smile added to this strange feeling growing inside him. Aye, his future was looking quite grim indeed.
"Come my friends, we need to find those elusive spectacles.” And he needed to complete this trip as soon as possible before it was too late.
He thanked the shopkeeper for his help and the three of them strolled out of the establishment and down the street.
Jenny eyed her hand and Ian's where it sat firmly atop hers on his arm. It was silly, she knew that, but no one had ever kissed her hand before. Somehow it felt more intimate than the kisses they'd already shared.
I step through one little time portal and my entire way of thinking is skewed. There must be a correlation.
And there was. And he had a name. Ian Southernland.
She sighed silently and continued on toward the next shop. All her life she'd tried to get her father's attention without success. Now here she was, walking alongside a man whose attention she wanted in so many ways, on so many levels, she couldn't catalog them all. But she refused to make the same mistakes she had with her father. She wouldn't change herself to be what he wanted, not this time.
Jenny cleared her throat to cover her cheerless laugh. As if she could suddenly become a beautiful, voluptuous, alluring woman. Not even a fairy godmother could pull that one off. No, she would have to be content with what they were. Friends.
A smile slipped over her lips with the thought. Yes, they were friends. Although they argued regularly about almost everything, it was a companionable sort of discourse. One she rather enjoyed. And there was so much more behind Ian's beautiful face and perfect body. He possessed a keen mind and a desire to know more, traits she greatly admired, and she would never find a more desirable man in her life.
But friends they were, and friends they would remain. She liked the attention he gave her, no longer feeling it was just because of his vow to protect her. There was more to it. That gentle squeeze in the shop when none of the glasses worked. The compliments he gave her even though he didn't want her in bed. The way he took her hand and guided her along the cobblestones without thinking twice. Yes, she could live with just being friends. After all, it was far more than she had before she came here.
Hours and a dozen shops and peddlers later, they returned to the inn with only one happy soul. Michael had found what he was seeking, and Fiona would be very pleased. But Jenny had not found a single pair of glasses worth keeping. She wouldn't, however, let her disappointment show. She refused to ruin Michael's joy.
He babbled on about his
sweet lass
and how much she'd love the ring he found for her, and his eagerness to return home now that he found it.
"Och, but I wasna’ thinkin'. I'm sorry, Jenny,” he said. “I know you're disappointed that we didna find your spectacles, but I know we will. Tomorrow, ‘tis certain."
She smiled at him and rose from the dinner table. “Thank you, Michael. I'm sure we will. If you gentleman will excuse me, I'm very tired.” They both rose and Ian took her hand. “No, stay. Finish your meal. I'll be fine from here to my room. No one will bother me."
Ian bowed over her hand and pressed a small kiss. “Goodnight, little one."
She disappeared into the hallway and felt along the wall and found the stair. The innkeeper's wife happened to be coming down and took Jenny's hand and led her to her room. While she chattered away, Jenny put Ian's chivalry from her mind. They were friends, she reminded herself. And it served no purpose to dwell on kisses and such. She had glasses to find, twins to deliver, and a life to return to in the twenty-first century. One she knew would be empty without Ian in it.
The next day they set out again in search of the peddler. He was known, according to one shopkeeper, to frequent a local spot that was a bit too seedy for Jenny. With her sputtering and muttering her arguments, Michael hauled her back to the inn while Ian went in search of the man.
As he entered the pub, Ian thought of Jenny and her flushed face as Michael towed her off. He would get a sore tongue lashing upon his return, but he grinned nevertheless.
It didn't take him long to locate the peddler, but he was deep in his cups and his wares safely locked away. Ian did manage to get the man to agree to meet at the inn the following morning after several rounds, all supplied by Ian. He only hoped the sod remembered when he woke the next morn with what would be a formidable headache. Ian would not fair well either. What had possessed him to partake so much? He knew the answer before he finished the thought.