Rogue's Challenge (14 page)

Jenny.

"I am losing my mind,” he muttered. Perhaps he should seek someone, a fair someone to help him overcome these odd feelings he had for the woman.

The bar maid had been trying to catch his eye most of the evening. Why not accept what she so obviously offered?

It took naught but a wink and a smile to have her sitting on his lap. She slipped her fingers into his hair and whispered tantalizing things in his ear. Strange, he thought, how her fingers didn't feel nearly as nice as Jenny's. And her body didn't fit against his, although she was more like the sort he fancied. Buxom, well rounded, willing, and ... temporary. But for the life of him, he couldn't seem to stir the least bit of interest in the chit.

He ordered them both another drink and hoped, after downing the contents, that the very detailed images she was painting in his mind would bring about some change. But alas, no. He could only see a woman with long brown hair and a fey-like smile.

With a resigned sigh, he placed his cup on the table. “My dear, if we had but met a few days ago I would gladly accompany you to your room, but I fear I am needed elsewhere this eve.” He took her hand, dirty though it was, and pressed a kiss to the back, then quickly left the maid behind.

His thoughts plagued him as he made his way back to the inn. To lust after a woman was one thing, but to lust after
only
one was quite another. It boggled the mind. How could a man such as he, with no heart ties to anyone but a few friends and his half-sister feel the inexplicable urge to claim one woman as his own?

He paused before the inn and looked up at the lights in the windows. The one woman he could not have, did not want to want, plagued him. She was stubborn, argumentative, even shrewish at times, and she thought him to be stubborn, officious, arrogant, and a fool. That last cut most deeply, for when it came down to it, she saw him as so many did, an empty-headed skirt chasing rogue. His many slights, although not intentional were proof enough.

Well, he would admit to his success with the ladies, but he never did the chasing. They always came to him, with a few rare exceptions. She, however, was not of a mind to chase him. And he could not, in good conscience, chase her. She was a lady and he would not spoil her for his own pleasures.

Ah, but who will be doing the leaving when all is done
? A voice whispered in his ear. She was of a mind to return home to her own time, leaving him here in the past.

"Nay,” he muttered with a shake of his head. The ending does not make it right. And after all, she did not want him. Twice now she apologized for kissing him. Not something a woman would say if she were interested. But would he stop wanting her, needing her once she left?

"Need her? Bloody hell. Another drink is what I need,” he grumbled, and with a slight sway to his gait, made his way inside. With luck, it would drive away the disturbing feeling brushing against his heart.

"There you are, Ian. I was about tae come lookin’ for you,” Michael said.

Jenny appeared by his side. “Did you find him? Did you see any of the glasses? Did you bring any back with you?"

"Aye and nay.” Ian let out a long sigh and cast a wavering gaze on Michael. “Lad, would you be kind enough to fetch me a drink. I am in need of it."

"Well?” Jenny prodded as Michael turned away with a confused frown on his face.

"I met with the man and he assured me he had many spectacles for you to choose from. He will be here on the morrow."

"Why didn't he just come back with you?"

Ian took the drink from Michael's hand and downed nearly all of it at once. Jenny jostled his arm, making it run around his lips and down his neck, but he didn't care. He needed it after seeing her pretty face alight with hope and excitement. He'd wanted to throw her over his shoulder, take to the stairs three at a time, and go straight to her room and her bed. He should've at least tried to relieve his stress with the pretty maid at the pub, but he knew it for the lie that it was. His desire, his need burned for one woman at present.

"Ian, would you please stop guzzling that stuff and answer me,” she snipped.

He lowered the empty cup and handed it to Michael for a refill. “If you please.” He then turned to the beautiful woman by his side, with a face as red as a fire poker. She started to speak once more, and he quickly placed his finger against her lips, enjoying the warm moist feel of them, while damning his bad luck at the same time.

"The peddler was deep in his cups at the time,” he said. “Even if he could have accompanied me here, he would have chosen not to."

Michael appeared, thank heaven, with another drink, and Ian removed his finger from her luscious lips before he made a complete ass of himself and replaced his finger with his mouth. The thought urged him to empty the cup, post haste, which he did. It was that or slip his hand around her pretty neck and pull her against him for a most desired kiss.

"Are you drunk?” she asked.

"I believe I am, sweeting."

"Jenny, lass, I think ‘tis a good time for you tae be going tae bed,” Michael said.

"But—"

"Now, lass,” Michael said, his voice low and firm. Highly unusual, but it seemed to have the desired effect.

In a swirl of skirts and a pout so delicious Ian was tempted to follow her, Jenny stomped up the stairs.

"I would love to know how you managed that, my lad,” Ian said, in complete wonder and silently thrilled and disappointed that he'd not acted on his thoughts.

"A firm hand. ‘Tis all a woman needs."

Ian let out a chortle with that one. “This from the man who was laid on his back in no less than a breath by Amelia Tucker?” He dropped his hand on the lad's shoulder. “And had to face his intended's wrath over her desire to learn how to do the same?"

"'Tis different. Jenny isna as strong as my Fiona, nor Tuck. And you are clearly no’ in any condition for polite company."

"Ah, yes. Ladies do not care to be around men when they drink."

"You mean when they're drunk. There's a difference, mon. Care tae tell me why?"

"Nay. But now that I am quite thoroughly soused, I think I shall retire for the evening. You take first watch."

"Aye, but I doona think you'll be awake for the second."

Ian looked back over his shoulder as he gripped the handrail. “I will do my part. I made a vow to protect her.” He turned back to the stair. “Even from myself."

The sounds of the world going about its daily business outside his window brought Ian out of a dreamless sleep. With a moan, most pitiful, he grabbed his head and stumbled out of bed. He paused in his misery and grappled with his memories. He had failed in his duty to guard Jenny. Michael had been forced to sit watch all night.

Cursing his stupidity the eve before and his current sorry state, he dressed. He owed Michael an apology.

"Och, so he lives,” the lad said as he entered the room.

"'Tis a matter of opinion."

Michael chuckled, raking across Ian's tattered nerves.

With a hiss of pain, he straightened and turned to his tormentor, his finger at his lips.

"You are in a sorry state,” Michael said lowly. “But tae ease your pain, you doona have tae rise. You can sleep the day away. I will take care of Jenny."

"Nay,” he said with more force than he thought he possessed. “I made a vow. I cannot express how deeply I regret my actions.” He crossed to the basin and poured a goodly amount of water into the bowl and splashed it onto his face. Lifting his head, he grimaced at the haggard man looking back at him in the mirror.

Michael chuckled and crossed his arms. “Aye, but you're paying for them now.” He dropped his arms, his smile fading. “She was and is safe."

He dried his face and hands and turned from his sorry reflection. “I left you to do my duty. That was poorly done. I owe you an apology, lad.” He bent to retrieve his boots while praying his brain remained inside his skull.

"Verra well. Apology accepted. But you doona have tae rise. The lass has met with the peddler and is somewhat happy with her new eyes."

Ian's head snapped up and he winced. “She can see?"

"No’ as well as she would like, but, aye, she is no’ blind any longer.” He chuckled low. “And I think ‘tis best if she no’ see you like this. You willna survive her haranguing. She isna a lass tae tread kindly on a mon in a state such as yours, I'm thinkin'."

"Nay, she will not be kind, I am certain. But I have a feeling she will carryon no matter the time I arise. ‘Twould be best to get it over with."

He shoved his feet into his boots and followed Michael out the door and downstairs. He didn't fear Jenny's sharp tongue, although it would be most painful. It was her reaction to seeing him for the first time that concerned him. He knew, deep in his heart, she would not swoon, as some maids had done in the past. But would she at least care for his form?

And what do I care if she does?

Care, there was that dreadful word again. How could he care for the woman when they'd known one another for barely more than a sennight? They had been thrown together on this journey, talked of many things, argued over most, but somehow he'd come to care for her. He suddenly wished he'd not made such a hasty decision to face her so soon.

Jenny turned at the sound of boots on the stairs, more curious than ever to see with her somewhat adjusted vision Ian Southernland for the first time from head to toe. She couldn't see as well as she would like, but she wouldn't bump into furniture and trees any more. That was a blessing. But seeing the man who could kiss like nobody's business, would that be a blessing or a curse?

Seeing Michael had been a surprise. The way he spoke, often made her think of him as a very young man, more a gangly youth, but the reality was quite the opposite. He was young in years, yes, possibly not even twenty, but he was old in so many other ways. He was broad, big, and had his share of scars and a slightly crooked nose, but he was pure Highlander Warrior. No wonder Fiona spoke so breathlessly about him.

A smile teased the edge of her lips as she thought of where the man had obtained that crooked nose. Tuck had clocked him once when she first came to this time, but the young man had no ill feelings toward her. Admiration and respect flowed from him whenever he spoke of Tuck.

Thinking of Tuck made Jenny think of her friend's husband, Colin. If Michael looked so wonderfully male, then Colin must be a true sight to see. She could hardly wait to get back to Arreyder Castle and see him and Tuck and everyone else.

But Ian. Seeing him would be the most difficult.

Michael was the first to emerge from the stairway, a broad grin on his handsome face. She smiled tremulously as he stepped to the side and she saw Ian Southernland for the first time.

Blinking, she stared at the man, her heart hammering so loud the sounds of the inn and the bustle outside were drowned out. She'd known he was beautiful, she'd seen him up close and caught glimpses of his handsome profile whenever he saw fit to pick her up. But the whole man, all that gorgeous testosterone standing before her, left her utterly breathless.

"Hello,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. She swallowed, attempting to remove the sudden dryness from her mouth.

He cocked his head a bit and bowed. “Good morning, mistress. I hope you had a pleasant rest?"

Knees weak from the doubly dangerous combination of his voice and form, she found a nearby chair and sank into it. “Yes,” she croaked.

Heaven help her. If she had seen him, really seen him that first night they met, she would've fallen into his arms and begged him to take her anywhere with him.

"I am glad you suffered no ill will from my failure to guard you last eve,” he said, moving to stand before her.

She shook her head, lost in those incredible blue eyes, although red from his binge, they still held her firmly in awe.

He motioned toward her face, and she noted his long elegant fingers. Callused, she was sure, but the thought of what those hands could do for a woman sent a shiver through her.

"These spectacles are sufficient?” he asked.

"Um, yes. I can see fairly well."

He chuckled, the spread of his full lips exposing white straight teeth. “You will admit then, that I was correct?” A dimple appeared in one freshly shaved cheek, and she ached to run her finger over the small crescent shape.

"What? Oh, you mean in finding me some glasses.” She closed her eyes for a moment to regain her composure. He was too much for a pair of hungry eyes such as hers. She needed to take him in a little at a time.

"Yes, I will concede that I believed we'd not find a single pair. And although they are crude in their design, they accomplish the basic task.” She lifted her lids to find him smiling down at her.

"I will be a gentleman and not gloat,” he said with a wink, then turned toward one of the maids and ordered some food. He sat beside her at the small table while Michael sat across from her.

How dare he flirt with her after stumbling in drunk and smelling of something she dare not describe? Had he spent the evening with a woman after dealing with the peddler? The little man who'd sold her the glasses could barely remember what happened the night before. She'd questioned him thoroughly on the subject, but all he could recall was a gentleman telling him to be at Dougal's Inn in the morning.

Why had Ian gotten drunk? The question tumbled over and over in her mind for hours last night as she struggled to fall asleep. More to the point, was the woman pretty?

She nearly growled aloud at her ridiculous thoughts. He wasn't attracted to her. He was a rogue, a ladies’ man. A kiss meant nothing to him. Nothing at all. There were logical reasons for each incident, she assured herself. Not a single kiss had been real, only tools, weapons, a means to an end.

"Since ‘tis too late in the day to begin our journey back to Arreyder Castle, what say we venture through the town? I myself would like to visit a gentleman I have heard tell of who deals in horseflesh."

Ian cast a smile at her and her breath hitched.

"I shall wager you would like to see as much as you can before retuning. Is that not so?” he asked.