Rowan's Lady (33 page)

“Please, Rowan, just think on it fer a spell.
Think what marryin’ Arline would mean, in the end, after all ’tis said and
done.”

“Does the clan council ken that there is a
possibility
that Arline is barren?”

Thomas shook his head as if he understood where
Rowan was heading. “I do no’ ken and I do no’ care. If ye decide to go through
with this, ye will have to bring it before us. I’ll no’ lie fer ye, Rowan, no
matter how much I love ye like a son.”

Rowan knew that he could not, in good conscience
ask Thomas to lie or withhold information. Thomas was more than just his friend
and advisor, he was also a member of the counsel. He would do what he felt was
for the good of the clan and its future.

Last night’s dream, where he lost Arline for
eternity, came crashing to the forefront of his mind. Had the dream been an
omen foretelling the future or was it simply telling him what he already knew
-- that he could not have Arline as his wife?

His palms began to feel clammy and his stomach uneasy.
He could not imagine going through the rest of his life without Arline as his
wife. But neither could he imagine living it as anything other than chief of
Clan Graham.

He was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t.

After much back and forth between himself and
Thomas, Rowan finally agreed to think on the matter further. The last thing he
wanted was to think. He wanted to
feel.
Feel something other than alone
and lonely. He wanted a bit of happiness in his life, a bit of contentment and
harmony. Was that too much to ask for?

He wanted to feel Arline’s hair as he ran his
fingers through it. He wanted to know what it would feel like to have her skin
pressed against his, her lips on his lips. He wanted to feel her lying next to
him as he drifted off to sleep each night and again, when he woke in the
morning.

It wasn’t just an intense physical attraction he
felt toward Arline. Nay, it went much deeper than that. He loved her as a
person, as a woman. She was kind and generous, funny and smart. She was strong
and honorable. She was all the things he needed and wanted in a woman, and much
more.

He did not know how he would go on with the rest
of his life if the clan counsel did not give their blessing and allow the two
of them to marry. Aye, he could marry Arline without their permission, but that
could lead to so many troubles. The clan counsel could call for a vote to have
him stripped of his chiefdom.

Everyone in the clan would be allowed to vote on
whether or not he could remain as their chief. Although many of his people had
come to accept Lady Arline as part of the clan, he could not guarantee they
would accept her as his wife.

What then? What would he do if he were stripped of
his position? His pride would not allow him to stay here while someone else led
his clan. He couldn’t bear it.

Although being chief of Clan Graham was his
birthright, there were still certain protocols that had to be maintained and
met. Even though he had inherited his position, his people could take it all
away if they deemed him unfit to lead.

And what of Lily? Although she could not be the
actual chief of the clan, any potential husband could take on that role. It
would strip her of her future by default if the clan voted against him.

He could not remember ever having to make a
decision as difficult as the one that now lay before him.

Just this morning he had felt as though he were
floating on air. Happier than he had been in more than four years. Now, he had
the sensation that he was adrift at sea, holding on to nothing more substantial
than a piece of driftwood.
Damn.

Rowan stayed to his library in self-imposed
seclusion for the remainder of the morning. He had not realized how much time
had passed until his stomach began to grumble. With his mind still considering
his choices and his heart in utter turmoil, he left his den of isolation to
search for food.

Mrs. Fitz, a comely brown-haired woman of mayhap
forty years, was doing a remarkable job in her new position as head cook. She
had been working under Mrs. McGregor for the past two years, knew the kitchens
and the clans people as well as anyone, so it had been an easy decision for him
to make. Besides, Lady Arline had recommended her for the position.

Lady Arline. Every thought looped back around to
her. As he walked the length of hallway toward the kitchens, he shook his head
and muttered a curse under his breath. The beautiful redhead was always at the
forefront of his thoughts. He could not banish the images of her from his mind.
Nor could he stop the thrumming of his heart those thoughts brought.

And he could not escape the fact that she was
having a positive affect on most of his clan. Lily adored her, Daniel and
Frederick nearly worshipped at her feet, and even Thomas had grown to admire
the woman.

There remained only a handful of people who held
to the belief that she was a spy, sent by Garrick Blackburn for mysterious and
nefarious reasons. Och! How he wished he could change their minds and their
hearts toward her. If he was ever to be allowed to marry Arline, he would need
the approval and blessing of each member of his clan.

Just as the course of a stream could be altered by
one tiny pebble, so too could a man’s mind, heart, even his destiny, be
affected by one small, simple opinion.

He was paying very little attention to where he
was going as he rounded the corner in a huff and walking far to quickly to stop
what next happened.

Lily was suddenly in front of him, carrying a tray
and Lady Arline was right behind her. He was able to avoid knocking Lily down
by spreading his legs far apart to allow his very surprised little girl to
sweep through them. However, he could not, no matter how he tried, stop his
forward momentum. The only thing he could do to keep from landing on top of
Lady Arline as they fell was to wrap his arms around her, spin, and allow his
back to take the brunt of the fall.

He hadn’t realized that Lady Arline was carrying a
tray until he felt it slam against his chest during their less-than-elegant
fall to the floor. He also had not realized the strength of his own skull until
it bounced off the stone floor.

It had all happened so quickly, the blink of an
eye really, that both he and Lady Arline were left stunned, with eyes wide and
mouths agape. The pitcher of ale and the earthenware mug were smashed into his
chest. He could very well have been bleeding and not known for his shirt was
soaked, his brains rattled from the blow to his head and his heart left
pounding in his throat.

He closed his eyes tightly and shook away the pain
in his head as he tried to catch the breath that had been knocked from his
lungs. He pulled Arline closer, using her as a brace against the pain in his
thick, Scottish noggin.

When he finally opened his eyes, she was looking
back at him. At first, he thought she was frozen with fear. But then, he
noticed she was not looking at his eyes, but was staring at his lips.

He was close enough to press his lips against hers
and he was sorely tempted. Even with a pounding skull, ale leaking all over him
and bits of crockery digging into his chest. Aye, this is where he wanted her.
In his arms, on top of him, under him, it mattered not. Remove the spilt ale,
the jagged shards digging into his flesh, his throbbing head and their clothes,
and he reckoned it would be a most perfect union.

“Rowan,” Arline finally spoke, sounding breathless
and damned appealing. His groin began to ache and at the same time, sing with
delight. He imagined he could have seven arrows piercing his body at the moment
and his maleness would still respond to this beautiful green-eyed auburn-haired
woman. He also reckoned that she wouldn’t even need to be sprawled across him.
Just the thought of her would bring him to full attention. His male member was
going to be the death of him someday, he just knew it.

“Da!” Lily squealed from very near his feet. He
heard her set her tray down on the cold stones. He also heard her little feet
rushing to his side. “Lady Arline!” Lily exclaimed as she stood next to them.

The sound of his daughter’s voice had two affects
on him. It immediately cleared the wicked images of a naked Lady Arline from
his mind and acted like a bucket of frozen water thrown on his lower
extremities.
Thank God fer Lily or I’d be carrying Lady Arline up the stairs
to me chamber right now. Blow to the head and cut skin be damned.

Rowan closed his eyes again, hoping to settle his
nerves and regain the use of his lungs. “Woman, ye’ll be the death of me,” he
whispered without thinking.

Arline scurried away and he did not like the
emptiness she left behind. “I be terribly sorry, Rowan,” she murmured softly.

He sensed by the tone of her voice that he had
hurt her feelings. Of course she could not know by his statement that he was
not angry or upset with her.

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. She was
sitting but a few steps away from him, holding on to Lily as if she were a rope
meant to keep her from drowning.

He could not help but notice that the bodice of
her green dress was also soaked with ale. He could just make out the shapes of
delightful, perky breasts. At least in the recesses of his wicked mind they
were delightful.

“Are ye well, da?” Lily asked. Her eyes and voice
were filled with worry and concern.

Rowan took a deep breath and nodded his head an
act which immediately filled him with regret. “Aye, I will be well.”

He took a moment before rolling over to his side.
Arline remained frozen, her eyes were as wide as trenchers and moist, as if she
were fighting back tears.

“I be verra sorry, lassies. I was no’ watchin’
where I was going. ’Tis all me own fault, no’ yers. Please, fergive me.” His
words were meant for both Arline and Lily, though his eyes were glued to
Arline’s.

“We were bringin’ ye a meat pie, da,” Lily said as
she knelt down to look at him. “I helped Mrs. Fitz to make them.”

His daughter still looked quite worried over him.
Forcing a smile he took a moment before pushing himself to sit. He took Lily in
his arms and gave her a grand hug.

Ye almost kissed him!
Arline thought before
chastising the wanton, harlot of a woman that had invaded her dreams and was
rapidly taking over her waking hours.
Ye be a fool, an eejit of a woman,
she told herself as she stared at the object of her torment.

Her nerves were frayed, her emotions all jumbled
and making her stomach feel once again as if it housed a school of large
salmon. She cursed herself for thinking of kissing him and for regretting not
following that urge.

Taking a deep breath, she gave a mental shake of
her head and tried to push the thoughts from her mind.
The man was most
assuredly injured, and the only thing ye can think of was to kiss him!

After he had declared she would be the death of
him, she felt relieved that she hadn’t. Certain she was that he would toss her
out into the cold winter if she
had
taken that bold step and done what
she wanted most to do. She vexed him, she had no doubt for he had just told her
so.

She didn’t want to vex him, she wanted to kiss
him. Repeatedly. Both her heart and her lips desperately wanted to know what it
would feel like. How often had she wondered and day dreamt on that very
subject? Too many times to count.

She had often wondered if he would respond
positively to such a bold move. Would he take her in his arms and kiss her
thoroughly and soundly with those horribly magnificent lips of his? Would he
smile fondly and welcome her lips against his?

Nay. She knew that now for he had just told her.
She would be the death of him.

Her eyes filled with tears that she would not shed
in front of him. She’d die first before she would shed another tear in his
presence. It was, of course, to be expected. She was cursed with some
affliction she could not identify that kept men -- whether it be her father,
her husbands, or any other man -- from loving her.

She was doomed to spend the rest of her life
alone. No matter how she tried to convince herself that
that
was exactly
what she wanted, to live a life of solitude, her blasted heart refused to give
up. Her heart wanted to be loved, to be adored and respected.

Her heart wanted all those things it could not
have. It betrayed her, left her feeling abandoned, unlovable, unwanted.

Rowan’s deep voice, soft and filled with something
she could not recognize broke her quite reverie.

“Are ye well, lass?” he asked as he pulled himself
to his feet.

Was it genuine concern she saw in his eyes?
Mayhap, but it wasn’t necessarily for her as a person. He was most likely
worried over his daughter’s governess, not her as a woman.

She swallowed back the tears and mumbled that she
was well. She noticed then his torn and soaked tunic that was plastered against
his broad, muscular chest. Taking a deep breath, she swore she would not swoon
nor would she cry over that which she could never have. Instead, she did the
grown up, mature and intelligent thing. She could not blame him, for the curse
was hers.

“Yer bleedin’!” she cried out in surprise. It
wasn’t just the ale that soaked his tunic, it was blood.

She shot to her feet and reached out to tend to
his injuries. She could not panic in front of Lily so she willed her hands and
voice to remain calm. “Lily,” she said calmly, “help me get yer da to his
room.”

She placed her hands on his tunic and began to
examine the tears. She opened one of them and peered inside. Rowan gently
grabbed her hands with his, and pressed them against his chest.

“I will be well, Arline. ’Tis just a few
scratches.”