The Great Scot (22 page)

Pinned, he had to act. Stepping through the abbey arch was both the easiest and hardest step he'd ever taken. He stopped several feet inside the portal. “Hey there, yourself.” He suddenly didn't know what to say to her. Far too many emotions were presently battling for dominance for him to be able to sort them all out and handle the moment correctly at the same time. He glanced around. “This was once quite the place,” he said, opting to step around the elephant in the room between them. For now. Cowardly though it may be, it was preservation at its most instinctive base. “This part of the fortress was designed by a friar in the fourteenth century, before it belonged to the Fenton clan. More than one of my ancestors was married here.”

“I wish I could have seen what it looked like then.” If she was hoping for a more substantive or personal discussion, she didn't show it.

In fact, for the first time, he couldn't quite read her at all. It wasn't like her to be enigmatic, and he found he was a bit alarmed by that. It mattered to him, what she was thinking. Scared him a little, too. But he wasn't ready to probe that reaction, either. So he went with relief that she was giving them both some space and was simply thankful for it. “Have you walked more of the place?”

“Some.” She slid off her perch, straightening her bare legs and making him instantly ache for her again.

It wasn't just seeing her in his shirt, knowing she was a scrap of panty silk away from being naked beneath him again, if that's what he wanted. What she wanted. The ache so persistently dogging him this morning went far deeper than that.

“There's another tower, in the rear,” he managed, wondering how long she'd let him get away with playing tour guide. Wondering if it would be long enough for him to make sense of the jumble of emotions she'd stirred up inside of him. Just by being herself. “Not as much left of it, but the view just beyond is pretty fantastic.” He started to walk in that general direction, but she didn't follow.

“I—I really should be getting back.”

He turned, noting the way she scuffed a toe in the grass, the way her fingers were twined together, both of which belied her apparent calm, easy demeanor. Maybe she was confused, too. He didn't have the balls to ask at the moment.

“I didn't want to disturb you,” she said, “you were sleeping pretty soundly. So I thought I'd take a bit of a walk. But I have a million things to do and—”

“Right. Sure,” he said, his heart squeezing, which told him a great deal right there. “Come on, then. Mind your step.”

He waited until she passed by him, back through the arch, and started across the courtyard before falling into step behind her. No pause for a morning kiss, no touch as she walked past him. Nothing more than a bit of a smile, her eyes bright, maybe overly bright.

He'd never felt so lost in a situation. Maybe he should have reached for her, given her some sign, any sign, that last night was more than a rut for him. Except maybe that's all it had been for her. Far be it for him to needlessly complicate something that didn't need complicating. She'd said she didn't think she could juggle, so he should just let her get back to business and be thankful she'd managed to juggle one night with him into her life.

So, why he had an almost overwhelming urge to break something, he had no idea.

She was just far enough ahead of him, that she'd scaled the outer wall stairs before he could jog close enough to help her. She was at the blanket and tugging on her pants by the time he got there. She scooped up her bra and shirt and turned to face the rising sun as she pulled off his shirt, her back to him.

He hated that she needed the privacy. One thing he'd purely enjoyed about her was her take-no-prisoners style. Yet here she was, almost shyly dressing herself. Had he done that to her? Had he really screwed this up so badly? He watched her, unable to look away, as if he needed to drink in every last vision he might have, store it up somehow. The sun played over her shoulders and arms, burnishing her skin, high-lighting the tips of her wispy hair. She slid on her bra, tugged on her shirt, all with economical grace. He couldn't take his eyes off her. She turned and tossed him his shirt. “Thank you for the loan.”

“Anytime,” he said, and meant it quite sincerely. The idea that he'd never have her again, never taste her again, never get to truly indulge himself in her—as last night had hardly involved any of that, despite his best intentions—left him feeling quite desolate. Which was ridiculous. Sure, he'd hoped for more than a one-night stand, but nothing more serious than a string of a few more. This aching desperation wasn't acceptable. Yet he had no idea how to switch it off.

She, apparently, hadn't had that particular problem.

She slipped on her shoes and started to fold up the blankets.

He still stood there, barefoot, shirt in hand.

She glanced up at him. “You want to step off that so I can fold it?” If she thought it odd or frustrating that he wasn't in any real hurry to dress and get out of there, she didn't say so. Again, she seemed outwardly calm, and mostly, well, functional was the word that came to mind. Picking up, cleaning up, dressing. He couldn't read what she was thinking or feeling. It drove him crazy.

He stepped back and reached down to grab the basket and lantern and move them aside, nudging a few of the pillows off the blanket, before finally giving up the charade that everything was fine and dandy. “Erin. I—”

“How did you get all this up here, anyway?” she asked, cutting him off. “I still can't believe you went to all this trouble. If you were out to impress, you certainly did.” She was talking too fast, sounding too effusive. Erin was direct and enthusiastic, but bubbly was not exactly her typical mien.

So the whole calm demeanor thing was a façade. Good.

He tossed his shirt down and took hold of her arms, pulling her to a stand in front of him. “Aye, I
was
trying to impress,” he said, “but I've failed miserably.”

She kept that faux sincerity on her face, despite the surprise he'd caught briefly flickering through. “But I just told you that you didn't. I've never had anyone go to such lengths. Of course, I know it was more for the show than for me, and we'll have to talk about that. I don't want you to get your hopes up there, but—”

“Stop.”

She abruptly shut up. Which told him volumes more about her state of mind than maybe she'd intended to telegraph. Too bad. He had no problems exploiting it if it meant they got past this farcical behavior.

“Erin.” He waited until she looked him in the face. “I'm sorry.”

That definitely surprised her. “What on earth for?”

“Last night was—”

“Better for me than for you, apparently.” Bright smile gone, she was all practiced defiance now. It irritated the living hell out of him. He wanted his Erin back, not this…this…automaton.

She tugged her arm free and crouched back down so she could start folding again, only she clearly wasn't paying any attention to what she was doing and just balling things up. A chink in her armor, finally. At least that was a start.

“Maybe I should be the one doing the apologizing,” she said, not as calmly as before. Perhaps a bit huffy, in fact.

“Oh, for god's sake.” Dylan crouched in front of her, stopping her manic movements by taking both her arms in his grasp. “What is wrong with us this morning?”

“Wrong? What do you mean? I've been perfectly civil. I let you sleep, I'm helping to clean up, complimenting you, what do you want?”

He wanted to shake her. Then throw her down on the blanket and make love to her the way he should have last night, instead of taking her like some beast in full rut. “I want the real Erin back, please.”

Her eyebrow arched. “Excuse me?”

He smiled. “Yeah, more like that.”

She gave him a disgusted snort, then returned to her hasty packing. “Whatever. I'm sorry to cut all this short, but I really do have to get back.”

So…could it be that she was avoiding dealing with the same thing he was? Just going about it differently, perhaps. Escape and avoid. Same tactic he'd used in the library. He could tell her it was a waste of time. But he doubted she'd listen.

“I know, and I'll get you back as quickly as I can, but I wanted to talk to you about…” He trailed off, realizing he sounded like every lame morning-after guy in history. The was-it-good-for-you guy. He wasn't that bloke, all frail ego, needing reassurance. But that's how it was going to sound to her. He needed a different kind of reassurance altogether. But faced with the exact wording, he was left a bit speechless.

“About what? About last night?”

Of course she'd handle it directly. Why had he worried?

“Well, yes.”

“I thought it was pretty obvious we both had a good time, enjoyed each other, unless I'm really that off my—”

“No, no,” he hastened to assure her. “I—we both seemed to manage to figure things out well enough, it's just—”

“There's a scintillating review.” She said it dryly and without malice, as if she hadn't expected raves. She laid a hand on his arm.

He wondered if she had any idea the instant reaction her mere touch caused in him, or that he was already thinking of how to talk her into staying here for just a wee bit longer.

“If you're worried I was expecting more, don't. We've already gone over our essential incompatibilities. I would have said no if I didn't want things to go where they did, and I know you'd have respected that or I'd have never agreed to come out here with you in the middle of the night in the first place. I have absolutely no regrets.” She smiled, and it looked sincere and bright, but he noted it didn't quite reach the depths of her eyes. A beautiful green as always, but not sparkling this fine morning.

He realized he wanted nothing more than to make her eyes sparkle again. It bothered him a great deal that she could look at him, talk about something intimate shared between them, without so much as a glimmer or gleam.

“So, no worries, okay?” She patted his arm, then went back to rolling and gathering blankets.

But he was worried. Worried that he should be vastly relieved by this little chat, and was anything but. Worried that he wanted her to care more, to expect more, nay, to absolutely demand more from him, and even more worried that perhaps he wouldn't be able to deliver if she did. No' that he wouldn't try. But what if he'd given her his all and she'd still looked at him as she was right now? Very thanks-for-the-toss-time-to-go-mate.

“Tell me then, you never answered me earlier. When you accepted my invitation…was it with a thought as to where it might lead?”

She glanced up briefly, then held his gaze when she saw the sincerity of his tone matched his expression. “I think it would be disingenuous to pretend otherwise, but I won't say I expected something to happen.”

“You'd have been satisfied then, if we'd gone for a spin, and I'd returned you to your room, safe, sound and—”

“Unravished?” she added, a start of that daring smile sparking back to life. “Part of me would have been disappointed, the rest of me would have convinced that part that it was for the best. To keep from complicating things.”

“So no regrets regardless then. As long as things don't get…complicated.”

Now she didn't even pretend to do busy work. She sat back on her haunches and truly looked at him. “What do you want me to say? What are you angling for here?”

Good question, that. He opted to go with honesty, and see where that took them. “When I set this up, I did have every intention of seducing you.”

She merely nodded. “Okay.”

“When I left the library earlier this week, my plan was to stay away. Perhaps even make all our lives easier and go bunk with one of my brothers for the duration.”

“But?”

He looked at her, truly looked at her. She was everything he'd never wanted in a woman. So why did he all but ache to have her again? Was it the chase? That she wasn't throwing herself at him? “Ye plague me, still, you know that.”

Which made her laugh. “Yes, I haven't forgotten the lovely light in which you hold me.”

He shook his head. “I heard what you said, that day in the library, about complicating things, juggling obligations, and I agreed with you. So I left, with every intention of keeping that agreement. But I couldn't stop thinking about you. That I had to stay away in order to make it stick, should have told me something right then and there. But no, I told myself it was simply a matter of opening myself up to feeling anything, and you were simply the catalyst of that reawakening.”

“I'm feeling more flattered by the second,” she said wryly, causing him to hang his head.

“I'm no' conveying my meaning properly.” He looked back up. “In the past, my taste has run quite differently, but I'm a very different man now, who perhaps doesna know himself well enough to know what is right for him. I respond to you, for myriad reasons. I grew tired of analyzing them, of trying to make sense of it. It seemed to me the best way to figure things out was to spend more time with you and let it define itself.”