Wolf, Joan (21 page)

Van's hair was gathered high into a knot on the back of her head, from which a few long curls had been allowed to fall. The line of her cheek and jaw were clear to him and he saw distinctly the quiver that flickered along both. She did not answer, could not answer. This was torture, she thought. She should never have agreed to meet him, should have kept him as a memory. The living flesh and blood of him was playing havoc with her heart. There was a long silence and she finally raised her eyes to his face. She could see pain in the lines of his mouth. "Edward," she said. Then, "You almost succeeded."

She was not quite sure who made the first move, but quite suddenly she was in his arms, her own arms locked about his waist, her cheek pressed against his heart. She could hear it thudding through his coat.

"I should have known that nothing could bind you against your will." His voice was muffled by her hair. "My God, Van, I have been so afraid. I had visions of you being pregnant and forced to marry someone else."

"No," she said. "No."

"Van." His hand was under her chin, pushing it upward. She obeyed the pressure of his fingers and their mouths met. His kiss was hard and fierce and demanding and she answered it involuntarily, all her senses responding to the remembered power of his touch. After a moment he began to move her toward the sofa. Her feet were swinging off the ground and she did not care. She made a soft sound, deep in her throat. It was that small, infinitely sensual sound that brought Edward to his senses.

"Christ, Van. This won't do at all." His voice was deep and profoundly shaken. He set her on her feet, not on the sofa as he had intended, and backed away. "I came to make sure you were safe," he said, "not to put you in jeopardy again."

Van sat abruptly on the sofa and watched as he crossed to the window. She was as shaken as he had sounded. If he had not put a halt to it, she would have... She closed her eyes. Dhé. She should never have come here. She opened her eyes and saw him outlined against the window.

"Edward!" she said sharply. "Get away from that window. Someone may see you."

He shrugged but moved obediently to stand against the wall. Van tried to regain some semblance of composure. "What messages did you bring to General Guest?" she asked. "Or is that privileged information?"

"It's information your people will have shortly enough," he replied. His face was in the shadow; she could not read his expression. "General Guest, of course, is not to surrender the castle." He took a few steps toward her. "Field Marshal Wade is at Newcastle with a newly raised force of fourteen thousand men." Van forbade her face to change expression. "And four thousand cavalry," he added.

The Highland army, at its full strength, would not number more than seven thousand. Van felt fear clutch her throat. She scanned his face, visible now in the light of the fire. "Have you recalled all your troops from France?" she asked.

"Not yet." His eyes were very grave. "The Duke of Cumberland is returning with that army. He will be in England shortly."

God in heaven. Van swallowed and said bravely, "We smashed General Cope at Prestonpans. My brother said your troops could not stand against Highlanders."

"Perhaps not, if the numbers are even." His reply was gentle but implacable. "But the numbers will not be even the next time, Van. And you won't always have the advantage of a surprise attack."

She would not let him see how frightened she was. She jumped to her feet and went to poke at the fire. "You're making excuses," she said defiantly. "The fact of the matter is that we have taken Scotland. We broke your army at Prestonpans." She gave the logs a vicious jab. "If your English army invades the Lowlands, it will produce the same effect on Scots as you are always telling me a French army would produce on the English. The Lowlands have not forgotten Flodden and Pinkie, Edward. The Act of Union is new. England was Scotland's enemy for centuries, remember."

"And is the prince planning to remain in Scotland, then?" His voice was uninflected but Van turned to look at him through suddenly narrowed eyes.

"Surely you don't expect me to answer that question," she said after a moment.

"No, I suppose not." He lifted an ironic golden eyebrow. "But I'll tell you this, sweetheart. Charles Stuart is not going to be satisfied with just the crown of Scotland. I would bet you anything on that."

Van's narrow nostrils quivered. "Charles Stuart is my prince," she said in a hard voice, "and I don't like the way you talk about him."

"All right." He put his hands into the pockets of his coat and bent his head a little. There was little doubt in his mind as to the outcome of this rebellion, but he could not tell her what he thought. She would not listen. She was afraid to listen, he realized, because in her heart of hearts, she knew too.

"All right," he repeated. "Let's not talk about politics. Let's talk about us."

"There is no 'us' to talk about," she replied steadily. "You are a Whig and I am a Jacobite, and that is a gulf we cannot bridge."

"Not now, perhaps," he began, but she interrupted.

"Not ever! You must understand that, Edward. You must..." She swallowed, then continued with determination, "You must forget about me." She made an effort to smile. "You know how anxious Cousin Katherine is for you to marry and to have a son. You must do that. Don't let me hold you back."

"Ah." His eyes were intensely blue. "You are releasing me from any... er... obligations I might have toward you. Is that it?"

"Yes," she said. "That is it."

"And you? Do you wish me to release you in like fashion? Is there perhaps some fine Highland lad whom you wish to wed?"

Van thought of Alan and his merry grin and his tender green-gold eyes. "No," she said. "There is not." But she could not quite meet Edward's eyes.

There was a pause. Then he said very softly, "There had better not be." Her eyes jerked up to his face. She had never heard that note in his voice before. She stared at him warily, but the dangerous undercurrent that had been in his voice was not apparent on his face. Suddenly he smiled. "I don't mind waiting for you, sweetheart," he said, and now his voice was very tender. "Who knows, perhaps someday you will be a subject of King James of Scotland and I of King George of England and we can be wed with the blessing of both our monarchs and all our relatives."

Van said nothing and he reached out and took her hands into his. "I must go," he said, and raised her palms to his mouth.

She might never see him again. The ache in her chest was unbearable. "Don't do anything rash," he said sternly, and bent to kiss her, quick and hard, on the mouth. He dropped her hands and picked up his hat.

Van's hands clenched and she hid them in the folds of her skirt. She was very pale. "I won't say goodbye." He was at the parlor door. "Think of me sometimes," he said, and gave her the ghost of his old smile. Then he was gone. She could hear the front door close firmly behind him. She was alone.

She sat down and stared blindly into the fire. An acute and anguished sense of loss engulfed her. This was worse than the last time, she thought. She did not think that she could bear it.

Frances got her home with a minimum of fuss. She was not required to talk or to explain, for which she was vaguely grateful. Once home, she went right to her room and got into bed. She lay awake the whole night, dry-eyed, staring sightlessly at the crack in the ceiling over her head.

It was Frances, remembering the desolate look in her daughter's eyes, who cried.

Two days later, Niall MacIan was married in the Episcopalian church on the High Street. The prince stood up for him and Van was maid of honor for Jean. The wedding had turned into a major occasion in the capital's social life and the church was crowded as Jean, on the arm of Lochiel, came down the aisle to join Niall at the altar.

Van listened to her brother's voice as he made his responses, and tried desperately to keep her composure. This might have been she and Edward, she thought. If only...

It had made it so much worse, seeing him again, and yet she was not sorry she had done it. That one brief moment in his arms, the sight of him... It had been worth it.

Niall was putting the ring on Jean's finger now. Her small face gazed up at him adoringly.

Van had laughed at Jean once, she thought, for looking at Niall as if he were a god. She must look at Edward in the same way. The thought brought the faintest of smiles to her mouth. Her feeling for Edward had not changed, nor, apparently, had his for her.

Don't do anything rash, he had said. Like what? Like marry Alan? Her eyes went to the stalwart redheaded figure who was seated just across from her. She could not marry Alan, not when she felt as she did about another man. Next to her she saw her mother suddenly bow her head, and she reached over to put a comforting hand over Frances' as it lay on the front of the bench.

Frances sat on the front bench between Alasdair and Van and remembered her own wedding so many years ago. They had been married in her parish church. It was the first and the only time Alasdair had ever set foot in England, that time when he came south to wed her and take her away. Her parents, having given in, had tried to put a good face on it, but it was clear they did not like either Alasdair or the marriage.

"You have chosen him, Frances." Her mother's words to her on the eve of her wedding came back to her now over the years. "You have gone against everyone who loves you, who is concerned for you, and have chosen this man. Remember that when things are hard. He is what you wanted."

At the altar Niall was putting a ring on Jean's finger.

Some things had been hard for her, Frances thought as she watched her son at the altar. It had not been easy adjusting to life in the Highlands. She had grieved that she could bear only two children. But through it all, there had always been Alasdair's love to help and to support her.

She had lived so much more intensely, so much more passionately than ever she had dreamed possible. Her family had thought her buried in the Highlands, but her life had been so much richer than most. It was because of Alasdair, because of the bright flame in him, that her own life had been so vital. She looked at his hand, resting lightly on the bench in front of him. Alasdair... proud, courageous, generous, ruthless, obstinate, passionate. Alasdair.

Pain caught suddenly at her heart and she bowed her head to hide her face. Next to her Van reached out and put a comforting hand over hers.

CHAPTER 17

All the MacIans went to spend the evening at Lochiel's, tactfully leaving the newly married couple alone. There was no time for a traditional honeymoon. In two days' time they were leaving for England.

It was a strange feeling for Niall as he went up the stairs toward the bedroom where his young wife was waiting for him. Niall had had his first sexual experience when he was even younger than Jean, sixteen in fact. He had come to Edinburgh with his father, but Alasdair had been busy and had left his son to entertain himself. Niall had been looking at the gravestones in Greyfriars churchyard when he met Alison Scott. She was fifteen years older than he, a widow, and she had taken him home with her that afternoon.

Alison was uncomplicatedly sexual and their relationship had always been based on a pure and mutual lust. There had been women in France, as well, all of them as frankly bent on pleasure as he. But now it was Jeannie waiting for him in that big bed in his room. He couldn't come at her like a bull. He would hurt and frighten her. He drew a deep, steadying breath and opened the door.

She was sitting up against the pillows, her soft hair falling like rain down her back. She wore a white nightdress with little pearl buttons. He went over to stand beside the bed. He was still dressed in shirt and kilt, although the shirt was open at the throat. He sat down next to her.

"Jeannie," he said. He touched the delicate line of her cheek. She was so beautiful.

She gazed up at him. Her eyes had dilated into great brown peat pools full of reflected light from the fire. She rested her cheek against his fingers.

"Are you afraid?" he asked softly.

"Of you?" She shook her head. "No." But he thought he saw a flicker in her eyes.

He cradled her face in his hands. "I think it hurts the first time."

"That's all right." Her voice was a small whisper. He leaned forward to kiss her and her arms came up around his neck.

His young male body was instantly aroused, but he disciplined himself sternly. He held her and touched her and caressed her and all the time he fought a battle with himself. When finally he had her naked beneath him he thought it had been worth it. She was reaching for him, wanting him, and there was no trace at all of fear.

He entered slowly, carefully, but, inevitably, he had to hurt her. When she cried out and tried to pull away, he held her with hard hands and gave his straining body its own release.

"I'm sorry, m'eudail," he said contritely as they lay together. "I'm sorry I hurt you. But it couldn't be helped."

She nestled against him in a trusting movement that caused his heart to swell. "I love you," she whispered. He kissed the top of her hair. "I love you too."

Later in the evening Van returned home with her mother, father, and Alan. As she moved toward the stairs to go to her bedroom, Alan said, "Van, may I talk to you for a moment?"

She was worn out emotionally from the last few days, from seeing Edward again, from the wedding. She opened her mouth to plead fatigue, looked into Alan's face, and said instead, "Of course. If it is all right with you, Father?"

"I think we may safely leave you alone with Alan," Alasdair replied gravely. He and her mother went on up the stairs and Van sat down on the hard sofa and folded her hands in her lap. She could not avoid this interview forever. It would be best to get it over with now, she thought.

The room was cold. There was no fire in the chimney. Alan's face was shadowed; his gold-flecked green eyes watched her steadily. "Before you left for England I asked you a question," he began. "You said we would talk about it when you returned." He smiled a little wryly. "You have been back for some time, Van, but we have had very little opportunity to discuss anything between us."