Highland Jewel (Highland Brides) Page 15

  She stared at him in silence, her eyes large and dark now, so that Leith felt he could read her thoughts, could sense her uncertainty.

  “Save them as surely as ye saved Gregor MacGowan, Rose,” Leith pleaded softly. “For he would have lost his life had it na been for thee. Could ye na care as much for me people?”

  “It is not my responsibility,” she countered, closing her eyes to the faint, eerie images that haunted her thoughts. Images of a dark-haired young woman, laughing in the heather with a handsome lad. Images of a babe with red-gold hair and deep-blue eyes. “It is not,” she repeated, more to the images than to Leith.

  “Neither was MacGowan yer responsibility,” reminded Leith. “Yet ye risked yer life for his.”

  “Do not do this to me!” she pleaded, angry at life for demanding things she did not want to give, at him for caring so deeply for his clan, but not for her. “I cannot pretend to be what I am not. ‘Twould be a sin.”

  “A far greater sin to let me kinsmen die,” he argued. “For surely the Lord curses death more loudly than lies. Surely He would frown on—”

  “Would you swear not to touch me?” she asked suddenly.

  Leith’s brows quirked in question.

  “If I lied,” she said. “If I proclaimed myself to be Fiona MacAulay, would you keep yourself from me and return me to England when I had done what I could?”

  He shook his head once, knowing his own weaknesses well. “I am but a man, wee Rose.”

  “Damn your Scotsman’s blood!” she stormed, rounding the fire suddenly to grip his bandages again. “You think I do not know you are only a man? In truth you are barely that!” She jerked one hand free to sweep it upward and down to indicate his near-nudity, his barbaric, well-honed form. “You beg me to help your people when you yourself are not willing to keep one simple vow?”

  He shook his head slowly, staring into her beautiful face.

  No. The truth was he could not keep a vow not to touch her, for it would be beyond his ability. “‘Twould seem ye are much stronger than I, wee nun,” he murmured.

  She drew herself away slightly, letting her gaze skim down the mounded muscles of his chest to the hard width of his rugged legs. “And don’t you forget it,” she said. “I am the stronger and therefore I will set the rules.”

  Leith’s heart beat a faster pace as he held his breath and waited.

  “I will not marry you,” she vowed. “But I will say that I am Fiona MacAulay. I will play the part for one year.”

  “Na!” He drew her hands from his chest, his face as hard as his grip. “Ye will marry me in truth.”

  “I say no!” she argued, her expression resolute. “And you cannot change my course. I will not marry you, Laird Leith Forbes, so you had best be grateful for what I offer. And what I offer is this. I will declare myself to be Fiona MacAulay. We will say I am indeed the daughter of the old lord but that my mother would not allow my return to Scotland.”

  “And how will ye answer the questions Ian will ask about the dame?”

  Rose paused, scowling in thought. “I will say she died when I was but a babe. I remember naught of her, for the sisters raised me from my youth.”

  “How is it then that ye have learned to handle a horse so well?” questioned Leith. “That ye swear like a warrior and—”

  “I do not swear.”

  He did not laugh but shook his head once. “Me people are na fools, lass. They would find ye out.”

  “Then what do you suggest?” she asked roughly.

  “That ye believed the Gunthers were yer parents. That they nurtured ye until their deaths, when ye went to the abbey to mourn their loss and promise yerself to our Creator.”

  “Who would believe such a story?” Rose asked.

  “Who would na?” he countered.

  “I forget that they are Scots and therefore—”

  “Dunna say it, wee lass,” he threatened softly. “For I hold me heritage very dear.”

  She raised her chin. “I will agree to the story,” she said finally, “if you will agree not to try to bed me again.”

  “I willna promise that,” he said with flat finality.

  “You hypocrite. You beg for my understanding and say that my lies are well worth the gain, but when you must bend the least from your set course, you refuse.” She stood slowly, pulling the plaid about her like a royal mantle. “Remember this then, when your people fall by their own stupidity. You could have prevented it.” She turned, but already he clasped her arm to pull her back.

  “The lies abound, wee Rose. At the least we could make the marriage good and true.”

  For one aching second she was lost in his eyes. There was something in their depths, some hidden need that could not be satisfied by the great strength of his hands. Her chest ached with the thought, but her soul hurt with the knowledge that he only used her. And though it seemed he meant to use her for the good of others—still the thought was bitter.

  She drew away slowly, employing all her strength. “You have heard my offer, Scotsman. I will play the part for one full year—but only if you promise not to… ” She swallowed hard, trying to find a word for what she longed to do with him. “If you will not… defile me.”

  She looked like some earthy goddess from centuries past, wrapped as she was in his simple plaid, her blazing hair a halo to attest to her glory. There was a pride in her that nothing could shake, he thought, and suddenly he realized he wanted her like none before.

  “Defile ye,” he whispered gently, touching a curling tress where it rested on the plaid upon her breast. “‘Tis a strange word for what we could share.”

  She did not draw back, though she felt her breath cram in her chest. “Will you agree?”

  He shook his head once, not dropping his gaze as he looked down into her bottomless eyes. “Though auld MacAulay promised peace if I but produce his daughter, he is a wily bastard to be sure, and I canna trust him. Therefore, we shall need to be handfasted at the least, and Ian himself proclaim us to be duly bonded in order to convince both tribes of our good faith.”

  Rose opened her mouth to speak but he raised his hand, pressing one finger gently to her lips. “Twill only add a wee bit to the lie, lass. And though I am but a man, this I promise. Should ye agree to the farce, I will never force ye. Never will I insist that ye be mine in truth. Only if ye beg will I give ye the pleasure I long to give.”

  Her lips parted numbly. He had only to touch her and she already felt the weakness. What would cause her to think she could resist him? She drew a breath, preparing to shake her head, but he grinned.

  “It shouldna be such a hard task, lass. For as ye said, ye are the one with the strength of character. Surely ye willna be over-tempted by such a barbarian as meself.”

  She drew herself up, already angered by his roguish grin. “You are right.” She gritted her teeth and pursed her lips, her watchwords once again set firmly in her head.

  Hold her tongue, fast, and pray.

  True, they had failed miserably in the past but she had only to remain strong for twelve months.

  Just twelve and then, when no child was born to them, she would be returned to her homeland.

  “It is a bargain then, Scotsman,” she said stiffly.

  “Aye.” He gripped her hand in a hard clasp to seal their vows. “A bargain,” he agreed solemnly, but in his eyes was the spark of a smile—the hope of things to come.

  Chapter 14

  The loch was as dark as night and still at this early hour, its midnight-blue waters smooth and glassy.

  Rose stared at the silent lake, pulling the red-toned tartan of the MacAulays more closely about her shoulders, though it was not cold. “What do you call this place?” she asked.

  “It is called the Great Glen,” Leith answered, watching her carefully.

  “The lake,” she corrected, seeming mesmerized by the eerie feelings here. “What do you call the lake?”

  His careful perusal of her went unseen for she
had eyes only for the wide, still expanse of fresh water. “It is called Loch Ness, wee lass. Why do ye ask?”

  Rose shook her head. “No reason,” she said faintly, and after a moment more, turned to urge the black mare away. But a movement caught her eye and for the flash of an instant she sensed a great, looming presence in the lake. “God’s teeth!” she gasped, twisting abruptly about.

  There was a flutter of water, causing ripple upon ripple that reached in wider and wider circles toward the shore—but little else, save perhaps a splotch of dark at the very center of the wavering ripples. Nothing but that and the spine-tingling sense of something’s eerie passing. Small hairs raised along Rose’s arms in shivering response. “What was it?” she whispered, her gaze still fixed on that spot where the dark shadow had been. But Leith only shook his head.

  “I dunna ken, lass. Some say ‘tis the monster of the loch.” He shrugged. “The waters of Loch Ness are deep and chill and could hide many mysteries. Though …” He canted his head slightly, his eyes dark in the early-morning light. “Ye would ken the answer better than I, wee Rose, for ‘tis said that the creature of the loch most oft appears to those gifted with the sight.”

  “The sight?” Again her words were whispered, but she turned her gaze now, no less frightened and wide, to his face.

  “Aye, lass,” he said softly. “But ye’ve na need to fear, for we in the Highlands have naught but respect for those so gifted.” He turned the white stallion northward, calling over his shoulder, “Yer sight will make our tale all the more believable, for many MacAulays are blessed with it. Owen’s sister is said to see much that others canna, and even the auld MacAulay sometimes knows that which canna be explained.”

  Rose watched him go, and then, feeling one last shiver, turned to gaze momentarily into the dark, bottomless waters. Ripples again, but nothing else. “God’s knees,” she whispered, and, turning the mare, hurried after the Scotsman.

  “We will spend the night here,” Leith said, drawing Beinn to a halt in the shade of a gnarled pine.

  Rose sighed and stretched, weary from the endless hours in the saddle and grateful for the reprieve, though the sun was farther up than it usually was when they stopped for the night.

  It had been a rare day of azure skies and unusual warmth. The land was rugged all around, graced with endless, windswept slopes, bodies of crystal water, and sheltered, timbered glens.

  It was in just such a glen where they now dismounted. Rose placed her knuckles to the small of her back and arched again, trying to draw the ache out. “How far till we reach your home?” she asked, fretting over what was to come, yet eager to have the journey behind her.

  “Our home,” he corrected, taking Maise’s reins from her hand to lead both horses toward a small, nearby lochan. “And we are there.”

  “What?” She all but spat the word. “We are on Forbes’ land?”

  “Aye.” He led their mounts to the water’s edge, letting them drop their muzzles to the clear blue waters.

  “We are there and you did not tell me?” she persisted.

  “Ye didna ask,” he replied, nonplussed as he patted his stallion’s pearly neck.

  Rose pursed her lips, placing her hands to her hips. “You, Scotsman, are a—”

  “Now, lass,” he chided, leaning casually against Beinn’s saddle. “Remember, ye too are Scots now.”

  “I am n—”

  “Aye. Ye are,” he argued, raising a palm to halt her denial. “For ye agreed to play the game and the game begins now. We Scots are na a trusting lot, and me kinsmen may be scouting verra near. We wouldna want them to hear ye deny yer heritage, now, would we, lass?”

  As he said the words, one corner of his fine mouth lifted, as if her predicament gave him great pleasure, and for a brief moment Rose wondered if she might manage to push him into the water if she rushed him.

  From near the horses, Leith watched her watch him. She might not have been Scots in fact, but in spirit… He nearly chuckled aloud, reading her thoughts clearly—seeing her imagine his fall into the water, then watching her turn away as she decided she herself was not ready for the drenching she would probably take with him.

  Ah, yes. In spirit she was Scots.

  Supper had been eaten and the remainder of the food packed away when Leith rose to stretch the kinks from his legs.

  “Best to find sleep early this night, lass,” he said, looking to the north. “Tomorrow may well be a hard day.”

  “Hard?” Rose asked, looking up from her spot near the fire. “We could not possibly ride faster than we did today.”

  “Nay.” He shifted his gaze to he her. “The ride will na be hard. ‘Tis the meeting with the MacAulay that ye may find difficult.”

  “You mean…” Rose jerked to her feet, her eyes wide and stunned, her fists clenched. “My father?” she breathed. “We’ll meet with my father… tomorrow?”

  Leith raised his brows at her. She played the part of the old laird’s lost daughter very well when the mood suited her. “Aye.” He nodded. “Yer father.”

  “W-well… hell!” she sputtered. “Why didn’t you tell me? Let us get to your holdings that I might make myself presentable.”

  Leith was truly taken aback and struggled for a moment to keep the surprise from his face. After all, she had entered into this bargain unwillingly. What now made her so eager for this encounter?

  “That is to say,” she said, wringing her hands, “if I am to play this game, I will play it well. ‘Twould be unseemly for me to meet my lord as I am.”

  His eyes did not leave her. “We willna go to Glen Creag first,” he said pensively, “for I dare na wait longer. Though we are on Forbes land, we are verra close to the MacAulay border. ‘Twill save time to go straight there.”

  “But…” Rose pressed her palms to the gown he had given her some days since. It was a fine garment, and far better than anything Rose had worn in the past, but it had seen hard wear and much rain and hardly looked its best. “I do not mean to be petty, Leith,” she said softly, “but if I am to meet the laird of the clan MacAulay as his daughter, would it not be wise for me to look the part?”

  Look the part? Leith repeated in his mind. He remained silent, still watching her. Her hair was loose again, her small oval face deadly serious and her unearthly violet eyes blazed.

  Never in all his life had he imagined a woman who would look the part of a Scottish laird’s daughter more completely than she, and for one moment he was sorely tempted to take her into his arms and tell her so.

  He clenched his fists, silently cursing himself for his vow of self-control and finally turned to rummage in the large saddlebags that held their possessions.

  Drawing out a parcel, he carried the bundle to her. His gaze met hers in a momentary spark of brown against violet.

  The campsite was quiet and still as their thoughts and desires whispered together in unheard tones.

  From a nearby oak an owl hallooed, its lonesome call breaking the spell.

  Rose drew a deep breath, sucking in her lower lip before shifting her gaze to her feet.

  The small muscle jumped in Leith’s cheek, but he relaxed with a conscious effort and finally spoke. “I have planned hard for this meeting,” he admitted softly. “And in the hopes of finding the auld laird’s daughter alive and with much the same build as her mother before her, I brought this as a gift.” With a sharp, single nod he set the package into her hands. “It is yers now.”

  Again their gazes met—hard, needy. And then without another word he turned and strode to the water’s edge.

  Rose blinked once, then, bending, placed the bundle on the ground. It was wrapped in lightly oiled skin and leather bindings which she drew quickly away. Inside was a linen cloth, and inside that, carefully protected from the elements of hard travel, lay a gown.

  She took it out like a precious jewel, for in truth she had never seen anything so fine. It was forest-green velvet. The skirt and sleeves were slashed and in the folds of
those cuts the fabric was finest yellow silk.

  She drew the dress reverently to her cheek, feeling the rich softness of its nap before she lifted her face.

  Leith had turned and was watching her, his expression solemn and shadowed.

  “It is…” she breathed softly, then hunched her shoulders and shook her head, suddenly remembering who she was. “It is too rich a garment for me,” she said. “For I am sworn to—”

  “Ye are sworn to be Fiona MacAulay,” Leith interrupted, his tone rich and low. “So ye must dress as such.”

  “But…” she began, then stopped, for though her wants might have been evil, his desire to save his clan was not. “Then I thank you, Laird Forbes,” she said. “It is truly beautiful.” She bit her lip again and pressed the bundle self-consciously against her chest. “But ‘tis a far richer gift than I should accept.”

  Again their eyes met in breathless anticipation. Air jammed in Leith’s throat and his palms felt strangely moist. But her eyes were shining with some great emotion and he could not stop his smile.

  “Then mayhap such a rich gift can still my guilt somewhat,” he said, lifting one hand to his chest and hauling up the chain that lay beneath his simple shirt.

  Upon his calloused fingers lay her wooden cross, bound with brass wire and seeming strangely at home as it hung from its humble chain about his broad neck. “Mayhap I could keep this now,” he said softly, not looking at the cross but rather at her wide-eyed face. “Until the year is complete.”

  For the life of her, Rose could think of nothing to say. Words clogged in her mind, tumbling over each other in helpless frenzy.

  There was something about the thought of her simple cross lying hidden and inexplicably secure against the deep strength of his chest that made her feel warm from head to toe.