As High as the Heavens (20 page)

Ah, but he was sweet. He smelled of fresh air, of pine
and musky man. He tasted of rich, potent malt whiskey.
And the feel of him, his hands gentle upon her, his body
so tall and strong and proud ...

He kissed her long and deeply this time, his tenderness and care bringing tears to Heather's eyes. Somehow,
even in her moments of greatest anger with him, she
had always known Duncan was capable of such ardent
response, such exquisite sensitivity. He was a man who
lived life with a deep passion, whether it was in his love
of learning or in the living of dreams he committed to
with a wholehearted zeal. Indeed, he was, in every way,
the man-the only man-to whom Heather could ever
give her heart.

Beware ... beware of giving yer love to a man.

Like the sharp, swift thrust of a sword, her mother's
dying words slashed across Heather's memory, leaving
in their wake a deep, lancing pain. She pulled back from
Duncan, resting her forehead on his chest. Her breath
came in sharp little gasps.

Her greatest fear had finally found form and substance in the braw, bonny Duncan Mackenzie. She teetered on
the precipice of surrendering her heart to a man, a gift
she had vowed never to give, even if and when she might
finally be forced to wed.

Behind her, a door opened. Light flooded briefly onto
the yard separating them from the stone building and the
ceilidh. Momentarily, the bright sounds of fiddle music
and happy voices filled the air.

"Heather? My lady, are ye there?"

It was Beth. Faithful, ever-vigilant Beth, who wouldn't
allow her mistress to compromise herself or foolishly
follow her heart.

Releasing her hold on Duncan's clothing, Heather
leaned back against the strong barrier of his arm. "Let
me go," she whispered. "We've been outside alone overlong, and well ye know it."

Duncan chuckled softly, but released her. "It'll never
be overlong for me, lass. Spending time alone with ye,
I mean."

Heather gathered up her skirts. "I must go."

"Wait." He grabbed her arm. "A moment more."

"And what more is there to say?"

"What we shared here ... I'm not sorry nor will I
apologize for it."

"Be that as it may, it can't happen again."

"Indeed? Pray, why not?"

The first faint tendrils of exasperation threaded
through Heather. Must he be so thick-headed? Why must
she always be the one forced to cause pain?

"Heather? Answer me, lass. Are ye out there?"

Concern tightened Beth's voice now. Heather
winced.

"Aye, I'm here," she called. "A moment and I'll join
ye.

She turned back to Duncan. "We can't settle what is
between us this night, Duncan Mackenzie, and well ye
know it."

"Then ye're asking for a time to sort it all out, is that
it?"

He wouldn't be deterred. "Aye." Heather sighed. "Now,
I must rejoin Beth."

His hand fell from her arm. "Aye, so ye must." Duncan
stepped back. "Go. Rejoin Beth."

For an instant longer Heather hesitated, then turned
on her heel and strode away. Duncan, however, apparently wasn't content to let things be. The sound of his
deep voice, full of male pride and a most irritating edge
of triumph, followed Heather as she walked away.

"I enjoyed kissing ye, sweet lass," he called after her.
"Even in yer inexperience, ye show a surprising gift for
pleasing a man. Aye," he repeated huskily. "A surprising
gift indeed."

Duncan leaned forward expectantly. "Well, what say
ye, lass? Do I finally have ye in checkmate?"

"A moment. A moment." Heather waved impatiently
for silence. "Let me think."

She stared hard at the chessboard, considering myriad
possible moves that might free her from checkmate.
None, however, would work. Duncan, for the first time since she had taught him the game almost a month ago,
had finally beaten her and beaten her soundly.

The thought irritated Heather. She had always prided
herself on being an excellent chess player. Still, in but a
few weeks, a novice, a Highlander no less, had mastered
the game well enough to defeat her. True, Duncan had
a quick mind and an even quicker facility for games of
strategy. It was true, as well, since first being introduced
to the game, he had used every free moment not taken
up by work or his other lessons to hone his skills.

Tavish, little more than a rank beginner, in less than
two days had been the first to fall. Next Duncan had set
his sights on Beth, who had learned years ago under
Heather's tutelage. She had held out a while longer, refusing to admit defeat until the end of the first week.

But to have Duncan beat her so soon ...

With a sigh of exasperation, Heather tipped over her
king. "Aye, Duncan," she admitted with a rueful shake
of her head, "ye do indeed have me in checkmate. I
concede."

He grinned broadly. "Och, but I do love this game!"
He paused, a look of eagerness in his eyes. "Do ye think
we could play once more, afore bedtime?"

"It's before, not afore, Duncan," Heather corrected
automatically. "And, nay, I don't think another game
would be wise so late in the eve. This one took over two
hours as it was. And now that ye've a taste for victory,"
she added with a smile to soften her refusal, "I won't go
so easy on ye.

He threw back his head and gave a shout of laughter. "Ye won't go so easy on me, will ye? And when, Heather
Gordon, have ye ever gone easy on me?"

"Tonight, mayhap?" she asked with a saucy grin, which
quickly faded when she caught Fiona scowling at them
from her chair at the hearth.

"Ye don't like to concede defeat in aught, do ye,
lass?"

Though he still smiled, suddenly the look in Duncan's
eyes had gone intense, thoughtful. Heather swallowed
hard, clamping down on the sudden tightening in her
throat and fluttering in her stomach. When he looked at
her like that, it was almost more than she could bear.

It was a look that pierced clear through to her soul.
A look of such sharp intelligence, of such insight and
tender understanding. It made her want to cry. It made
her want to stand up, walk around the table, and beg him
to take her in his arms, just as he had done that night at
the ceilidh, now two weeks past. And it made her want
to surrender, body and soul, to him.

But she couldn't-and wouldn't-not ever again. She
had given her word to Fiona. She had given her word to
her father. Indeed, she had given her word, in a sense,
to Charlie Seton, even if their betrothal had been arranged long-distance and signed and sealed only by their
fathers.

She knew Duncan had soon noted her renewed reserve
after their return from the ceilidh. Noted it and, bless him
for it, wisely chosen not to press the issue. But then he
hadn't needed to. Every time he looked at her, every time
their eyes met or they inadvertently touched during the course of his lessons, they both knew, both remembered.
Indeed, there was no need for words.

Nay, Heather thought in silent response to Duncan's
question, recalling her thoughts back to the present, I
don't like to admit defeat. But ye, in so many ways, have
tempted me like I've never been tempted before. Each time
I rebuild my defenses against ye, ye find some chink in
my walls and undermine me yet again. And, each time,
just because I don't like to admit defeat and because I've
made my commitments to others, I lift myself up and
fight anew.

I only pray my strength holds out, even as ye wait patiently, like some wolf circling its prey.

Heather forced a smile. "Nay, I don't like to lose," she
finally said in reply. "But who's saying ye're the master
of me, just because ye won a single game?"

"Not I." Duncan chuckled. "Indeed, lass, I wouldn't
ever wish to be yer master. Where would the fun be in
that?"

She began to gather up the chess pieces and place them
in their velvet-lined box. "Ah, then I understand ye at last,
Duncan Mackenzie. Ye like the chase and lose interest
when the doe falls beneath yer relentless pursuit."

"Nay, nay, lass." Duncan reached across the board and
clasped her fingers around one of the ivory chess pieces.
"That's not what I meant at all. I only meant to say I like
yer spirit. Ye stir me-in mind as much as in body. And
I verra much enjoy being with ye. Verra, verra much."

She shouldn't let his words touch her, nor allow him
to rouse anew the memories of his kiss at the ceilidh. But
he did, nonetheless. Indeed, everything about Duncan Mackenzie touched her, and the more she came to know
him, the more enamored she became with him.

"Ye're too kind to say such things," she murmured,
pulling her hand from beneath his. Embarrassed, confused, Heather couldn't quite meet Duncan's gaze. "And
I'm verra glad ye enjoy being with me." She looked up,
once more in control. "It makes our lessons and time
together so much more pleasant, wouldn't ye say?"

His gaze narrowed. His jaw hardened. "That isn't what
I meant, and well ye know it."

Heather finished putting away the last chess piece,
closed the box, and stacked it atop the chessboard. "Be
that as it may, it's the only way I care to interpret yer
words." She stood. "It's best ye place no further meaning
on them, either."

Duncan leaned back in his chair, his glance now intent,
wary. "If ye think so easily to wipe away-"

His voice faded as he fought to regain control. The
fire in his eyes smoldered for an instant longer, then was
banked. Finally, Duncan exhaled a deep breath.

"Have it yer way then. It doesn't matter at any rate.
What will be, will be."

Once again, irritation filled Heather. The man was
far too sure of himself, even if she had foolishly given
him reason.

"Will it now?"

Once more, the fire in his eyes flamed hot and bright.
Once more, he took up the challenge.

"Aye, it will. Just ye wait and see."

For the next five days, a storm swallowed the Kintail
region. It snowed heavily. And the times the winds finally
died and the snow ceased to fall, the land lay enveloped
in a murky, ice-coated bleakness. The men ventured out
only to feed and water the animals and bring in firewood. The rest of the time they spent indoors, warmly
ensconced in the snug cottage.

Duncan continued to make great progress with his
lessons. His thick Highland brogue all but disappeared.
With each passing day, his speech became more refined.
When it became apparent his mastery of chess surpassed
his twin brother's, Heather began teaching Duncan backgammon, as well as several of Colin Stewart's favorite
card games. There was, however, only so much time
they could spend on lessons before both wearied of the
effort it took to concentrate on anything other than their
growing attraction for each other.

By the morning of the sixth day, everyone was edgy
with the weather-enforced confinement. Luckily, at dawn
the sun broke through the thick clouds and a warming
wind began to blow through the glen. By mid-morn,
though still cold, it was pleasant enough to venture outside. Eager for some stimulating physical activity, Duncan insisted that Heather, Tavish, and Beth join him for
a game of curling on the frozen pond.

Skeptically, Heather eyed the four wheat straw brooms
and a large, round, flat-bottomed rock Duncan had
gathered and placed near the door. "I don't think I wish
to-

"Posh, lass," Duncan immediately silenced her. "It'll
do ye a world of good to get out in the fresh air and use something more than yer brain for a change. Why,
ye're growing positively pallid, cooped up inside all the
time."

"I keep myself well entertained," Heather said in her
own defense, feeling rather miffed anyone should intimate she was lazy or afraid of a little work. "Besides yer
lessons and my reading, I'm learning to weave and am
even trying my hand at a bit of cooking. I'd hardly say
I don't get any exercise."

"Aye, aye," Duncan agreed laughingly. "Ye're most certainly not a slothful woman. The outdoors, though, is a
fine teacher in its own right. And a mind not periodically
stimulated by fresh air and exercise is a mind that can't
function at its best."