Carnal Gift (12 page)
“You’re welcome.”
She walked to the hearth, stirred something that smelled delicious. “Have you had anything since breakfast?” He watched her hips sway as she walked, felt the lure of her femininity even from across the room. “No.” “Sit.” She motioned to the rough-hewn table at the center of the room.
Muirin fought not to smile. He was a big man and graceful out of doors. But inside the tiny cottage, he moved awkwardly as if he felt out of place or nervous. He sat, placed his big, work-roughened hands on his knees. “Muirin, I’ve something to say, and you might not like it.”
She ladled soup into a bowl, placed it before him with a spoon, sat. She had a feeling she knew what was coming. “Speak your piece, Fionn.”
She saw his gaze fall to the soup, but he held back. “I know you don’t want to move back with your family, but I think you ought to reconsider. The
iarla
might come back.”
iarla
might come back.”
It was as she suspected. She felt a spark of irritation.
“I’ll not leave my home.”
“Muir—“
“I’ll hear no more of it.” She crossed her arms. She’d left for a reason, and nothing would make her go back. She’d take the accursed iarla and his threats over the drunken lust of her own father any day. “So be it.” He dug into the soup, chewed as if the conversation were over.
“So be what?”
“If you won’t leave, then I’ll have to stay here. In the cowshed.”
She stood, hands on her hips. “Now wait just a minute, Master Ui Maelsechnaill!”
“Fionn.” He took another bite, smiled. “If you think you’re moving into my cowshed,
Fionn,
you’re dead wrong.” She couldn’t stand to think of him out there in the cold and wet. He’d done so much for her already.
Fionn,
you’re dead wrong.” She couldn’t stand to think of him out there in the cold and wet. He’d done so much for her already.
Fionn stood, forced her to look up at him. “You know what that man is capable of. He has no soul, no conscience. I heard what he said to you.”
“And so did I. But I won’t have you stayin’ in the cowshed.”
“Confound it, Muir—“
“Not another word! If you want to play the hero and watch over us, you’ll have to sleep by the hearth. I can’t have you shiverin’ all night and scarin’ my cows with your chatterin’ teeth!”
It was his turn to look surprised.
She met his gaze, defied him to argue with her.
His gaze softened. He looked at her as if she were something precious, his blue eyes brimming with concern. “People will tittle.”
“Let them titde away. You and I will know the truth.” The warmth in his blue eyes made her pulse race. “I would never do anything to dishonor you, Muirln.” “I know. That’s why you’re welcome to sleep inside, Fionn.”
Jamie slipped his shirt over his head, grimaced at the pain in his chest and shoulder as he moved his left arm into the sleeve
.
Damn!
.
Damn!
He cursed his weakness, cursed the entire situation. He should have been in London for a fortnight by now. Instead, he’d allowed himself to be pulled off course by a bit of skirt with long dark hair and big blue eyes. He’d nearly lost his life and had gravely imperiled his mission. He’d have been smarter simply to leave her to her fate. She was not his problem.
Even as the thought formed in his mind, he rejected it. It was at least partly his fault she was in this predicament, which made her his problem. Even had that not been the case, he would not have been able to walk way, to turn his back and leave her at Sheff’s mercy. He remembered the look of panic on her face as she’d entered the dining room, the look of anticipation, excitement on Sheff s face. She was an innocent, Sheff a predator. No, he could not have turned his back on her, mission or no mission.
He pulled the shirt down, shook out the lace cuffs. It felt good to be clean again. He’d made good use of the basin of warm water Brighid had left for him. She had removed his stitches this morning, and he’d finally had the chance to shave, to wash his hair, to wipe the remnants of illness from his body with soap and water. He smiled despite himself as he remembered the way she had fretted as she’d pulled the stitches out, afraid she was hurting him. But he had scarce noticed the discomfort. Instead he’d had to fight the urge to touch her, to lift her chin and taste those lips of hers again. When she had finished, she had poured his water, told him to take his time, left him in privacy. Where had she gone? Perhaps she was outside reading that book of hers. What did it matter? He cared not.
He tucked the shirt into his breeches, buttoned them. She had obviously done her best to wash the bloodstains out of the linen, but a faint beige tinge showed where blood had soaked through. His damask waistcoat and frock were ruined.
He sat in a chair, slipped into his stockings, began to work the buckles at his knees. It had taken some effort, but last night he’d managed to persuade Brighid to take the bed and leave the comer behind the table to him. She had refused to yield until he was able to get out of bed without help, as getting up from the floor would be a great deal more difficult.
Brighid was damnably stubborn. He hadn’t seen that side of her the first night he’d met her. But she had been terrified, had feared—and had barely escaped—the worst. He supposed that under the circumstances she had shown a great deal of pluck. Most women would likely have dissolved into tearful hysterics, and understandably so, but she hadn’t wept at all. He had to admire her for that. And for the resolve with which she’d tended him during his illness. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d survived, but he knew it had everything to do with her determination to keep him alive—and help her brother avoid a murder charge.
He supposed he should be satisfied that she wanted him alive, regardless of the reason. Did he truly expect her to feel gratitude? He was nothing more than a
Sasanach
in her eyes, an enemy with whom she’d made a temporary truce. She was likely looking forward to the day he was well enough to return to England. Then she would do her best to forget him.
Sasanach
in her eyes, an enemy with whom she’d made a temporary truce. She was likely looking forward to the day he was well enough to return to England. Then she would do her best to forget him.
But things weren’t going to go quite the way she imagined. He would leave her life soon enough, but first he had to know she was beyond Shelf’s reach. He took up for his greatcoat and gloves, slipped them on, then opened the door and stepped outside for the first time. He wanted to see to Hermes. The stallion needed regular care and had likely grown restless and unkempt from loneliness and neglect. Though Rhuaidhri insisted he was taking good care of the horse, Jamie was certain the hotheaded boy knew little about such things. The day was chill and overcast, the clouds a heavy blanket that held no warmth. A cold wind blew through his damp hair. It was exhilarating. He’d been cooped up far too long in the smoke-filled cottage. Though he still felt a bit dizzy, he was strong enough to walk around a bit and breathe fresh air again.
He had expected to find Brighid out here, her nose in the book she read when her work was done and she thought no one was watching. But she was nowhere to be seen.
A short distance from the cottage stood a ramshackle cowshed. Eager to see how Hermes fared, he walked to the shed, entered—the door had long since fallen from its hinges—and allowed his eyes to adjust. Fresh straw covered the ground, a good sign the stallion had received at least some attention. In front of Jamie were three empty stalls, likely built for milk cows, as their gates were relatively low. A partition divided the shed into two halves. He could make out Hermes’s sleek form against the far wall on the other side of the partition and started toward the stallion.
He took two steps, froze. In the straw before Hermes’s stall sat a wooden tub. In the tub sat Brighid as naked as the day she’d been born. Her clothes lay in a heap in the straw. Her eyes closed as she massaged soap into her locks, her breasts half out of the water. He could smell the soap’s lavender scent from where he stood. Her legs were bent, two pink knees poking up above the water. Steam rose into the air around her, a shimmering, translucent curtain.
Jamie watched, transfixed. Some part of him was dimly aware it was wrong for him to stand there, but his feet had grown roots. Her wet shoulders glistened in the weak light that leaked through cracks between the stones. The rosy peaks of her breasts stood like tight buds in the cold air. He could almost feel them against his palms, longed to touch them, to cup them, mold them with his hands. Heat rushed to his loins. In an instant, he was hard, painfully rigid.
Suddenly she disappeared below the water, then rose up again, her neck arched, her breasts thrust upward, water sliding down her skin, over the dark river of her hair. She wiped her eyes.
As if awakened from a dream, Jamie cleared his throat.
Her head snapped around. She gasped, sank deeper into the tub, peered at him through eyes wide with surprise. “Had I known the delight to be had out here, I would not have performed my ablutions alone inside.” He didn’t know why he said it. It wasn’t the apology that had been on the tip of his tongue.
Brighid felt heat rising in her cheeks, and with it, anger.
“Wh-what are you doing here?”
“I came to check on Hermes. I can see he’s had a better time of it than I.” But he wasn’t looking at the horse, which stamped and snorted a greeting in its stall. He was looking at her, devouring her with his eyes. His gaze scorched her, soaked through her wet skin, to the blood that surged beneath.
She stared back, her breathing strangely rapid. He had shaved, the smooth planes of his face scandalously handsome. His hair, tied with a black ribbon at his nape, was sail wet. No longer a man fighting for his life, he looked healthy, strong, alive. She struggled to find her tongue, to form words, strangely bereft of speech. “Go. Now.” “Aye.” But he didn’t move. His gaze captured hers, and his eyes, usually hard and cold, had warmed to the deep green of the summer.
He’d already stolen her tongue. The heat of his gaze stole her breath.
“Isn’t this cozy?”
For the second time, she gasped, ducked. “Fionn!” Jamie muttered something under his breath, faced her brother.
“I’m not surprised to find you together. I’ve a question that needs an answer.” He took a white bundle out from under his arm, shook it out.
She felt the blood drain from her face.
The bloodstained sheet.
Chapter Ten
“I can see by your face you recognize this.” Fionn threw the sheet in the straw. “Oh, Brighid!”
Brighid heard the suppressed rage in her brother’s voice. His gaze held hers, his eyes brimming with anger and, worse, grief. He thought she’d lied to him. “It’s not what you think!”
“No? Tell me then!”
She was so eager to allay Fionn’s fears, to assure him she hadn’t lied, her words came out in a jumble. “ I . . . that is . . . Jamie—“
She stopped, cut off by a chuckle.
Jamie was laughing. He was laughing! How could he laugh? There was nothing at all funny about this. Did he not realize how angry her brother was, how much shame she felt?
“Oh, Sheff, you bastard. What scheme have you devised?” His gaze met Fionn’s. He didn’t look the least bit worried. “I assume this came from the earl?” “Aye, dropped in the dirt at my feet by the earl himself.” Fionn’s jaw was tense, his body rigid with anger. “He said things I won’t repeat here, things I bloody well hope are not true. For your sake,
Sasanach
.”
Sasanach
.”
Jamie leaned against one of the support beams, crossed his arms over his chest as if he hadn’t a worry in the world. “I did not steal your sister’s innocence. Presuming that really is the sheet from my bed, it’s my blood.” Fionn’s brows shot up. “Your blood?”
“Aye, mine. I had hoped to fool the earl into believing your sister had been… taken. I had hoped he would think me so besotted, he would lose interest in her and not pursue us.”
Fionn’s face darkened with rage. “Did you not think how that might blemish her name?”
“Aye. She spoke quite eloquently on that subject herself.” He smiled ruefully. “I felt preserving her reputation was less important than preserving her virtue .. . and her life.”
The air was heavy with uncomfortable silence, and Brighid could feel the tension that stretched between the two men. Fionn was the first to break eye contact. He shifted his gaze to hers, his eyes revealing both doubt and hope.
“Brighid, look me in the eyes, and tell me whether this man speaks truly.”
She met her brother’s gaze unflinching. “I am a maid still, Fionn. That is his blood.”
Her brother’s blue eyes searched hers for truth. She watched his doubt fade to regret, watched the anger drain from him.
“T’is sorry I am for doubtin’ you, Brighid. I’ve never known you to lie.” He shifted uncomfortably. His gaze fell to the straw. “Forgive me.”
“What else could you have done, Fionn? There is naught to forgive.” Brighid wanted to throw her arms around her brother to comfort him, then suddenly remembered she was naked in her bath. “Now if the two of you would please
get out!”
get out!”
Fionn looked mortified, nodded. “Aye.”
“Sorry for the intrusion.” Jamie bowed slightly, but he didn’t look one bit sorry. A suppressed smile tugged at his lips. His gaze met hers once more. Then he turned on his heels and was gone, Fionn behind him. She sighed with relief, lay back in the water, her head against the back of the tub, her eyes closed. Her arms crossed protectively over her breasts.
Sweet Mary and Joseph!
“I’ll not berate you, Englishman. You spared my sister a terrible ordeal, and, as I was not there, I cannot judge you for how you did it. Sometimes fate deals a strange hand.”
Sweet Mary and Joseph!
“I’ll not berate you, Englishman. You spared my sister a terrible ordeal, and, as I was not there, I cannot judge you for how you did it. Sometimes fate deals a strange hand.”
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