Claimed by a Scottish Lord (12 page)

―I can walk without aid,‖ she said weakly.

Ignoring her, he lifted her into his arms. ―No doubt you have become accustomed to your own independence, love. But not today.‖

He brought her into the camp and set her down beside the fire. Forced by weakness and the need to sit, she dropped on a dead worm-eaten log, feeling like one of the scaly, tattered lichen she‘d dislodged with her ankle.

He bent and retrieved the tin cup on the fire-warmed stones next to the cooking trout. He pressed the rim to her lips. ―Drink. You will feel better.‖

Pushing the cup away, she turned her head. ―I would beg to differ, my lord. I already feel like a foxed sailor.‖

His mouth crooked. ―A foxed sailor? You mean a drunken jack-tar. Aye. The English cannot hold their spirits.‖

He was teasing though he may as well not have been. He had no great fondness for anything Sassenach. ―Drink. ‘Tis hot willow-bark tea. Breakfast will be ready shortly.‖

Unlike the heated passion of last night that left an indelible tenderness between her legs, his touch remained gentle, and to her, his kindness made a paradox of his absolute disreputableness.

She held the warm cup in her palms and looked over the rim at the willow trees as she sipped. The taste was astringent and bitter and the tea would work to help alleviate pain and swelling in her leg. The bark was obtained in the thin channeled pieces between the slight downy and serrated leaves. He would have had to have gathered the bark earlier and dried it on the rocks.

―Did you learn about willow-bark tea during your time at sea as well?‖

―One learns something about medicine if one wishes to keep his crew alive. But McBain is the expert. I was merely the patient most of the time.‖

She peered down at his back as he bent to slide the fish on the tin plate that went with the cup she held. ―You have been injured?‖

―I have seen my fair share of battle,‖ he said without looking at her. ―A broadside can destroy a man in more ways than you can imagine.‖

She could not imagine standing on the quarterdeck of any ship facing cannon fire. Or giving the order to fire. That he had done so only brought home to her the manner of man she found herself against.

She scraped her finger idly over the cup‘s rim. ―Last night . ‖

He lifted his gaze and the words froze in her throat. She remembered how he had withdrawn from her and spilled his seed outside her body. ―You were careful to see that there would be no child between us . ‖

Even as his expression remained unchanged, he said, ―Nothing is ever certain.‖

Jack was a bastard child, she thought, hoping that Friar Tucker had taken him under his wing until she could somehow return and claim him.

―Do you have children?‖ she asked.

‘Twas a blatantly intimate question, and brought on a bout of self-consciousness. ―No one has come forward to claim me as their father yet, if that is what you are asking.‖

―I could not care less if you have populated the world.‖

He braced his wrist on his knee, amusement in his eyes. ―What of you?‖ he asked after a moment. ―How is it someone of your . not so virginal passions managed to remain untouched for twenty years?‖

She barely swallowed the sip of tea before she coughed. ―No one has ever interested me . in
that
way. And even if I had been interested, I have bigger dreams than to find myself someone‘s wife . ‖ her voice faded.

―A young girl‘s dreams found in the magic of a wishing ring?‖ he asked and her gaze dropped to the ring on his hand. ―Now that I know something about you, I am even more curious by Jack‘s statement when I came upon you in the cemetery. He said you had not made a wish upon this ring.‖

―You know that ‘tis a wishing ring?‖

―The Gypsies sell these at country fairs from Carlisle to Wick. You can buy one for a halfpenny and have more than one wish in the bargain.‖

His mockery insulted her and made her feel foolish. ―Do you believe in magic?‖

Clearly, he was a man who believed in very little and trusted his survival to few. ―Maybe when I was five, when my uncle pulled a coin from my ear.‖

―Then what does it matter what I think the ring is or was to me? ‘Twas probably all twaddle anyway, as you say. I do not believe in fairy tales and I have never cared what faults people find in my traits and appearance. I have never aspired to be a princess.‖

She finished the tea and licked the moisture from her lips with the tip of her tongue before handing the cup back to Roxburghe. The flush on her cheeks deepened as she realized he was watching her in disbelief.

―Sweet Jesu, Rose.‖ He raised his eyes to the heavens and spread his arms. ―Lord, save me from my idiocy before I do something else I will regret.‖

Then on a note of laughter that did not quite reach his eyes he said, ―Do you not see yourself as a man sees you?‖

She swallowed against the tightness in her throat. ―I have not known many men,‖ was all she could think to say. Then with more brevity, ―I find the male species to be much like fleas. Bothersome at best. I avoid them when I can. You have not given me a reason to reform my opinion, sir.‖

He laughed, entirely unaffected by the insult. She wondered if anything she could say would affect him. He was like a tall stone pillar who should have left her feeling cold, not hot and flushed with a restless fever raging in her veins.

She probably did suffer a fever.

―When will we be to Stonehaven?‖ she asked.

―By nightfall,‖ he said.

―Do you plan to keep me chained in the lower bowels of your castle?‖

―Considering your penchant for enjoying basements and crypts, even if I had a castle, which I do not, I wonder why that would scare you.‖ He touched her hair. ―You are more suited to sunlight than darkness. I would chain you in the tower.‖

―Now you are baiting me,‖ she said.

―Am I?‖

He brushed his fingertips across the wild fluttering pulse at the base of her throat, and lifted her face with his palm. For tense seconds, as she stared into his eyes and, dear Lord, at that mouth—curved down just slightly at the corners as if some perplexing quandary lurked just beyond—a shiver rocked her.

She knew he was going to kiss her again, and it was not fear she felt. Her lips already felt thick and hot as if in anticipation.

And then he did kiss her, but not like a man who was hungry with passion like the mating of mouths that left her hovering between terror and bliss. He did not plunder her mouth as he had last night, yet it left her weak all the same. She managed the slightest protest but because he had kissed her or because his mouth left her lips and trailed down the curve of her neck, she didn‘t know.

―What are you doing?‖ she rasped.

―I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing?‖ His thumbs brushed the bottoms of her breasts. ― ‘Tis one thing to be a virgin and another entirely to have never been kissed before last night. Yet, you played the seductress with skill, love.‖

―Me?‖ She pushed him away and he sat back in the grass. ―Why did you kiss me just now?‖

His chest suddenly moved as if with silent laughter. He leaned on his forearms and looked up at her. ―I kissed you because I could,‖ he said.

He was not braced for the fist that struck him on the chin. A whisper of movement that had alerted him just as he glimpsed a facer coming his way. With lightning-quick reflexes, he caught her other hand, which held a rock. His senses had been so ill tuned that it took him that long to realize how far he‘d let down his guard. It took him another breath to realize what had just happened before he had the foresight to wrestle her to the ground.

Rose couldn‘t believe it as her cloak entangled around his limbs. ―Get off me! Bastard!‖

―My God, Rose.‖ For all his fury at that moment, his was a gentler hold than she deserved. ―Tell me you did not just attempt to bash me in the head with that stone.‖

―I have every right to kill you for what you have done to me! You would do the same. Tell me you would not!‖

Glaring into his eyes, she could only wonder whose heroism was being tested more as he held himself against her. ―Do not tempt me to take more of what you already lament losing, Rose. Be thankful I am such a saint.‖

―You are the devil! Do not think that last night will ever happen again.‖

―Ah, so you got what ye wanted from me, did you, love?‖

She stilled beneath him. ―I have no idea what you are speaking—‖

―Look into your soul and ask yourself why you let me go so far. I am a man, Rose,‖ he said softly, a warning now, for he recognized the danger to her, even if she did not. ―An ungodly one at that. You gave me your virtue and I want to know why.‖

She turned her head. ―Would you have preferred that I let you rape me?‖

His eyes narrowed as he wrestled his hands around her fists. ―Do you think last night was remotely close to rape, love?‖

―You
knew
I was an innocent.‖

―Aye, I did. But did you? And I am not talking in the physical sense. Is it some sort of vengeance against your father you seek? His virtuous, convent-raised daughter sullied by a Kerr.‖ His eyes cut into her like shards of glass. ―No doubt ‘twill prove a grave dishonor to the noble Lancaster name when people learn the warden‘s daughter was ravished by a barbaric Scotsman. Your father‘s humiliation would be complete. All prospects for marriage of his aristocratic daughter will be gone and he will send you away. An interesting scenario, if Hereford cares a whit what state you are in when delivered.‖

―Get off me!‖

―Do you really believe you are worth so little? Look at me, Rose.‖

Tears sprang to her eyes. ―Nay!‖

He forced her chin around. ―The more I have been considering the problem you present me, the more I have come to realize that if Hereford thought for one moment you were alive, he would never have stopped looking for you.‖

―If you are implying that he and Friar Tucker are in some kind of unholy alliance . you are wrong. Do not dare defame a good man. Do not
dare
!‖

―You are worth a great deal to your father. Kirkland Park belonged to your mother‘s side of the family. You are your great-grandfather‘s heir, Rose.‖

―Then perhaps Kirkland Park is important enough to my father that I can trade it all to buy my freedom. And perhaps . you are both brigands equally at fault for the events that have transpired. You will probably kill each other and I will be free.‖

Roxburghe sat back, and she pushed away from him, desperate to scramble from his reach. She could feel the stitches tear, but she didn‘t care as she backed away.

―You knew about your inheritance,‖ he said. ―I thought you did not. I thought you should know the truth, Rose.‖

―Did you think your revelation would turn me against the only man I truly love and who has protected me?‖ she said. ―Or is kidnapping and . ‖ she could not say the word
rape
for the very meaning made a lie of what had happened between them last night. ―Is abducting me not enough for you?‖

He unfurled to his height and braced his feet as if he faced a broadside. For a tense second he stood there, then the expression left his face, as if it were so easy to toss away his emotions like much unwanted fodder. ―Even if you are a ‗Fallen Woman,‘ your fortune is still intact. Papa will welcome you with open arms.‖

Then he walked past her and out of the glade.

And she hated herself for not hating him.

Chapter 7

R
uark finished saddling the horse. He leaned on his elbows across the top of the saddle and watched Rose. Wrapped in the cloak, as remote as sunlight, she sat stiffly on a rock staring across the meadow. She‘d been so still for the past half hour, that a family of gray buntings hopped around her feet pecking in the grass as if she were naught but stone.

He should not have said anything to her, he realized. He should not have cared. He should not care now.

Yet, there had been something in her manner when he had told her about her inheritance, the color that darkened her cheekbones, the wariness in her eyes that did not square with her response. Clearly, she loved Tucker. She would defend him against Ruark no matter what the truth was.

Ruark‘s gaze lingered on her sunset-colored hair. He could not be near her without experiencing an array of unfamiliar emotions.

Last night she had awakened in a dream, put her hand on his heart, and he had been momentarily lost. He didn‘t care about the reasons she had turned to him. She may not have even recognized them at first.

He didn‘t care that she had been a virgin.

Last night nothing else had mattered.

A flash of irritation betrayed itself. Hereford‘s daughter, of all women, he groaned, and he lusted like a Lothario, forceful and possessive. Lost in the fire between them. Aye, he burned, even now as his gaze fixed on her profile, her tumble-down hair a contradiction of veiled innocence that framed her face and a mouth that tasted better than the finest Scots‘ whisky.

Now he found himself wanting to protect her the way one safeguarded a fragile treasure that belonged solely to him.

When had she become his responsibility?

The moment she had risked her life to dive into a river rather than come back with him.

Ruark mounted the black and pulled alongside Rose beside the pond. His shadow fell over her and she turned sharply to look up at him. Without a word, he held out his hand, and she stood and faced him. Her hands clutched the edges of her cloak, and his heart thudded at an uneven pace as he awaited her to take his hand. He removed his boot from the tread.

―We have been here long enough,‖ he said.

She laid her small hand in his larger one, lifted her bare foot into the stirrup, and he hoisted her sideways onto his lap, surprising her. Perhaps she had expected him to put her at his back. Readjusting his boot in the tread, he reached around her for the reins. He was not polite enough to keep his body from touching hers as he let his arms brush her breasts, gratified that despite her anger, he could still affect her physically. That despite her silence he was not the only one in torment.