Enraptured (22 page)

“Here we are. This is where the Munros lie.”

The small, simple plot was shaded by two trees, one a dark, twisting yew that reminded Violet of the tree that spread over Meg's cottage. Huge and gnarled, it stood in
place of the fourth wall of the little cemetery. The other three sides were built of stones, rustic chunks of gray, spotted with green, dark yellow, and black lichen. A wild rosebush grew just outside the wall, low and scrubby and devoid of leaves, leaving only its sharp thorns. A dead tree, far smaller than the yew, stood a few feet beyond another of the walls. Ivy wrapped around its trunk and into the lower branches, dripping down over a few of the graves like a green waterfall. Some of the graves had wooden boards at their heads, weather-beaten, the inscriptions long worn away. A few were adorned with cairns, and those toward the farthest edge had headstones, simply but carefully engraved.

“How many are there? How far back do they go?” Violet's voice was hushed and a little awed even though she was used to age and burials. Something about this spot, hidden away among the trees, guarded by the yew, was timeless and compelling.

“We dinna know. The dates are nearly all gone. The oldest ones I can read go back over a hundred years. Some, I think, had only marks, not words. I've no idea how many there are without markers. Or how many more lie on the other side of the tree.”

Violet gazed at the giant yew. A hole near the bottom of the trunk opened up into the nearly hollowed-out interior. Yet still the tree lived. “The tree of eternity.”

“My grandmother used to call it the goddess tree.”

“I've heard that as well. It figures in a good deal of the ancient lore.” Violet strolled among the markers, looking at the names and inscriptions. She felt, as she often did at excavations, as if she were standing in history. But here, the progression and continuity, the age-old tree, seemed to
place her in the flow of time itself. Violet thought of the bond of the Munro women with the land. She would like to meet Coll's sister. She wished she could have met his mother.

Violet glanced over at Coll. He was standing in front of the newest marker, gazing down at it. His mother, she thought, a clutch in her chest. She wanted to go to him and take his hand, though she was too sensible to do it. Violet had always considered herself a woman of intellect, not heart. But with Coll her emotions were always near the surface. She didn't understand what she felt for him. Indeed, she did not want to reason it out; she had no desire to dwell in that part of herself for long.

Coll raised his head and smiled when his eyes fell on her. Her heart lifted within her. Danger was here, she knew, and the worst of it was that she yearned for it. Violet turned away.

“I don't know how we can find anything here.” She sent an encompassing look around. “ 'Tis not a large area, but we can't just start digging.”

She wound her way between the graves to the rough, twisted tree and bent down to look inside the large hole.

Coll followed her. “I thought the same. Is there anything in the hollow?”

“No.” Violet sighed and pulled back. “It seemed a fitting place, but, even secluded as it is, it's too exposed.” She cast a frustrated look around the small graveyard. “I have no idea where to start.”

“I canna imagine Faye digging into one of these graves to bury the gold.”

Violet nodded. It was a macabre image. A cold wind
tugged at her cloak, and Violet shivered, reaching up to pull her hood forward. Coll glanced at the sky.

“Rain's coming. We'd best go back.”

Violet nodded, and they started down the hill. The wind off the loch grew stronger, the dark clouds massing above them, casting a deeper gray over the landscape. Violet wrapped her cloak around her, but she could not keep the wind from blowing the hood back from her face and whipping at her hair. They had not yet reached the path to Duncally when the first fat drops of rain plopped on their heads.

Coll grabbed her wrist and broke into a trot. Surprised, Violet ran with him as he cut through the cottage garden and flung open the low wooden door of Meg's cottage. She hurried through the door and Coll shoved it closed behind them. Violet shivered as she glanced around her.

The place was dark and small, but wonderfully aromatic. Tall cabinets covered most of the walls. An open doorway on the right led off into an even smaller room. A low rocking chair was beside the fireplace, and a table and two chairs were near the door. Directly across the room from them, only partly concealed by a folding wooden screen, stood a high, soft bed covered in a homey quilt.

Violet went still, her mouth dry. It was absurd, but suddenly it seemed as if the bed were the only thing in the house. She glanced up at Coll and saw that he, too, was staring at the bed.

He turned aside abruptly. “I'll just, um, light the fire.” He strode away, his movements jerky, and knelt at the hearth, laying out bricks of peat and kindling.

Violet turned to examine the rest of the room. Pots, jars, and boxes filled the cabinets, and the variety of scents issued
from them, mingling in an indistinguishable but compelling way. It smelled somehow comforting. Her hair was straggling down all about her head, torn from its moorings by the wind. With no hope of tucking it back into place, she pulled the rest of the hairpins from it.

The fire caught at last, licking up and consuming the twigs. Coll rose to his feet in a smooth motion and lit the oil lamp on the mantel. Drawn by the light and warmth, Violet walked toward the hearth, combing her fingers through her tangled hair. Coll turned and went still. His eyes remained fastened on her as she joined him in front of the fire.

“Your hair . . .”

Embarrassed, Violet separated the thick mass into three strands and began to weave them into a single, fat braid. “I know, 'tis a frightful mess, but I'll—”

“No.” He reached out to stay her hand. “Leave it.” His fingers drifted from her hand to her hair. He pulled back sharply. “That is, I mean, no need to worry about it.” He cleared his throat.

Violet moved closer to the hearth, and Coll took a quick step back, his leg coming up sharply against the rocking chair.

“Oh, for heaven's sake, Coll!” Violet snapped, goaded beyond politeness. “I'm not going to ravish you!”

“What?” He stared at her blankly.

“I realize how you regard me.”

“You do?”

“It's obvious. You pulled your hand back from me last night as if I'd laid a hot poker on it. You cannot bear to be near me. I understand; I'm not an idiot. You are afraid I will push myself upon you, maneuver you into a romantic
entanglement. But I assure you I won't. I have never flung myself at a man, and I would not dream of placing you in such an uncomfortable position.”

“
That
is what you think?” Color flared in his cheeks and he loomed over her, his body taut as a bowstring. “That I stay away from you because I dinna want you?”

“Of course! What else am I—”

“Good God, Violet!” He grabbed her arms. “For an intelligent woman, you are remarkably hen-witted.” His eyes blazed. “You fill my mind. You plague my dreams. I canna sleep or eat. All I can think about is you.” Heat poured from him, more searing than the flames that danced in the fireplace. “Your scent. Your hair. Your skin. Could you not see? I pulled away from you because when you touched me, I thought I would die from wanting you.”

Fingers digging into her arms, Coll jerked her to him, and his mouth came down to seize hers.

C
oll's arms went around her,
crushing Violet to him as his mouth consumed hers, fierce with longing. She could scarcely breathe, and she did not care. All that mattered was the feel of his hard male body pressing into her. His lips, his tongue, his heat. Violet trembled, digging her fingers into his jacket. The days of confusion and uncertainty fell away, leaving only the passion that throbbed in her.

She wanted him. She was not experienced enough to even be sure what she desired, but she knew it pulsed through her, seeking Coll and the matching storm inside him. She had not been mistaken. What she had seen in his eyes was this—a need and ferocity that drowned out all else.

Violet curled her fingers into his jacket and clung to him as he kissed her again and again. A primitive hunger was in him, a barely leashed wildness that stirred her, and she moaned softly as his hands swept down her body and over her buttocks, fingers digging in as he pressed her hips hard
against him. She could feel the hard length of him pushing against her.

Coll let out a low groan that could have been torment or pleasure and pulled her down to the floor with him. Laying her back against the rug, he covered her with his body, supporting his weight on his elbows, one leg thrown across hers. He sank his fingers into her hair, holding her head still as he ravaged her with kisses. Violet moved her hips against him instinctively, and he shuddered.

His mouth moved down her neck as his hand roamed over her body, caressing her breasts and stomach. Impatiently he fumbled at the buttons that fastened her dress, opening it to his questing hand. Slipping his fingers beneath the edge of her chemise, he caressed her naked breast. The feel of his touch on her sensitive skin excited her almost past bearing, and Violet twisted beneath him, hooking one leg around his.

Coll shoved down the top of her chemise and his mouth followed the path his fingers had taken, kissing the soft, quivering flesh. His tongue moved inward in delicate circles that brought a gasp of pleasure from her, until it centered on the hard point of her nipple. He took her into his mouth, pulling with a soft, insistent suction that drew hot, liquid pleasure from her depths.

Violet tangled her fingers in his hair, the silken feel of the strands mingling with the myriad other sensations tumbling through her. Coll mumbled something incoherent against her skin as his mouth worked its way across her chest. Anticipation of what was to come coiled inside her, building to the final little fillip of satisfaction as his lips closed on her other nipple. She could not hold back a soft moan, and at the sound, his skin flared with heat.

Roughly he shoved up the skirts of her gown, and his hand slipped beneath them, traveling up her leg until his fingers found her hot, damp center. Violet jerked in surprise at the intimate touch. She realized, embarrassed, that she was flooded with moisture. She had a moment's worry about what he would think, but Coll only made a noise deep in his throat, almost a purr, and his fingers stroked over her, making her forget all else.

Passion swirled and coiled, and Violet ached for more. She wished the obstructions of their clothes were gone. She wanted to see him, touch his naked skin, but the thick fabric of his jacket thwarted her. Shoving her hand beneath the jacket, she caressed his chest, but still his shirt lay between her fingers and what she desired. Finding the top tie of his shirt, she tugged it open, and then at last her fingertips were on his smooth, bare skin, searingly hot.

Coll went up on his knees, yanking his jacket off and flinging it aside. He pulled the ends of his shirt from his trousers and started to whip it off over his head, but his gaze went to Violet lying there before him, and he stopped abruptly. The only sound was his breath pumping in and out of his lungs as he gazed at her.

“Christ!” He released the ends of his shirt with a groan and sat back on his heels. “What am I doing?” Coll shoved his hands into his hair, pressing his fingertips hard against his scalp.

“Coll?” Violet stared at him blankly, her mind befogged with passion, her body thrumming.

“Get dressed.” His voice grated like iron. “I will
not
do this to you.”

She was too astounded to move or think. Then anger
flooded up, and she shot to her feet. She tugged her bodice back into place, fingers shaking as she fastened the buttons.

“Again? Now I am abhorrent to you once more?” Humiliation and frustration churned in her, and she had to fight to hold back tears. She would not let him see her cry.

“Abhorrent! Don't be a fool. Of course not! Surely you realize that I want you.” He, too, surged to his feet and faced her, every line of his body taut with frustration and anger. “You could not have thought I would pull you down and . . . and all but
consume
you if I did not desire you?”

“Then why!” She clenched her fists, her arms tight at her sides. “Why do you keep kissing me, then pushing me away?”

“Do you think I am the sort of man to treat a woman lightly? To take you without a thought to your honor?”

“My honor?” She gaped at him. “That is what's important? What about
me
? Did you give any thought to that?”

“Of course! Who the devil else would I be thinking of? If all I had thought about was me, I'd be buried so deep ins—” He broke off and swung away, drawing a deep breath. “Well, I wouldn't be standing here talking with you.”