Highland Scoundrel (Highland Brides) (28 page)

She swallowed, trying to hold back the feelings, but his hand skimmed over her inner thigh and upward. It touched her core. She nearly shrieked with primitive desire, but her long-suffering honor held her at bay. "I canna!" she gasped, and yanked away. Panic roiling within her, and she scrambled to her feet like a hunted hare. But there was nowhere to flee, so she stood on the mattress with her legs spread for flight and her back to the wall.

He rose more slowly, his feet on the floor, the pallet between them as he watched her. His chest expanded and fell with each quick exhalation. His fists were clenched as if he held himself under careful control.

God, he was a masterpiece, a work of art, his shoulders wide, his thighs muscular, and everything in between hard and long and alluring.

What would it hurt to spend this one time in his arms—this one moment before she was wed for eternity—to know passion as she had never known it before and would never know it again? Surely that would be no great sin, she thought, then reprimanded herself for her weakness. She was a MacGowan, the daughter of the Flame and the Rogue, honorable, strong.

"I must not!" she rasped. "I dunna know why this happens when ye are near. Tis as if I am bewitched. But I canna do this. I must marry William. I
will
marry William."

"Why?" he asked, stepping toward her as frustration roared through him.

"Tis...tis the right thing to do," she said.

"The right thing? To marry a man for his position?" God forgive him, but he could not believe she was involved in a plot against the king. She couldn't be! But if she had no designs against the throne, why marry William? The questions tore at him. "The right thing?" he repeated. "To desire me, to long for me, and to marry him?"

"This..." She motioned wildly toward him. "This allure I feel for ye, tis nothing but lust. Tis of little regard."

"Little regard?" He reached for her, but she scampered from the bed to the far side of the room.

"You think these feelings happen every day?"

She straightened her back, like a princess, so beautiful it made his soul ache with longing. “For ye? Aye, I do. Or at the least, every day ye find a rich widow."

"So you think me a womanizer."

"I know about the duchess of Crondell."

"Do you, now?" It did not matter where she had acquired her knowledge of him, for every face he wore was false. Only a very select few knew the truth.

"Aye. I do," she whispered.

He drew a careful breath, wanting with burning intensity to tell her the truth, to share secrets unrevealed, to feel her acceptance wrapped around him like the warmth of a plaid. "Mayhap twas not the carnal relationship you think it," he said carefully.

"Oh? And what might it be instead?" she asked.

"Mayhap the duchess' son was held for ransom. Mayhap I risked my life to save him, to retrieve him from the men who took him, and mayhap she was so grateful that she begged me to allow her to fuss over me for a time, to shower me with gifts out of her fierce gratitude."

"And mayhap I am the queen of Spain," Shona said.

He watched her, wanting nothing more than to pull her into his arms, to convince her of his goodness, but first he'd have to convince himself.

"Is that..." She paused, her words little more than a breath in the silent room, as if she were fighting to hold them back. "Is that what happened?"

She was a laird's haughty daughter. He a foreign bastard, Dugald reminded himself. The truth would not bridge that gap.

"Nay," he said finally. "She was young, rich, and lusty. And always willing."

"Get out!" she rasped.

"So you can marry the sainted William of Atberry?"

"He is a good man," she said.

"You know nothing of him. Nothing but that he's a wealthy duke in line for the throne."

"He saved Kelvin's life," she said.

"But why?" Dugald growled. "That is what I ask myself. Tis not in his character to risk his life for a ragged child he does not even care for."

"Ye know nothing of his character, good or bad."

He was silent for a moment. "I know that with his power and position he could well be king someday, if that were his goal. Is that why you wish to marry him, Shona?"

"Nay!"

"Then why?"

"Because he is a good man."

Dugald ground his teeth in frustration. “A good man? The miller is a good man. The tanner is a good man." He stepped closer, near enough for her to feel the heat of his body. "Mayhap I am a good man."

"He saved Kelvin's life," she whispered.

"And for that you would give him yours?" He wanted to shake her, to kiss her, to hold her forever in his arms. "I cannot even believe that myself. Never will I convince Tremay..." He stopped the word and ground his teeth in frustration.

"What?" she murmured.

"You marry him because you're afraid of me," Dugald whispered, and suddenly he believed it was true. She wasn't a murderess. She was just a woman trying to find her place in the world. A place where she and Kelvin would be safe. "You're afraid of what I make you feel," he said, and reached for her.

"Nay!" she gasped and leapt away. "Get out. Get out, or I'll call my father."

Her voice had risen and her eyes looked wild. Dugald tightened his fists, trying to hold on to his shaky control.

"I swear I'll do it," she said.

"Aye, I will go," Dugald said, forcing out the words. "But know this, Damsel, if you marry him, I will not be able to protect you."

"Protect me? From what?"

From Tremayne. From the politics that threatened her. From everything. "From your own foolishness."

"Get out!" she ordered.

Dugald snatched his tunic over his head and whipped his plaid about his waist. But he paused with his hand on the door latch, finding he could not quite leave her. Not yet. "If you can no longer bear to think of an eternity with a man old enough to have sired you, I assume you will remember where I sleep."

She raised her chin. "I will throw myself from the turrets first."

He raised one brow at her. "And spend eternity in hell for your sins?"

"Twould be hell either way," she said, and he left.

The festivities continued, but Shona could no longer enjoy them. Though the men were still courteous, all had heard the news of her impending marriage and gave way to William's claim.

As for William, he was gentlemanly, attentive, but not cloying.

Before noon there was a piping competition. Stanford played beautifully, his hound dog eyes watching her the whole while. Twas mayhap his soulful attitude that won him the prize.

The nooning meal was a feast of poached salmon, pork tarts, and an assortment of other delicacies, after which the horsemanship competitions began.

On a rolling sward of grassy hills beyond the Gael Burn, tall posts had been set into the earth.

From the top of the posts, wooden arms protruded four feet, and from those arms, lengths of hemp hung to eight feet above the ground.

Shona watched as the horses champed their bits and pranced in place. There were perhaps two dozen mounted men, and the glory of the day made Shona wish that she too were riding, feeling the wind in her face and freedom in her soul. But if she felt the urge, how much more so must her mother.

Shona glanced at Flame, who stood next to her.

"I think ye should compete," Shona said softly.

"Me?" Her mother looked surprised as if such a thought was unheard of. "I am an old, married woman."

"Ye mean ye have no wish to best the men?"

Flanna laughed. "Actually, I have every wish, but your father made me promise I would not. He agreed to remain neutral if I would do the same."

"Methinks he simply does not want the men staring at ye again."

"Let us hope he
is
jealous," Flanna said, but Shona's attention had been captured elsewhere, for just then Dugald rode into view.

The afternoon sun made his hair gleam like a raven's wing as it flowed about his shoulders.

Beneath him his stallion tossed its thick mane and pranced, making them appear to float.

Flanna turned from Dugald to her daughter and felt her heart swell with a fierce pride. But the feelings were painful, for her daughter was not happy. What would happen to this proud child, this diamond, this flame-haired extension of herself? Shona was certainly not too young to be married, and yet... why had she betrothed herself to William? True, both she and Roderic had advised it, but Shona never took their advice. It only made her more determined to follow her own course. Flanna had been certain that her words to the contrary would force Shona to bond with the man called Dugald.

Roderic had said the lad was vain and aloof, but... Flanna's gaze slipped to Dugald's steed. He was a powerful animal, without a doubt, but he was also the homeliest specimen she had ever seen.

Why would a man of Dugald's reputation ride such a beast?

With an effort, Flanna turned to look at William. He sat aboard a glistening bay, laughing with another rider as rings were attached to the ropes on the posts.

William seemed a good enough man. Still... Flanna turned to her daughter again. She had not even blinked, so transfixed was she by Dugald. Pain stabbed Flanna's heart.

"He looks quite splendid," Flanna said softly. Shona nodded. "And he rides well."

"Aye." The word was simple.

"Aye," Flanna said with a sigh. "William will make ye a fine husband."

Shona snapped from her reverie. Her face reddened as she realized her mistake.

They stared at each other. Silence echoed between them. "Ye are sure of your decision, Daughter?"

There was a moment of absolute quiet. "I am sure."

But just at that instant, Dugald turned to glance at them. Even Flanna could feel his gaze, so hard and hot was it. Shona turned. The tension between the two was like a cord of steel, stretched tight, pulling them together.

Flanna drew a deep breath. It had been like that with her and Roderic, and never, not in a thousand lifetimes, would she find a man she could love more. She would not wish less for her only daughter. But what could she do?

"Flanna," Roderic said, but she could not quite pull her gaze from the scene before her.

Roderic, warned by her attention, turned toward Dugald, his brows lowered.

"Nay," Flanna whispered. "Dunna do it, my love."

Roderic turned toward her, his expression haunted.

"Had I listened to
my
father's council, I would not have married
ye."
Love sparked between them. She reached for his hand. "I would not have been whole," she said, and they turned together and left their daughter to her own mistake.

Aboard Eagle, Dugald watched them go. It was as if they were offering her to him, begging him to take her, knowing she did not belong with a man like William of Atberry.

"Riders, gather near the north end of the field," called the master of the games.

The announcement shook Dugald back to reality. What the hell was the matter with him? She was not for him. He should have continued riding alone this morning, investigating the woods, instead of returning here, where he knew he would see her. True, on the morning of the archery contest, he had agreed to compete in the horsemanship exercises also, but he had been insane then, determined to prove himself to Shona in any way possible.

Lucidness had returned since then.

Pulling his gaze from her, Dugald turned his attention to the games. As long as he was here, he would learn what he could, keep low, and think.

Sir Godwin was called to compete first. He rode forward and was given a long wooden shaft.

Bracing it against his hip, he placed his mount behind the line and waited.

In a matter of seconds the master called the start.

The knight spurred his mount. It lunged forward. The first ring was speared on the lance. The second also, but on the third, Godwin's mount veered sideways and he missed the next three rings.

He returned to his comrades looking a bit chagrined. But none improved on his performance until William of Atberry rode onto the field.

It was he that won the match.

Dugald watched as William made his way to Shona's side, felt his heart constrict as William kissed her hand. Mother of God, she was beautiful beyond words, and yet...and yet as Dugald watched her, he could not fail to see the change in her.

She seemed unusually staid, as if her vibrant life had been stilled, and now and then, when her betrothed was not demanding her attention, she would turn her gaze to his. The shock he used to feel at her touch was now present even at the contact of their gazes.

William turned from his conversation with another, stared directly at Dugald, and smiled— almost a pitying smile, as if there had never been any hope that a bastard would win her.

Anger welled up within Dugald. Damn the noble ass for winning her, damn him for his superiority.

Hoping to cool his ire, Dugald tied Eagle in the shade of a copse of elms and fetched himself a mug of ale. But the spirits did little to calm him, for each time he looked up it seemed that William was fondling Shona, brushing his knuckles possessively across her cheek, touching her hair. Dugald tried to pull his attention away, but just then William glanced up and grinned, as if he knew the fire that burned in Dugald's soul.

Mother of God, he ached to wipe that smug expression from the duke's face. An official called the start to a half mile horse race, and suddenly Dugald found himself pulled toward his mount as aggressiveness boiled in his system.

There were a hundred ways a man could accidently die in a horse race, Dugald thought, but as he passed Hadwin, he stopped himself.

What the hell was he thinking? He couldn't kill William of Atberry, accidently or otherwise.

Indeed, Dugald had been most careful to portray himself as an arrogant womanizer in search of a rich bride. Hardly should he be ruining that image by riding this lop-eared horse in a competition he was likely to win whether he liked it or not.

It was time he went to work in earnest. Time he learned the truth instead of allowing his wick to lead him about like a hound on a leash. He would return Eagle to the stable then do some digging, he told himself, but just as he turned, his gaze caught Shona. She stood at the edge of the crowd, her lush mouth pursed, her eyes flat, the fire in them gone.