Laird of Ballanclaire (7 page)

“You’re na’ a verra convincing liar, Connie, love. I would na’ take it up as a profession, if I were you.”

Constant wrinkled her brow again. “Lying isn’t a profession.”

“Oh yes, it is. Some people doona’ even ken when they’ve chosen it as one. You would probably know a few if I described them.”

“Who?”

“Oh, I doona’ go by names. I use types. There’s your snobbish types that wed for security or wealth, or perhaps both, but they do it without emotion. You ken any of them?”

Charity
, was her instant thought. She nodded.

“You think they doona’ lie with each and every caress? Each and every kiss? Every intimate gesture they receive and then force themselves to return?”

Constant’s eyes flew wide.
Charity caressed John Becon . . . intimately?
She hadn’t ever thought about it. Everything that Kam had pegged as a romantic in her was shuddering. She nearly gagged. John Becon was older than their father, fat, pompous, had horrible teeth, worse breath, smelled . . . and that was with his clothes on.

“How about the type that goes about pretending to be brave, when they long to run and hide? They’re verra good at that, too. They put on a good front, especially if they are well fortified with spirits. I imagine some of my mob friends fit that category. You ken any of them, Constant?”

She nodded.

“They’re pretty good at lying, would na’ you say? You could actually say they’ve chosen lying as a profession. I bet half doona’ even realize it, because they’re lying to themselves, too.”

“How do you know this?”

“It’s my talent. I can usually spot a liar the moment I meet them, which is why I told you what a terrible one you are. Those turquoise eyes doona’ hide a thing.”

“My eyes are not turquoise,” she replied, although her voice didn’t sound like her.

“What color are they, then? In your opinion, of course.”

“I don’t know . . . blue?”

He tilted his head slightly and considered her. Without once blinking. Constant couldn’t take that much of his undivided attention without it showing somewhere on her body for him to read. She looked down at the boot he was no longer holding.

“You forgot the darker, bluish-green streaks in them,” he said softly.

Her eyes widened. She didn’t dare look up.

“They’re also perfectly clear and honest, and impossible to hide a thing behind.”

Her face was beet red. It had to be if the heat behind her eyes and nose was an indication.

“You should look in the mirror more, love.”

“You shouldn’t use such endearments,” she whispered.

“Probably na’, but it’s too late to change, and I want to give you something to daydream about while you work tomorrow.”

She twisted her hands together to hide the trembling. “Are you dallying with me?” she asked her entwined fingers.

“Na’ yet. But I was definitely considering it.”

“What?” Surprise choked the word. And something else. Something she was avoiding. She couldn’t fancy herself feeling anything for a tarred-and-feathered soldier named Kameron. It was against everything loyal in her. It was dangerous. There wasn’t a soul who knew she was alone all night with a very handsome, very virile, and very exposed man. It was also thrilling. Exciting. Tantalizing. She trembled. Stilled. “But . . . why?” she asked.

“I’m beginning to suspect the reason behind this fellow’s obstinacy in na’ snatching you up the moment you were old enough. I’m hoping to jolt some sense into him without having to meet him and actually knock it into him.”

Constant’s eyes were huge as she raised them to him again. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“Because the only other way to gain his attention is to pursue you myself. There’s naught like a bit of jealousy to make a man’s heart pump harder, get his interest piqued and his sense of possessiveness aroused.”

“Surely . . . you jest.”

“Nae. I doona’. I just will na’ have the opportunity. I’m a soldier, remember? Your Thomas is probably a member of the little colonial militia that’s causing all the trouble. I canna’ just waltz into one of your barn-raising affairs with you on my arm . . . although it is a thought.”

Constant had to shut her eyes or he’d be able to read her response. She very nearly lost control. Arriving at any function with such a handsome man would be more than she could envision. It was going to cause her some trouble every time she thought of it.

“All of which brings me back to why I’m making you daydream about me. It serves my purpose at present.”

Constant narrowed her eyes and regarded him. He was holding himself up with his elbows, his upper body resting on the log, his well-developed lower back outlined by her apron. He had his head tipped sideways to speak to her as she sat near his right shoulder. He was easily the best-looking man she’d ever seen. Once he was well and standing beside her, he was probably so much man that she’d faint, and she had never done that in her life.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“If you constantly find your thoughts on me, I’ll ken I’ve succeeded.”

“At what?”

“Flirting with you, of course. A good dose should teach you what to expect. And what to do. And then you’ll be able to use it on this Thomas fellow. You can make him think about you all day, just like I’m making you think about me. You’ll tell me if it works?”

“I haven’t even seen Thomas for over a month,” she replied.

“That is na’ what I meant. Try harder, Constant.”

Kameron had a devastating smile, filling the gap between his lips with perfectly spaced, white teeth. Constant suppressed her own answering smile with difficulty. She’d never had such a conversation with another person before in her life. He made every nerve ending tingle, until even her scalp itched. He made her throat alternate between tight constriction and blubbering uselessness. He sent her from pale shock to heated blushes. She already knew she’d be thinking about him every minute of the entire day.

“I think . . . I’d better go,” she said, finally.

“You can do the same thing to your Thomas. I promise.”

“What thing?”

“What you’re feeling. We can make Thomas go through the same emotions.”

“I never said I felt anything,” she replied.

“Those beautiful turquoise eyes do. Run along, love. You probably have to be up at dawn, or before. That gives you about three hours of sleep. And mind you keep from wasting any of it dreaming.”

“I won’t,” she replied and got to her feet with the same sort of stiffness that was in her voice. She gathered the empty bowl that had held his sup and wrapped it back up. She avoided looking anywhere near him, although it wasn’t easy. She was winding the wick back into the oil in her lantern when he spoke again.

“Constant?”

“Yes?” she answered, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the change in light. Kameron hadn’t been accurate, either. She had maybe one hour before the sun was up.

“You said you brought a blanket?”

“Yes.”

“Would you put it over me afore you go?”

She tightened her jaw and favored him with the look she usually gave Charity. It only worked because she couldn’t actually see him. “Now?”

“It’s fairly cold, of a sudden. I fancy I ken why, but I’ll leave it unvoiced. I’ve given you enough to think about already.”

He didn’t even mention how she was going to feel spreading a blanket over his semi-nakedness, by touch alone.

Despite what she’d thought might happen, Constant found the day passed in a blur of activity. Henry was even helpful to her, especially when doing outside chores such as chopping the wood and bringing the cows in for milking. He didn’t once chide her over her name, either. There were no comments about her being in “constant trouble,” or what a “constant problem” she was, or even what a “constant source of aggravation” she was. Constant didn’t stop to question it. She couldn’t. She didn’t even notice when he was there or when he wasn’t.

She hadn’t got more than an hour of sleep, and yet felt perfectly refreshed. She surprised their mother more than once with her industriousness, and for once there was no undercurrent of reprimand in her mother’s remarks. Constant smiled through every chore. She baked, cooked, swept, made beds, and handled dishes. She even bade Charity and her new daughter a good morn, and a good afternoon later when she took up her sister’s tray.

She was aware of only one thing, and it seemed to grow with a hum inside of her, until her hands couldn’t seem to keep up. Through the entire day, every thought was of golden eyes set in the most handsome face, crowned by such a glorious length of white-blond hair, it undoubtedly got him more than a few second glances. She was running through her immense series of chores for a reason. She was hastening toward the night and Kam. She could hardly wait to talk with him again, and feel the anticipatory reaction he told her was flirting. And she longed to feel his skin beneath her fingers.

She also longed to reveal more of him. If his back was so gloriously muscled and vast, wouldn’t the front of him be even better? She guessed he’d probably have the same golden fur on his chest that he’d had covering his arms. He wasn’t going to keep it. She was in charge of the shaving, wasn’t she? Her lips twisted and she had to duck her head in embarrassment at her own thoughts. If his arms were that muscular and strong, wouldn’t his chest be even more so?

Constant stilled her hands in the washing tub full of supper dishes, lost in thought. She rubbed her hands over the hard surface of a tankard, running her thumbs along the ridges and indentations the silversmith had hammered into it. She wondered if Kam’s chest would feel as hard to the touch. Instinctively she knew it would, although it would be warm and alive under her fingers.

She actually felt her fingers tingling with the thought before dipping the vessel into the cold rinse water to soothe the feeling away. She snickered at her own thoughts and checked the round, slightly distorted image of her own reflection in the tankard’s side. Constant had long, thick, brown hair. It was always worn close under her cap, but wisps of it were curling about her face and eyes—eyes that didn’t look the least bit plain blue.

The humming sensation intensified. Such a strange emotion didn’t seem to be a bad thing at all. It made her day fly by, her chores almost nonexistent, and any missing sleep became little more than an afterthought. Every moment felt like a waste of time, until she could be with him.

Kameron
. She said his name in her thoughts for the thousandth time.
Kameron. Great, golden-eyed Kameron . . . what?
Constant stilled as she realized she didn’t even know his last name. Then she shrugged. It hardly mattered. She probably shouldn’t know it. It was safer. There wasn’t a future involved with any of this. She knew it. He knew it.

But nothing stopped the humming feeling. Her entire body felt as though it was vibrating as sundown grew closer. The commonsensible Constant told herself she was a fool and a simpleton. The dreamy-eyed romantic in her knew she was foolish, and didn’t care.

Kameron had raised her awareness of him to such a degree it was almost frightening, if she thought of it. So she didn’t. She shrugged off any negative thoughts, closed her eyes, and saw him so clearly, she was surprised when she opened her eyes to find the kitchen wall staring back at her.

She knew the man named Kam was off-limits. She knew he was going to be the enemy. She knew he was teaching her the art of flirtation so she could use it on Thomas Esterbrook, although she was having difficulty bringing Thomas’s face to mind. She knew everyone would be horrified at what she was imagining, and yet it made the entire day more sunny and bright than a late October day had any right to be.

She wondered if such secret thoughts made her a sinner. She’d had exactly three secret nights to know him, and already she wondered such a thing? She was in trouble if the answer was affirmative, because she had no plans to stop thinking about Kam anytime soon. There would be time enough for any regrets after he got better and disappeared.

Constant dried the dishes, in a reflective mood, then she shrugged the feeling off. She wasn’t going to regret a moment of time with him. She was going to commit every bit of it to memory, and wasting time over the dishes wasn’t going to get her any more moments.

Constant’s senses were heightened as she sponged off in the room she shared with Stream. She knew Stream slept; she was overtired from all the fuss in the house. She’d never been strong, and the spindly body she’d been born into wasn’t up to such things as newborns. Constant smiled at her sister’s sleeping frame.

She toyed with wearing her night rail before closing her eyes against such sinful thoughts. She was tending to an invalid, not going to an assignation. In truth, except for a comment Charity had once made in jest, Constant didn’t even know what an assignation was. All she knew was their mother had chided Charity over such lustful thoughts.

Constant returned to the kitchen and ladled gravy over Kameron’s feast of turkey pot pie and wondered if what she’d been feeling all day was lust. If it was, it was obvious why lust was such a problem. Her body felt different, especially her breasts, and she’d just grown into the size of them. She knew their purpose; breasts were to feed her as-yet-unborn children—although Charity didn’t look like she was enjoying the chore both times that Constant had interrupted her.

That is the only purpose, isn’t it
?

She was still mulling it as she made her way to the barn and rolled her skirts beneath her apron tie in preparation for the climb into the loft, a pail of water in her free hand. Tonight was a cloud-filled night, promising a hint of snow. It was colder in the loft than she remembered, too. Constant eyed the open window with a frown before opening her apron and putting the pail down. She should have had the sense to bring horse blankets up with her. She couldn’t keep purloining from the linen cabinet, especially since it was closing in on winter and every blanket was in use, but there were good, stout horse blankets right below her. One would be sure to fit across the open window. Constant shook her head and climbed back down to fetch one.

It was a good thing she hadn’t taken all the tar and feathers from him yet, because it was probably helping to keep him warm. Constant climbed back to the loft and put the blanket against the window and shoved horseshoe nails into the upper corners, pushing them into the window frame with ease. It covered the opening, but didn’t let in much light. She’d just knelt to light her oil lamp when she heard his groan. Her hand stopped.

“Kameron?” she whispered.

“Here.”

His voice sounded strange. Rough. Her hand trembled and she had trouble with the wick. She let it flare brightly for a bit, catching fire, before winding the wick back down into the oil, dimming it. It was strange: here she was prolonging the moment that she’d been rushing toward all day. Constant swiveled her head and narrowed her eyes to find him, and then went to her knees with a jolt beside him.

There was a tint of blood on his honey-encrusted back and it had reached the apron, staining it a brownish color.

“Sweet heaven, what happened to you?”

He groaned again in reply. He was leaning over his log, exactly as she’d left him, except the blanket she’d given him was down around his lower legs.

“Did someone find you?”

“Nae,” he replied.

“Then . . . what?”

“I turned over.” His voice was deeper than usual, and he still spoke into the straw.

Constant stared for a moment, then clucked her tongue. “Why would you do such a fool thing as that?”

“I promised I’d put some weight on my back.”

“You promised to try.”

“Well, I tried. I failed.”

Constant frowned. If the honey-herb salve had been working, he might have undone it. She pulled the pail over and dipped a rag.

“This might hurt, I’m afraid,” she said before putting the dampened cloth on his back.

He flinched. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be. You’ve undone all my work. I only hope it doesn’t scar.”

The packed honey brought some scabbing with it. She watched fresh blood fill the stripes on his back. She was afraid he could hear the sympathetic tears in her voice.

“It was already going to scar, Constant, love.” His voice was gentle.

“Not if I can help it,” she replied, and set her jaw.

“Why?” He swiveled his head, using his shoulders, which made the blood seepage worse. Constant put the cloth onto him and held it there.

“You’ve got to lie still. I can’t stop the bleeding otherwise. Whatever possessed you to do such a thing without my help?”

She had to look away from his face if she wanted to keep her voice steady. Lines of pain were etched on his forehead and cheeks.

“I should na’ be here. I’m causing undue trouble for you. I’ve put you in a dangerous position. Compromising. If it’s discovered that you’ve harbored a young, unmarried gent, it will na’ go well. I ken how strict you colonists are. I ken the rules. By having you attend me . . . without anyone else present . . . I’ve placed you at risk. I canna’ stay here much longer. And that’s why I tried.”

“It’s been three days, Kameron. You can’t rush Mother Nature,” she replied softly.

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “And . . . I wanted you to be proud of me.”

Constant’s hands trembled atop his back. She had all the honey mixture wiped off and just sat there, holding the cloth in place. She was afraid she’d heard him wrong, yet knew that she hadn’t.

“I don’t . . . know how to answer to such a thing,” she finally answered, feeling as tongue-tied and awkward as before.

“With as much reserve as possible, I suppose. Damn me! I should na’ have been so lax! I should have seen this coming. I should have done a hundred things different.”

“Nobody can heal in three days.”

“Nae. Having this done to me in the first place. I’m nae a spring pup, still wet behind the ears. I should have seen it coming and avoided it.”

“Oh, that.”

Constant lifted the cloth. The damage might not be as bad as she’d thought. The wounds from his lashing had been knitting well. There was a puckering of pink skin about the edges, although he’d disturbed scabs by moving about as he had. She tipped the honey jar and drizzled honey across the skin again.

“So . . . did you think about me today?” he asked without looking her way.

Her fingers lost feeling and she nearly dropped the jar on him. The same sensitivity was happening to her breasts again, too. Constant caught her lower lip in her teeth and sucked on it.

“A bit,” she finally answered.

“I thought about you continuously. That is na’ a good thing.”

If daydreaming about him had put her in an untouchable realm of fantasy, finding out he’d been doing the same jolted her into the present with a rush. Suddenly the loft was very defined and focused, no matter where she put her gaze. Constant didn’t have a prayer of holding on to the jar, and watched with unblinking eyes as it thudded onto the straw beside her.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said.

The apron was filthy with dried blood, and Constant looked at it as if seeing it for the first time. “I’m going to have to get you something different to wear,” she said finally.

“True enough. That would be an excellent place to start.”

“Start what?”

“Saving us from this tomfoolery.”

“What tomfoolery?” she questioned.

“You look in a mirror yet?” he asked.

“No, but I did look in the side of a tankard.”

He shook his head. She watched the white-blond, lanky strands of hair graze his shoulders. “Na’ good enough. ’Tis distorted and confusing. You need to look in a real mirror. Then you would na’ have to ask questions a simpleton could answer.”

“You’re being very rude for someone who still needs tar and feathers removed, I would say,” she replied.

“Good. That’s an improvement.”

“To what?”

She didn’t understand one thing. Constant rocked back onto her heels and considered him.

“About this covering for me. You have access to material? A hank of cloth? It does na’ even have to be trousers. I’ll fashion a
feileadh-breacan.
”

“A what?”

“Highland wear. It’ll be hell to don properly, but it should suffice, even if I do shock every colonist I run across.”

“How will you get to your garrison if you do that?”

“Bright lass. As always. You have trousers then?”

“I’m afraid not. Even my father is smaller than I,” she replied.

“Oh. I’m certain that’s enormous.”

There was a strangely snide tone in his voice. She stared.

“Not . . . exactly enormous. But I am large. One of the reasons Thomas doesn’t offer for me is because I’m bigger than he is.”

“The fellow’s a dwarf.”

“He is not! He simply hasn’t finished growing yet.”

“Well, at least you still defend him. That’s more than I dared hope.”

“I don’t understand you at all, Kameron.”

“I have no excuse to offer, Constant,” he replied. “Other than the obvious. I’m used to a certain amount of feminine attention, I’m locked in a loft with a verra pretty girl, and I’m still verra much a male. With the cursed needs that accompany all of that. You’ll have to pardon me, I’m afraid. Either that, or hit me with something.”