Stuart, Elizabeth (34 page)

Campbell
shot Francis a triumphant look. "I've no intention of leaving yet, and I'd
certainly not depart without seeing you, my dear. No, I've been with your father."

His
eyes traveled slowly from the wide skirts of her peach, silk gown to rest
admiringly on the swell of her breasts above the gown's fashionably squared
neckline. "Glenkennon described the beauty of his rose gardens and
recommended I see them under your guidance."

He
took her hand and lifted it to his lips. "Would you care to show me about,
Anne? I don't believe I've ever seen the gardens in their glory."

Anne
turned her back pointedly on Francis and gave Sir Percy an adoring look.
"I should enjoy that, my lord."

Campbell
placed her hand in the crook of his arm. "I'm sure you'll excuse us,
MacLean," he said brusquely.

Francis
made a half bow. "Of course, m'lord. The roses are indeed lovely today.
Just take care you don't end in a thorn bush."

Anne
breathed a sigh of relief as Campbell led her outside the hall into the warm
sunlight. Francis had put her into such confusion she scarcely knew what she
felt anymore. The sight of him, the familiar feel of his hand upon hers
reawakened memories of both pleasure and pain that made it difficult to think
clearly.

She
despised him; she was sure she did. When she recalled that final interview at
Camereigh, she felt the hate rising inside her with a physical ache. Yet there
were so many other times, so many other memories associated with the man. What
if he were telling the truth? What if there had been more behind his words that
last morning?

"Why
so thoughtful, Anne? It's a lovely day and you should be wearing a smile
instead of that frown," Campbell said, squeezing her arm.

She
threw him a guilty look, searching her mind for an excuse for her pensive mood.
"I beg pardon, m'lord. I fear I'm poor company this afternoon, but I'm
trying to remember if I've seen to everything." She smiled and shook her
head. "It's difficult running a household so full of Father's guests. I'm
constantly afraid of giving offense. I should never forgive myself if I
embarrassed Father."

Campbell
smiled and drew her closer. "You've little to fear, Anne. Nothing you do
could offend any of us here. You've everyone at Ranleigh in the palm of your
hand— including myself."

Anne
shifted away nervously at his intimate words and the sudden pressure of his
hand on hers. Remembering the reason for their walk, she halted abruptly and
began pointing out the beauty of the summer flowers, now in full bloom along
the carefully manicured paths.

Taking
his cue from her, Campbell spoke in a lighter vein, describing her guests in
such a droll manner Anne began to enjoy herself in spite of her preoccupation
with Francis. Sir Percy was an amusing companion when he chose to please, she
thought, smiling at his comments. During his frequent visits, she had lost her
fear of him, scarcely remembering she'd not liked him at the outset.

They
strolled along between high yew hedges, finally reaching the end of the
pleasant walk. The small area was carefully contrived to provide a narrow
corner for privacy. They paused beside a stone bench, but instead of turning to
retrace their steps, Percy moved closer, his hand slipping about her waist,
deftly turning her into his arms. Before she could protest, his mouth lowered
to hers, his tongue slipping easily between her numb lips. He greedily explored
the moist cavern of her mouth, one hand moving down her back to press her stiff
body against the eager heat of his.

For
a moment, shock held Anne motionless. Campbell wouldn't treat her like this—he
was her father's friend! She pushed wildly against his chest, attempting to
twist away from his unwelcome kiss, but her struggle seemed to inflame him the
more. His mouth slanted across hers, smothering her frightened protest.

After
what seemed like forever, he lifted his head and she was free to breathe. He
stared down at her, his dark eyes moving hungrily over her face, dropping to
the white expanse of her throat and heaving breasts.

"My
lord, please!" she gasped, thoroughly frightened by the look on his face
as he continued to hold her crushed against him. "Let me go... let me go
or I'll scream," she threatened breathlessly. "I swear it!"

She
pushed against his chest with all her strength, and he released her so suddenly
she stumbled, almost losing her balance. Instinctively she backed away, poised
like a wild animal ready to flee if he made the slightest move in her
direction.

"Anne,
is it possible your father hasn't spoken to you?" Campbell asked, his eyes
narrowing in anger at her obvious aversion. "You were so eager to walk out
with me. I thought surely he'd—"

He
broke off, and drew a deep breath, his sharp features smoothing back into a deliberate
smile. "I'm terribly sorry, my dear; I didn't mean to frighten you. But
you're so lovely, you steal a man's reason." He held out his hand with
another smile. "Believe me, Anne. I've no intention of harming you—far
otherwise, if the truth be known."

Her
breathing began to slow. "You surprised me," she said softly. "I
didn't expect... I mean you shouldn't—"

"I've
frightened you half to death when I'd no intention of doing so," Percy put
in smoothly. "I beg your pardon again. I've never blundered so foolishly."
He smiled ingratiatingly. "I hope I've not ruined our friendship."

"No...
no of course not," she said, glancing longingly up the path toward
Ranleigh. She wanted to be away from this hidden place and the smiling, bearded
man who blocked her way.

His
gaze followed hers. "Come, my dear. I'll take you inside and fetch you a
glass of wine, and we'll not speak of this again." He reached for her arm,
but she moved away, unwilling to have him touch her again. His lips tightened
angrily, but he bowed with a flourish. "After you, then," he said
pleasantly.

She
set out up the stone walk, holding herself to a ladylike pace though she longed
to gather up her skirts and flee. Campbell moved beside her, repeating snatches
of court gossip for her amusement as if nothing out of the ordinary had
happened. When he finally left her in the hall, she could almost believe she
had imagined the whole unpleasant scene.

She
was now more confused than ever. Campbell had hinted at marriage, had
practically told her Glenkennon knew of his suit. All this she had expected,
but the thought of becoming Campbell's wife was suddenly so repugnant she
almost burst into tears.

What
was wrong with her? Campbell was not unattractive, he was rich, and he'd always
been courteous until this instance. And what had happened in the garden was
most likely her own fault. She had flirted with him openly in front of Francis,
so he had naturally thought her willing.

She
closed her eyes against the sting of hysterical tears. She was only distraught
from the pressure of entertaining and from lack of sleep. She would be fine if
she could only get away for a few minutes of quiet.

But
there was little hope of any privacy then. Composing herself with difficulty,
she spotted Lady Galbraith and sat down beside her to watch the antics of a
troop of jugglers. At least she'd not be forced to make polite conversation for
a while.

The
afternoon sped by, and as the sun slipped toward the western horizon the urge
to get away from the constant company became more pressing. She needed to be
alone —to sort through the confusing web of emotion and doubt that entangled
her more firmly with each passing hour. Her father and a party of men were out
riding, and she'd not seen Blake all afternoon. It would be the perfect time to
slip away. After all, she had done it before.

She
hurried to her room and pulled out the ragged cloak she had hidden in the
bottom of a chest. Taking the servants' stair down to the postern gate, she was
soon slipping down the trail to the rocky shore.

The
loch lay still in the hush of evening, the blue of its waters deepening to a
smoky slate as the shadow of the castle fell full across its face. She half
slid down the steep trail to her favorite perch. Ducking between the large
boulders, she breathed deeply of the damp evening air, willing her mind to
absorb the tranquility of the scene.

Her
whirling thoughts gradually quieted as she watched the terns fishing in the
still waters and heard the tiny wavelets lap against the shore. Francis's
arrival had set her on edge, she admitted. His presence was a continual
reminder of the foolish way she had behaved in the spring. It was especially
humiliating since he obviously believed she would succumb again as easily to
his charm. That was it... it was only her pride that rankled. She did not care
a rap for Francis MacLean!

But
what about Sir Percy Campbell? She shuddered in revulsion at the recollected
feel of his hands and mouth upon her. She could scarcely believe his actions;
he had always been so charming, so carefully correct in his treatment of her.
His behavior this afternoon had frightened her—yet surely he meant her no harm.

With
a deep sigh, she pulled her knees up against her chest and clasped her arms
about them. Across the loch, the golden sunlight of late afternoon still shone
on the far meadow, but the stillness of evening lay upon her there in the
shadows. She closed her eyes tightly, listening to the sounds of twilight.

A
loose pebble tumbled along the trail, and she sat up in alarm. The soft crunch
of boots upon rock followed. The next moment, Francis stepped around the huge
boulder screening the path.

For
a moment the two simply stared at each other, each held motionless by the
surprise of this unlooked-for meeting. Then in a scramble of petticoats Anne
was up from her undignified position to face Francis haughtily.

"Well,
by all that's holy! What a piece of good fortune," Francis remarked,
propping his foot on a stone and crossing his arms upon his knee.

Anne
forced herself to remain calm; it was the only way to handle Francis. "I
was just on my way back. I won't spoil your solitary ramble," she said
coolly.

His
hand shot out, closing upon her wrist like a vice. "Not until I've had a
word with you, lass. As I told you this morning, I've something most pressing
to say."

"And
I told you this morning I'd no wish to hear it," she snapped, attempting
to twist out of his grasp.

"For
Christ's sake, Anne! Conall and I have risked our lives to come here to talk to
you. You can spare me a moment. You've certainly plenty of time to spend with
Campbell!"

"I'll
spend time with anyone I please, but it'll not be you! And I don't care a rush
that you're risking your life. I didn't ask you to come here, did I?"

"Spend
your time any way you want, but don't think to spite me by encouraging Campbell
to dangle after you," Francis retorted. "You're playing with a kind
of fire you don't know how to handle, lass."

"Oh!"
she gasped, furious he had put his finger on her very ploy. "You're the
most conceited, most arrogant..." Powerless to twist from his grip, she
struck his hand with all her might, wincing as the pain radiated up her arm
into her shoulder.

Francis
seized her flailing limbs and dragged her into his arms, his long submerged
passions flaming to life at the feel of her against him. He crushed her
struggling body to his, his mouth moving boldly over hers, sure of his welcome.
The wild, sweet taste of her sent a rush of sensation pouring through every
inch of him, making him forget the need for explanations.

Anne's
lips opened instinctively beneath the onslaught of his, her mind tumbling in
confusion as she struggled not only against his strength, but against the deep
aching need within her. Every nerve, every instinct urged her to yield all
pride and resistance. It was as if she came to life in his arms and had no
feeling apart from his touch.

Slowly
her struggle ended, but a disturbing image took shape in her mind. She could
see the dark-haired Macintyre beauty lying passionately in Francis's arms.
There had been many women for Francis MacLean, Anne reminded herself—and damn
him, she'd not be another! The thought effectively cooled the fire in her
blood, and she stood completely unresponsive in his arms.

When
Francis finally released her, she pulled away, forcing her face to a mask of
frozen indifference so he would not guess how deeply he had shaken her. Drawing
back her hand, she dealt him a ringing slap across the face, not realizing the
extent of her folly till seconds later.

His
cheek reddened slowly from the blow. His eyes glittered like shards of
splintered ice, though he stood painfully still, the muscles of his jaw
tightening visibly with his effort at self-control. "I'll allow you that,
Anne. I know you think I deserve it." He drew a deep breath. "But I'd
not advise you to try it again."

Trembling
with anger, Anne longed for a pistol, a sword, any weapon with which to fight
him. Restraining the impulse to fly out at him with her fists, she battled him
in the only way she knew. "If you're quite through making a fool of
yourself then, m'lord, I'll be on my way," she said, forcing all the
contempt and loathing she could muster into her voice.