Taming the Scotsman (10 page)

“And you’ve been without beauty ever since,” she said wistfully. “I’m sorry for that, Ewan. Everyone needs some beauty in his life.”

Ewan wondered for a moment if she were mocking him, but one look into her guileless amber eyes and he knew she wasn’t.

She could never relate to the kind of pain he lived with. To her, the world was a kind, happy place filled with only goodness and light.

How he wished he could live so ignorantly.

“I can’t imagine living a life where nothing gives me pleasure,” she said softly. “It would take a strong man to live as you have. To get up every morning and carry on when all you can see is the gloom and misery of the world.”

“I’m not strong,” Ewan confessed. He wondered why he said that. It wasn’t like him to be open with anyone. But there was something about
Nora that comforted him. Something about her that made him want to share things with her. “I was a weak-minded fool who believed a lying termagant. There’s no strength in what I do now or what I did in the past.”

He took her back through the woods, toward the gypsies’ camp.

“I disagree,” she said as she walked beside him. “A weak man wouldn’t still be alive.”

“A strong man would be able to look his mother in the face.” Ewan couldn’t believe those words had left his lips. Never before had he confided that secret to anyone.

Nora paused and took his hand into hers.

Ewan stared at her tiny hand, at the long, graceful fingers that were laced with his own. His hand was almost twice the size of hers. Her skin was pale, soft, while his was tanned and callused.

There was no softness in his life.

No grace or beauty.

In truth, there was nothing in his life at all.

“This is not the hand of a weak man,” she said as she gave a light squeeze to his fingers. “You could have left me to my own ends and yet you didn’t. Even though my situation caused you pain, you came with me rather than see me hurt. What is weak in that?”

Ewan didn’t know what to say. No woman had ever said such a thing to him. No one had ever before defended him.

She made him feel almost heroic.

How did she do it?

Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed it gently and inhaled the soft, fragrant scent of her skin. She smelled of the flowers she held in her other hand, of the earth and of the woman. It was a heady combination. One that cut through him and made his entire body burn.

In that moment, she was beautiful to him. Not just in her looks, but in her being.

She was the beauty he wished he had. The beauty he would love to spend the rest of his life staring at and holding close to his heart.

But she could never be his.

She belonged to someone else.

“Thank you,” he whispered, lowering her hand.

“For what?”

“Making me feel better.”

She smiled at him, and he felt an invisible fist slam into his gut.

How he wished he could keep her with him like this forever. But it wasn’t meant to be. She was promised to someone else, and like as not she had a father who was probably beside himself with panic at her disappearance.

If he were a decent man, Ewan would head off to Lochlan’s castle with her now and let his brother find her father so that she could go home and relieve the man’s worry.

Instead, he was going to spend the next few days with their untoward hosts. Not just because
he wanted to find out why he’d been taken, but because he wanted to spend more time with this woman.

It didn’t make sense.

Nora was everything he should hate. She was bold and stubborn. Vexing.

But most of all, she was enticing, and it had been so long since anyone had enticed him. An eternity since he’d felt the molten heat of passion or desire.

He wanted her.

With every ounce of masculinity he possessed, he wanted to take her in his arms and claim her body with his. To peel the clothes from her and explore every inch of her bare skin with his mouth.

To fan her hair out across his pillows and watch her face contort with pleasure as she came beneath him.

Yet it would never be.

She was a virtuous maid.

And he would move heaven and earth to keep her that way.

Nora held her tongue as Ewan led her back to camp. He must have washed his face right before he came to seek her. His black curly hair was slicked back from his face and sleek. His shoulders were broad, and yet he didn’t appear as fearsome to her now as he had before.

She was growing accustomed to his brooding features and scowls. He was a strange combination of gentleman and beast. An intoxicating blending of dangerous predator and protector.

His touch was so gentle that it amazed her. He showed a kindness with her that she would never have thought him capable of.

And in the back of her mind, she wondered what he would be like as a husband.

Would he listen, or would he be like the others of his kind and shut her out merely because she had been born the wrong gender?

Nora, what are you thinking
?

The man is wholly unsuitable
.

Truly he was. Big, hulking.

With kind blue eyes that glittered with tormented pain.

She shook her head to clear it of the thought as she rejoined the gypsies.

Viktor and Bavel were sitting in front of the fire, smoking from pipes and drinking ale as they chatted together. Lysander was off to the side of them, lying down with his arms crossed over his chest, and appeared to be dozing, while Catarina was making dinner. Pagan sat beside the fire, whittling a small piece of wood with a curved dagger.

It was a strangely cozy scene.

Catarina waved her over while Ewan left her to join the men around the fire.

“So he found you,” she said as Nora drew near.

“Aye.”

“He was worried about you.”

“That’s what he said.”

“Nay, my lady,” she said, her eyes burning her
with a deep sincerity. “I don’t think you really understand what I mean. He was
extremely
concerned for your welfare. Have you not noticed the way he looks at you?”

Nay, she hadn’t really paid much attention. “What way is that?”

“Like a beggar before a banquet. He has hungry eyes where you are concerned.”

Nora scoffed at the idea. Ewan barely noticed her, and when he did, he seemed always to be peeved by her very presence. “You are mistaken.”

“He watches every move you make.”

Nora glanced around to where Ewan sat with Viktor and Bavel. True to Catarina’s words, his intense gaze was on her, but as soon as he realized she was looking, he averted his eyes.

“See,” Catarina said.

“You make too much of it.”

“Perhaps. But what do you make of it?”

“I make nothing of it.”

“Nothing?” she asked incredulously. “Then you’ve no wish to claim him as your own?”

Nora was slightly aghast at the thought, though to be honest, she wasn’t as aghast as she would have been the day she met him.

“Nay, never,” she said quickly. “I’m bound to my aunt’s in England. Ewan is…Well, I’m sure he’d like to return home and forget the day he ever awoke to find me in his cave.”

Catarina cast a speculative look to him. “He
would make a fine husband to some lucky woman. He’s a handsome one, to be sure.”

“Aye, he is.”

“Strong. Quite charming, I think.”

Nora frowned at her gushing praise. Just what did she mean by that?

“Not too charming,” Nora said as she helped stir their stew. “Rather moody and quiet, to be truthful. He can be rather rude when the mood strikes.”

“They say still waters run deep…”

Nora paused as she watched Catarina’s face while the woman looked to where Ewan sat with the others. The woman’s beautiful features were dreamy and glowing.

Speculative, one might even say.

Nora didn’t care for the look of her at all. “What are you thinking?”

“Just that if you’re not interested in him, perhaps I should give it a try. I haven’t found any man to equal one like him. He is one of a kind, and I happen to be fascinated by his earthy ways and rugged bearing.”

Nora’s heart sank at the thought of Catarina and Ewan embracing. Of the thought of Catarina doing
anything
with Ewan.

“The thought bothers you, doesn’t it?” Catarina asked as she looked back and caught her gaping stare.

Nora closed her mouth and started to lie, but couldn’t quite manage one. It bothered her much
more than it should, and it made her want to do nasty things to Catarina for even hinting she was interested in Ewan.

Catarina smiled. “Tell me, Nora, have you ever heard of the works of Rowena de Vitry?”

Nora was thrilled to find another person who knew and loved bardic tales. “Aye! The Lady of Love is one of my favorite troubadours.”

“Then you are familiar with the ‘Romance de Silence’?”

“Nay, is it new?”

“Fairly.” Catarina added the vegetables she had been cutting, then took the ladle from Nora and stirred them into the pot.

Catarina tapped the ladle twice against the pot, then set it aside. “It’s the story of a woman in love with a man she sees every year at a fair. She watches him as he grows to love another, and as the years pass, she sees him with his wife, his children and such until he is an old man. On his deathbed, she goes to him and tells him of her love. That she has been dreaming of him since he was ten and eight and she just a bright-eyed maiden. That because of him she never married and never knew any happiness except in her dreams, where she could pretend he was hers.”

Nora’s throat tightened in sympathetic pain. It was a tribute to Rowena’s wonderful imagination that she had written such a tragic tale. “How sad.”

Catarina wiped her hands on her skirt. “Aye, but the saddest part of all is that right before he
dies, he confesses to her that he always loved her as well. That he would go to the fair every year just so that he could watch her from afar, but since she refused to even meet his gaze, he assumed she felt nothing for him. So the two of them spent the whole of their lives aching for what they could have had, had they just talked to one another.”

“How tragic.”

“Aye, and you’re not following where I’m going at all, are you?”

“What do you mean?”

Catarina nodded at Ewan. “Don’t you think it odd that you feel jealous when I speak of wooing him?”

Nora stiffened at what she was implying.

“Nay,” she lied.

Catarina laughed. “You like him, admit it.”

“I do not,” she said primly, picking up the ladle and returning to stir the stew. She didn’t dare admit her feelings aloud to anyone. She could barely acknowledge them to herself. “He is entirely not the type of man who interests me.”

Catarina looked aghast. “My lady, you set your sights too high. What more could you ask for in a man?”

“Refinement. A man who is decorous and mannerly. One who is—”

“Boring.”

Nora gave her a peeved look. “How so?”

“Have you ever been around such men? They’re mewling. Fussing over their hair, their
clothes. They’re more woman than man.”

Catarina indicated Ewan with her head. “Give me a man who isn’t afraid to get a little dirt on his hands any day. Think you your gentleman would have gone after you because you tarried in the forest? He would have feared for his own life and given no thought to yours.

“Do you think such a fanciful, prim man would have laughed off what we did to him? Or would he have demanded our lives for daring to muss his hair and clothes? Ewan has been a very good sport, all things considered. Any other man would have Viktor’s head for what we’ve done. Instead Lord Ewan travels with us as a friend and equal.”

“He is a bit odd, which confirms what I’m saying.”

Catarina shook her head. “Sometimes, my lady, a person needs to look at someone only with her heart and not with her eyes.”

Nora glanced over to where Ewan sat. The other men were joking and laughing. He sat with his face stern, his eyes troubled.

How she wished she could make him laugh. “He’s always so sad.”

Catarina concurred. “You know, my mother has a saying. A jovial man can be happy with anyone, but when a sad one laughs, he treasures the one who brings him the sunshine.”

Nora thought about her words. There was truth to that. No one should live with the guilt Ewan
did, especially when he hadn’t been at fault.

Kieran had made the choice to end his life. Ewan had done nothing more than make the mistake of believing a lying tongue.

Nora had no real designs on Ewan romantically. No matter how appealing he was or how well he kissed. At the end of the day, he wasn’t what she wanted for a husband. But she wouldn’t mind helping him if she could.

No one deserved to be relegated to a cave without family or friend.

She had a few days with him. Mayhap a little reprieve would help him see that life was better when one participated in it.

“W
hat are you doing?” Ewan asked as Nora came up to him with a peculiar impish look on her face. The look was so out of character that it made the hair on the back of his neck rise.

She handed him her lute. “You said you would teach me to play. I would like another lesson.”

He took the instrument from her hand while she sat down next to him.

Close
to him.

He tried not to notice the happy glint in her eyes. The way tendrils of her blond hair fell around her face as she lowered her brat to watch him.

She possessed a great beauty. Beauty that made him burn for her.

Even now he could taste her innocent kiss, remember the sensation of her warm breath on his face.

The way she had looked when she had told him that he kissed well…

It set fire to his blood. His heart pounded, and he felt oddly dazed, as if her presence alone intoxicated him. Made him light-headed and happy.

No woman had ever made him feel like this.

Not even Isobail.

Isobail had only aroused his body. At the time he’d been too young and inexperienced to understand the difference between love and lust.

What he felt for Nora was entirely different. He actually liked the lass. Liked spending time with her, listening to her unique ideas and endless stories.

On some deep inner level, she soothed him.

He took her left hand and moved her fingers into position as he showed her the first three chords to his mother’s favorite ballad.

“You’re very good at teaching,” Bavel said from across the fire.

“Yes, he is,” Nora agreed.

Unused to praise, Ewan cleared his throat and showed her another bar. “A teacher is only as good as his student.”

She smiled up at him.

Enchanted, Ewan couldn’t take his eyes off her face. Her skin was so smooth and perfect. Her eyes were clear and bright. Her lips, red and plump, were made for long, hot kisses. For driving a man wild with desire.

And she was definitely doing that to him now. He felt reckless and somehow free. Wanting her no matter the rational arguments.

Her presence took him past sanity and reason.

It took him straight into the realm of fantasy where anything was possible. Where there was no past to torment him. No future to fear.

There were only the two of them, and nothing else mattered.

He had to get away from her. Quickly, before any more of his will crumbled.

Moving back so that he was no longer near her and the danger she posed, Ewan nodded at her progress. “Just keep practicing those chords and I’ll teach you more later.”

While she strummed, Bavel went to fetch his own lute.

“You play your three chords, Nora,” he said as he returned to his seat.

As she did so, Bavel composed music to go with hers.

Catarina came forward, clapping her hands in time to their song.

Ewan sat back, listening and watching.

Nora’s amber eyes danced with happiness, and
her cheeks were flushed. No doubt she was enjoying her small part in the harmony. The heightened color looked good in her face, making Ewan wonder what she would look like while fired with passion.

He ground his teeth and looked away, unable to think those thoughts. Unwilling to let his mind ponder the delicacy he knew she would be.

Closing his eyes, he swore he could already taste the salty-sweet flavor of her skin. Feel her warm and welcoming in his arms…

What would it be like to lie with her?

Nora smiled at Bavel as she played. She’d never had a night like this one in her entire life. She was making music. Real music!

Ewan sat across from her, his presence electrifying while Catarina began to dance to the music they made. Pagan stayed to the side, his eyes never wavering from Catarina.

Lysander produced a drum that he used to mark the beats of Catarina’s movements. Nora was impressed with Catarina’s exotic and wild dance until she happened to glance over at Ewan, who watched the woman as if transfixed by her.

He reminded her of a hungry wolf watching over a hen it wanted to gobble up.

For the first time in her life, she felt a vicious stab of jealousy.

How dare Ewan look at Catarina like that! Like he wanted to kiss her or do something more.

He wasn’t supposed to look at
her
.

Nor was he supposed to make Nora feel hot and nervous when he sat too near her. Yet he did all those things and more.

Needing to distract him from Catarina, Nora handed Ewan her lute. “Would you like to play?”

He shook his head. “Nay.”

“Oh, come now,” Viktor said. “Play a song if you’re able.”

“No, really,” Ewan insisted. “I’ve never played before an audience.”

“I should like to hear you play,” Catarina said, her voice low and sultry.

Nora frowned at the suggestive tone.

“Very well then,” Ewan said, setting the lute in his lap.

Now Nora truly was upset. He wouldn’t play when she asked him to, but he played for Catarina?

He was an evil man!

The men began to play a fast-paced tune, one that allowed Catarina to dance like Salome. Only it wasn’t Ewan’s head the woman was after, Nora was sure of that.

Och now, how could Catarina be like this after their discussion? The woman was a Judas. A tall, dark-haired, beautiful Judas who might tempt Ewan away from…

Me
.

The single syllable hung in her mind.

It was true. She liked Ewan. More than she
should, and the thought of him with Catarina was enough to make her want to do something vicious to the woman.

But he didn’t belong to her. He wasn’t hers to control, and she had no right to tell him whom he could and couldn’t stare after.

Whom he could desire…

Ewan could never be hers.

He wasn’t what she wanted for a spouse.

Why, he’d be just like her father, belching about the table, always off and practicing with his sword. Gathering his friends around for boisterous nights of boasting and drinking while they told and retold the same boring stories over and over again.

She’d spent her life watching her graceful, dainty mother being dogged by her much larger father, who would scarce let the poor woman out of his sight. He was always making loud demands for her mother’s time. Wanting her to partake of his less than refined activities, such as watching him fight.

She couldn’t count the times her father had whisked her mother up in his arms and carried her to their chambers while her mother protested, telling him she had duties to attend to.

And did he listen?

Nay, never.

While her mother preferred to speak softly, her father bellowed. Her mother loved poetry and music; her father liked caber tossing and stag hunting.

Nora had never seen two more mismatched people in her life. And while her father was a good man with a caring heart, he and her mother had nothing in common.

Why, they scarce spoke to each other. Her father demanded and her mother nodded.

Nora wanted more out of her husband than that. She dreamed of a man who could talk to her about science. One who could keep up his side of the conversation and not get irritable because she was asking too many questions.

There was nothing wrong with questions. But her endless inquisitiveness oft made her father lose his patience and order her from the hall.

I love you, Nora child, but one more word from you, lass, and I swear my humble brain will boil over until I’m as empty-pated as old Seamus. Now get to your room and give me peace afore I lock you in there for the rest of eternity
.

Nora winced at the words she had heard countless times.

Ewan was her father all over, she was sure of it. The only difference was their appearance. Her father was short and blond, not gargantuan and dark.

But inside, they might as well be the same man.

Yet as she watched Ewan play, she noted something odd about him. His eyes were brighter than they had been before. The corners of his lips turned up, almost as if to smile.

He loved music as much as her father despised it.

That was a little common ground between them. Something the two of them shared.

Och, lass, what are you thinking
?

You tie yourself to a man such as he, and you’ll be gone forever
.

Marriage was good only for the man. The woman lost all sense of herself. She became lady to his lordship. Forever docile to him. Forever deferring to him.

She would become her mother.

She didn’t want that. She wanted her own life, just like her Aunt Eleanor.

Eleanor answered to no man. She did as she pleased and lived her life to the fullest. She alone made Henry, king of England, bend to her will.

Aunt Eleanor was her ideal.

Aye, Nora not only wanted to be named for her aunt, she wanted to be her. Powerful. Decisive.

A woman in charge of her own destiny.

Catarina twirled around the fire, then held her hand out to Nora. “Care to dance?”

Nora hesitated for only an instant. “Show me how?”

Catarina pulled her to her feet, then raised her skirt up so that Nora could watch her feet.

Nora followed her carefully while the men played.

“You look as if you have French blood in you, little Nora,” Viktor said as he smiled at her attempts to duplicate Catarina’s movements.

Nora returned his smile, pleased by his praise.
But she knew she was no match for Catarina, who moved as if she were one with the music.

Catarina led her around in a twirling bit of dance.

Nora glanced to Ewan, then swallowed. He wasn’t looking at Catarina anymore, he was staring at
her
.

With searing heat.

With hunger.

With need.

It made her burn. Imagine him looking at her like that. She wouldn’t have thought it possible.

Yet he did.

And that look…

It made her feel womanly and beautiful. For the first time in her life, she understood passion and desire.

Ewan was magnetic and powerful, and his need for her was so intense that it was virtually tangible.

Unaware of why Nora had stopped moving, Catarina grabbed her hands and whirled her around again. And even though she danced, Nora’s gaze continually went back to Ewan and the heat of his celestial eyes that burned through her.

After they had finished the dance and music, Catarina and Nora cleaned up the mess from supper. The men packed away the instruments and made pallets for everyone.

Catarina was putting away the pot when she met Nora’s bemused stare.

“For a woman not interested in Ewan, my lady,
you certainly looked ready to kill me over the fact he was paying attention to my dance earlier.”

Nora’s face flushed but she wasn’t willing to let anyone know just how much she really did desire Ewan MacAllister. “I most certainly did not.”

Catarina laughed. “You can’t hide the truth from me, Nora. I saw your heart. It was plainly written in your eyes.”

She wrinkled her nose at the woman. “I think you just like to play matchmaker, don’t you?”

“Only when I see two people who belong together.”

Nora scoffed. “I do not belong with Ewan MacAllister. Believe me.”

“Whatever you say.” But her tone carried the full weight of Catarina’s doubt.

Nora left her to return to the others. Bavel, Viktor, Pagan and Lysander had withdrawn to bed. Only Ewan remained. He sat alone before the fire, staring idly into the flames and drinking from a large goblet.

Ewan didn’t appear drunk, but a cloud of sadness engulfed him.

Nora dropped her gaze to the lute at his feet. “Are you all right, my lord?”

He grunted.

She waved her hand in front of his face.

At first he paid her no heed until finally he blinked and looked up at her.

“Are you planning on going to bed soon?”

“I know not,” he said quietly. “Mayhap in a bit.”

She took a seat beside him, wanting to banish the sadness she saw inside him. Wanting to add a little humor to his night. “Did you ever look up at the sky as a child?”

He frowned. “Not really.”

Nora leaned back on her hands and looked up at the bright sky where millions of stars twinkled down at them. “My mother used to tell me that every star in the heavens has a story attached to it.”

She pointed to a star just south of Ursa Minor. “That one there she told me was once an ancient Greek soldier named Abrides. She said he was a noble Spartan commander whose wife had died. Distraught, he looked up at the heavens and demanded vengeance on the one responsible.

“The queen of the sky”—she pointed to a collection of stars a little way over that looked like a lady—“told him that in death there is no satisfaction. Only pain will find you. So he asked her when the pain would lessen. The queen told him never. The pain is what shows us how much we loved them. If you truly love someone, then the pain of their loss will always be in your heart.”

He gave her a hard stare. “Why are you telling me this?”

She returned his stare, hoping to make him see past his guilt. “I’m telling you this because if you loved Kieran so much that you still ache like this after his passing, then he must have known how you felt before he died.”

“Aye, and he died because I betrayed him.”

“Nay,” she said. “He died because he wasn’t capable of living with the pain you have.”

A tic worked in his jaw as he turned away from her. “This is not comforting me.”

She put her hand on his arm and felt his biceps flex. Her poor Ewan. Would he ever find a way to forgive himself for something he’d had no part in?

How she wished she could make him lay aside his guilt and find happiness once more.

“The queen looked at Abrides,” she began again, “and asked him who he would have her kill for his wife’s death.

“‘Kill me,’ he said. ‘For it was my want of a son that cost her her life. Had I been content as I should have with her alone, she would be with me now.’

“The queen shook her head in sorrow and said to him, ‘We all must die. Nothing can ever change that. But it is how we live when we are here that matters most. I will not kill you,’ she said, ‘because your death will not set things right. Only by living can you do that.’”