The Highlander (9 page)

He took her in his arms and pulled her close. "Is that better?"

"No, it is worse. My heart is beating so fast, and I feel I must speak faster to match pace."

He pulled back enough to see her face and saw immediately the inner chaos, the conflict of emotions that fought for control. He felt an odd sort of curiosity to keep her with him long

enough to see which one would emerge the victor. Would it be the pride of overcoming tears of humiliation, or the final succumbing to the power of breathless desire?

"Your sister's dress fits me perfectly," she said, looking down to smooth the fabric that did not need smoothing, not that it mattered, for he knew she was only mentally groping for something else to say.

"Aye, lass, I am not a man to miss such as that."

He knew his inquisitive visual caress sent a responsive wave of pleasure rippling across her. He was glad it unnerved her. He wanted her senses acutely tuned to him. He wondered if she, like him, relived the moments when the two of them lay on the floor in front of the fire, and if the recalling of it swirled around her like an opium cloud, desensitizing her and making everything else in the world seem oddly distant.

He was so wrapped up in the nearness of her and his own desire, that he did not at first notice the fine beads of perspiration that suddenly appeared on her face, or the absence of color there.

He was about to ask how she was feeling when she gave him an empty look and said very softly, "I don't think I feel very well."

And she fainted dead away.

_Six

I shall not say why and how I became, at the age of fifteen, the mistress of the Earl of Craven. —Harriette Wilson (1786-1846), British writer and courtesan. Opening of book.
Memoirs of Harriette Wilson
(1825)

He
caught her before she hit the floor.

He gathered her close and carried her up the winding staircase, castigating himself as he went. He should have noticed the change in her before she collapsed. He could have given her a chair, or a glass of wine, but he was too preoccupied with his own thoughts.

He carried her into her room and placed her gently on the bed. He stood over her, watching her beautiful breasts rise and fall with each breath, and was about to splash a litde water on her face when she stirred and said,
"Non... non.. .non... Je ne veux pas me marier.''

I do not want to marry? Was she betrothed? And if so, to whom?

He dipped a cloth in water and bathed her face and, as he did, he wondered what demons tortured her, or if she would recall what she said when she awoke.

She looked so small and terribly young lying in repose, and he felt a strong sense of protectiveness toward her.

He should take her to Monleigh Castle.

He knew that, but he could not bring himself to do it. He wanted to keep her here with him, to have her all to himself, if only for a little while. It was simply that he wanted to be alone with her, for as long as he dared to think he could get away with it. Opportunities for a man of his class to be alone with a woman were practically nonexistent and, when he returned to Monleigh with her, there would be few opportunities to be with her alone there, in the midst of all the family members and clansmen crowded about.

It was at this point that he found he was glad for her fainting spell, for it sanctioned his decision to keep her here a few more days.

He studied her delicate features, the flawless skin and the perfectly shaped features that lodged so symmetrically on her oval face. She had unbelievably long lashes, and he wished they would flutter and her eyes would open.

He placed his hand on her forehead to be certain she had no fever, and the moment his fingertips brushed her skin, she mumbled something and opened her eyes.

She blinked a few times, and he imagined she had opened them into a hazy fog of blurred images. She blinked again and looked around, as if trying to decide where she was.

"I don't remember coming up here."

"You didn't. You fainted and I carried you up here."

She looked quickly down and he "knew she was checking to see if her clothing had been rearranged.

He smiled, unable to hide his amusement. "I never take advantage of an unconscious woman."

"And I never faint."

"Is that something else you remember, or is it another one of your intuitive feelings?"

"I have no idea. I only know I am not some
faineant
aristocrat with nothing more to do than go around fainting all the time."

"So, you are an aristocrat?" he asked.

Panic gripped her.
Stupide!
she thought. You let your guard down. Do not allow yourself to become too comfortable with him. You must remember what you are about. One small error in judgment could land you in Rockingham's bed. With an inaudible gulp, she composed herself. "It was a figure of speech, not an indication of my status, nor evidence that my memory has returned."

"Smooth recovery, flawless presentation. No tripping over the tongue for you, is there?"

She made a move to get up.

"Not so fast." He placed a restraining hand upon her shoulder. "You aren't as strong as you think. Stay here awhile and rest."

"I'm not tired."

"You may not be tired, but your body has suffered a terrible ordeal. It will take some time to restore your strength and endurance to the level it was before you almost froze to death."

"I know I am a terrible burden and a responsibility thrust upon you that you did not want. Caring for me is keeping you from the things you came here to do. Perhaps you should take me to the nearest village. I am—"

"Enough of that. We will go when and where I say, and whenever I feel you are a bothersome burden, I will tell you. Make no mention of it again."

Looking at him thoughtfully, she said, ' 'I suppose you think I am being very rude and unappreciative
,
but I am not trying to be. It is simply that... Oh, I don't know what I'm trying to say," she choked out.

She should have been more appreciative of the smile that formed across his lips. It was not his customary smile, for it did not carry the hint of mockery. Instead, it was what she would call a knowing smile, as if he not only sensed her uneasiness at being on the bed with him so near, but also understood the cause of it.

"You are nervous about being here alone with me.

It was a statement he was making, not a question he was asking, yet she felt compelled to answer it. "Yes. It would be very unwise for me to stay here any longer."

"Probably."

"If anyone should learn of this, it would be very damaging for both of us, I would imagine."

"Aye, what you say is true. But tell me, lass, why are you nervous about being here with me?"

"You are a man. I have no way of knowing your intentions."

"No, I suppose you don't." "You could, this very moment, be planning any number of things." "Such as?"

"You could send me on my way."

"I would never even think about it."

"You might turn me over to the English."

"Something that I would never consider."

"You could even be planning to seduce me."

"Now, that has crossed my mind," he said.

"Thank you for adding to my discomfort."

"You prefer dishonesty? If I said I was not interested in taking you to bed, would you believe me?"

"Until you gave me a reason not to."

"You should not be so trusting."

"And I am sorry you have forgotten how to trust. If I had to choose one over the other, I would always choose to trust."

"Then you would be a fool."

"Perhaps, but I cannot help feeling it is worse to distrust than to be deceived."

"And comparing lies to the truth? Have you any inclinations on that subject?"

"I think it is my turn to ask a question. You said you were recently betrothed. Won't she be worried when you do not return?"

"Not particularly."

"It must be a strange betrothal."

"It is not an official betrothal, but more of an understanding of long duration. It is the title that Gillian is after. Unfortunately, I come with it."

"Then why did you ask her to marry you?"

"Did I say I had asked her?"

"I do not understand."

"It's a long story."

She shrugged. "I've plenty of time. I'm not going anywhere."

"You are a persistent wench."

She smiled. "Drops of water will wear away a stone."

His expression turned intent and unreadable, and she heard him say her name softly, as a child would do when trying out a new word. Her smile vanished and a tight constriction gripped her throat. Her senses flooded with a sort of conscious perception.

She was aware of the play of light coming through the window to slide along the dark strands of his hair, aware of the incredibly long lashes, thick and black around the moss-green eyes.

And his lips...oh, his fine lips, smooth, firm, and far too close to hers.

Those fine lips brushed against hers, softly— once, twice, three times, moving slowly, lingeringly, with tender intent. Blinding, dizzying seconds ticked by, and still he teased her with his kisses, making her wonder what he would do next, or where he would touch her and for how long. She tried to hold on to herself, to get a firm grip on her sanity, but he seemed equally intent upon drawing everything away, save for the blinding need to kiss him back.

He lifted his head and she felt the sharp stab of loss as his lips left hers. Her heart began to ease its frantic beating, her blood began to cool, and she wondered why her brain was so slow to chastise her once again—always succumbing as easily as a
courtisane
to him.

"Y-you were going to tell me a long story about you and Gillian," she said, praying he did not look at her as if she were an idiot, and chastise her for being such a scared simpleton.

A favorable answer to her prayer was immediate, for he gave her a lopsided grin that so captured her heart that she would swear to her great-grandchildren fifty years hence that it was the instant she knew she had fallen in love with him.

"For a long time now, Gillian has been what you would call a friend of the family. Her family's estate borders Monleigh. My siblings and I played with her when we were children. Our parents would often say that Gillian would probably end up marrying one of the Graham boys, and Gillian would always say she would marry James, because he was going to be the earl. Everyone would laugh, for it was humorous to hear a girl of ten say such, but there came a time when her determination to be my countess ceased to entertain me."

"If that is true, why would you entertain the idea of marriage to her?"

"If I had my way, I would never marry, but it is my responsibility to produce an heir or two, and Gillian was willing., .and convenient."

"And she does not mind that you are marrying her for her reproductive capabilities?"

"It is the way of things, is it not? A man offers his title, his wealth and his protection in exchange for the heirs a woman will give him. It is a business arrangement, nothing more. She gets what she wants, and so do I."

"It seems awfully cold to me."

"It is cold, but much simpler than marrying for love and knowing that at some point, one of you will suffer."

"It doesn't have to be that way."

"Let me tell you something. Marriage is like a new pair of shoes. They may look good to the average passerby, but they rub blisters and they always pinch somewhere.''

"I do not know where your hostility toward marriage came from, but I pity you for having it."

"Don't," he said, "for I have a very valid reason."

She turned her face to the wall. "I think I will rest now."

She heard the sound of his steps as he walked to the door, but instead of opening it he paused, then turned and walked back to her bedside.