The woman was killing her.
No. Her own conscience was killing her. No matter what she’d promised Drew, she couldn’t do this. Not to his mother. Not to herself.
“Rosalyn, I’ve another motive for coming to Dun Ard with Drew.”
“Aye?”
“My grandparents, Hugh and Margery MacQuarrie, they’re being held captive in MacQuarrie Keep by their older son, Richard. He left the family long before I came to live with them. Abandoned them to live in England with his wife and her family. He even uses his wife’s family name. He’s claimed to be holding MacQuarrie Keep in the name of Edward, King of England. I came here to seek help from the MacKiernan laird to rescue my grandparents. I came because your niece, Mairi, told me if I ever needed help, you guys were the ones I should turn to. You were family.” Once she’d started, the words tumbled out, one over the other like spring thaw from the mountains. She couldn’t have stopped herself if she’d tried. “I don’t know if that’s what Drew has said to you, but there it is.”
Rosalyn turned to her then, embracing her fully, hugging her tightly as if she comforted a lost child. Crazy as it seemed, Leah felt like a child in need of comfort at that moment.
“Drew told us of yer grandparents’ troubles. Even now we await Blane’s decision on the matter. It’s up to him as laird to consider all sides and weigh what’s best for all concerned.”
She wanted to argue, to say something, anything, to convince Rosalyn that what really mattered was Hugh and Margery. But being here, being accepted as she had been, made her all too aware of the difficult decision facing the MacKiernan laird. His people meant as much to him as her grandparents did to her.
“In the meantime,” Rosalyn patted her back with one hand after she broke the hug, “we’ll sit here together and enjoy the peace of the night for a bit. Rest assured we’ll no let these ills cloud our celebration of yer marriage to Drew. Yer going to have the happy start to yer lives together that you deserve. There will be plenty of time after to fuss and fash over what we can and canna control. Until then, just rest easy in the knowledge that Drew works to yer benefit, representing yer case with our laird.”
And just how effective did she think that would be? A man who didn’t support her cause, arguing her side of it?
“Drew told me once he’d refuse my request if he were laird and it were up to him. That he wouldn’t risk one set of lives for another.”
“He told us that as well, so it’s all the more good fortune for you he’s no the one to be making that decision. Drew’s no a man of violence. He believes in using his mind to avoid a fight if there’s any way. All the same, while he spoke his piece as a member of the family, he puts his beliefs aside and fights on yer behalf for what you want, for no other reason than that you want it.”
How could that be possible? She’d never met a man, Mortal or Faerie, who’d sacrifice what he believed best simply to be nice. It made no logical sense.
“Why would he do that, Lady Rosalyn? If he believes what I ask for is bad for the people of Dun Ard, why would he argue my case before the laird?”
A gentle smile played across Rosalyn’s face and she shook her head. A small movement to be sure, but one that clearly relayed her amusement. On the receiving end of that look, Leah felt the only thing missing was for the woman to ask if she could be any more dense.
“As I said, he kens it to be what you want. And because he loves you so, he wants to see to yer having what makes you happy.”
That was utterly ridiculous. Drew didn’t love her. His mother obviously didn’t understand that this was all a sham for Moreland’s benefit. He couldn’t love her.
Which still left unanswered why he’d fight for what she wanted when it went against what he believed in.
“Surely you dinna doubt his love for you?” Rosalyn reached out, lightly touching Leah’s cheek before an even broader smile touched her lips. “But of course you do. Yer to be married on the morrow and yer filled with the silly doubts of a new bride. Well, daughter, let me put yer mind to rest. I ken my son, better perhaps than anyone. I see the way he looks at you. I see how his eyes follow you when you leave the room. I read his feelings in his face. Trust me, lass. You dinna have any need to question his feelings for you. Drew is a man in love. And yer the woman he’s in love with.”
Twenty-one
It was exactly as he’d suspected.
Sir Peter Moreland slipped silently back into the shadows of the trees, blending with the night as if it were a part of him. He had no need to hear any more of the women’s prattle.
When he’d spied Leah sneaking down the passageway from her bedchamber, he’d followed. At first he had thought she would attend the gathering in the laird’s solar, but she’d veered away from that room and ended up out here.
What a stroke of luck it had been for him that Lady MacAlister chose the same spot this night. He couldn’t have arranged a better rendezvous if he’d planned for a fortnight.
As a boy, he’d squired at his uncle’s estate, serving an old knight, Sir Barret. The man rarely spoke to any one. Peter had quickly learned that when the knight did speak, his words bore listening to. One of the more lucid tidbits of knowledge he’d shared had related to women, just like the ones sitting on the bench yards from him now.
Barret had confided once that the key to avoiding many a battle lay in learning the secrets your enemy held. And the best place to learn those secrets? From the women of the castle.
Every clever conversation, every devious maneuver he’d tried had failed to produce the evidence that the woman sitting before him was Leah MacQuarrie, the woman his uncle had traveled to Scotland to wed. But put her alone with another woman and within minutes he had all the proof he needed.
The question now was what did he do with his newfound knowledge?
She and MacAlister presented themselves as husband and wife already, and with their formal wedding tomorrow, the die was cast.
The scenario worked well for him, as long as he managed all the cards in his hand. Many a fortune had been lost in overplaying.
Lord Moreland was old and his health failing. With both his sons lost in service to the king, the rightful line of succession fell to Peter. As long as his uncle didn’t remarry, and have sons, that is.
Simply not finding the missing girl had rankled at his sense of how to play this particular political hand. Coming back without her might lead his uncle to believe he hadn’t tried.
But bringing her back already wed? Now that would put a fair wrinkle into his uncle’s plans. And should he still decide he wanted her, which considering the woman’s looks wasn’t out of the question, a good long waiting period would be required. Her marriage would be no impediment. Considering his lordship’s connections with King Edward, there’d be no problem in having her wedding to the Scot put aside. And if that failed, they could simply eliminate MacAlister. Marriage to a widow would be no problem.
Since Lord Moreland’s goal in marrying was to produce a male heir, he’d need to make sure any child she carried resulted from the proper bloodline. It could take months to verify the woman wasn’t already carrying MacAlister’s child.
His uncle’s last wife hadn’t survived the aftermath of bearing a female child. Peter knew all too well the rumors surrounding Elspeth’s death, though he couldn’t be sure whether or not the gossip was true. What he did know to be true was that if having a daughter had been unacceptable to his uncle, having another man’s spawn would be beyond inexcusable.
That fact alone would necessitate a delay of months and that led to his uncle’s real problem. Time. Or more accurately, lack of time. From all indications, Lord Moreland didn’t have a lot of time left. The rigorous hardships of traveling so far north to claim this woman as wife, and the trip back once they were wed, both would take their toll on the old man’s failing health.
Peter tapped a finger to his chin, considering his next course of action.
Waiting seemed the prudent cou
rse. Waiting for an opportune time after the happy couple were wed.
At some point after the wedding, he’d snatch her up, take her back to MacQuarrie Keep, and deliver her to his uncle exactly as he’d been charged to do, proving his worth and his loyalty to his uncle once again.
No matter what happened after that, it could only be good for him.
Whether his uncle rejected the woman after hearing she’d married another, or chose to marry her anyway in spite of the time it would take to clear the way, it was all good for Peter. His only wait then would be for his uncle’s demise.
To be honest, he doubted his uncle was strong enough to make it back home no matter which option he chose.
All the better for him. After the years of abuse and insult he’d suffered silently at his uncle’s knee, he, better than anyone, deserved the inheritance.
It was as if God himself had decreed it so.
Peter smiled, turning silently to make his way back to his room, already planning the changes he would make when he was named Lord Moreland.
He, unlike Uncle Henry, had nothing but time.
Twenty-two
The hour had grown late by the time Leah and Rosalyn at last parted company. Rosalyn had told her stories about Mairi and Connor and his wife Cate, so many stories that she felt like she really knew those people for the first time.
And then there were the stories about Drew. It was as if she were able to see him as the mischievous little boy his mother described.
Drew, whom his mother claimed with certainty was in love with her.
Could it be possible?
Leah turned the likelihood over in her mind as she made her way back to her bedchamber.
Wouldn’t that just be the final touch to the farce she’d been living? This wonderful, caring man who’d saved her from drowning, guided her where she wanted to go, protected her, even lied for her, to have him fall in love with her? The guilt would be more than she could stand.
She already owed him more than she could ever repay. How did one go about repaying love?
No. In spite of what his mother said, it wasn’t possible. She was letting her vanity get the better of her. He wasn’t the type of man who’d fall willy-nilly in love with some bedraggled woman he’d plucked from a river.
He was drop-dead gorgeous. He could have any woman he wanted.
And yet . . . his mother had said he didn’t see himself that way at all. She’d said that he saw himself as less than a man because of the injuries he’d received. Granted, that scar down his chest was scary-looking, but how on earth could he think it diminished his beauty in the least?
Because the mind is powerful and controls a person in strange ways, forcing one to behave and think in a manner no reasonable person would expect.
Better than anyone, she should know. It had taken her years to get past what had happened to her in her youth. The idea that Drew thought of himself as less of anything dug at her heart.
He deserved better than that.
She pushed open the door between the kitchen and the hallway just in time to bump directly into Drew.
“Where the name of all that’s holy have you been? When I found you missing from our bedchamber, I searched every inch of the keep, all to no avail.” His cheeks were flushed a deep, mottled red and his eyes glittered with his emotion.
Could Rosalyn have had the right of it?
“Slow down a minute. I was out in the garden visiting with your mother.”
He locked his fingers around her upper arm, leading her to the stairs and up toward their room, lecturing as they went. “Yer no ever to do that again without letting me know where you’ve gone. Do you ken what I’m saying to you? No ever.”
She hadn’t experienced anything like this since she was a little girl. They’d lived across the street from an elementary school and she’d gone over to the school grounds to play on the equipment. She’d seen her mother coming from the top of the slide and could tell even from a distance, her mom was furious.
It had been one of the few times her mom had ever spanked her, and even though it had been only one quick whack to her bottom, it had been devastating to her five-year-old psyche to have her mother that angry with her.
It had been her sister who had explained. Leah had huddled in her bed in the room she shared with Destiny, crying, feeling sorry for herself.
“Mom’s so mad at me. She hates me,” she’d sobbed.
“Don’t be such a baby, Leah. She loves you to death. That’s why she was so angry. She was terrified when she couldn’t find you, that’s all.”
Destiny had been right, of course. She’d gone out to the living room and climbed into her mom’s lap for cuddles, just like nothing had ever happened.
It was fear that had made her mother so angry. Fear formed out of love.
Oh, Lord. Maybe Rosalyn was right.
“I’m sorry you didn’t know where I was. I didn’t mean to frighten you, but I couldn’t very well tell you where I was going when I didn’t have any idea where you were.”
“Frighten me?” he scoffed, pushing open the door to their room and leading her inside. “I was no frightened. Only concerned when I could no find you.”
He wasn’t frightened, huh? Just like he wasn’t embarrassed now that she’d caught him being frightened.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated, softly this time, reaching up to cup his face, fanning her thumb over his cheek. The day’s growth of beard sent tingles through her skin as she rubbed her thumb back and forth.
The move she’d intended to sooth his emotions set hers on fire as if the feel of him was all it took. Whatever had been wrong with her last night, whatever had stripped her of her reason and made her want him, whatever it was, it still had control of her.
It apparently controlled him as well.
With an arm around her waist, he dragged her to him, crushing his lips to hers, holding her as if he’d never let her go.
“I couldna think straight for worry that Moreland had taken you away,” he whispered when he broke the kiss. “I doona ever want to go through that again.”
What could she say to take away the hurt she heard in his voice? Sorry seemed lame. I won’t do it again would be a lie because she had no intention of spending every minute of the next few days in this room.
There was no good response. Instead she wrapped her hand around the back of his neck. Running her fingers up into his hair, she lifted her head the bare inch that separated them and resumed the kiss he’d broken before speaking.
His arms tightened around her and she felt her feet leave the floor but his tongue had dipped between her lips and that really was her only concern at the moment. That and the feel of his arms as they held her.
Then she was on her back, the soft bed beneath her, his hard body covering her.
His big hands cradled her head as he deepened their kiss, making her want to crawl inside him in her need to be close to him.
Her skirt slid up when his knee pushed at her, and her bare skin burned at contact with his. She lifted her legs, locking her ankles behind his back and he moaned into her mouth, rocking his pelvis against her.
A whole new level of need fired through her body.
From the rock-hard feel of him, his need was every bit as great as hers.
It was no effort to slide her hands down to his waist. A couple of tugs later and the bottom of his shirt came free from his plaid, offering her open access to his bare back.
Muscles rippled under her touch and her shift was lowered. Hot breath feathered over her sensitive breasts just before his tongue began to draw circles around her nipples.
His head shifted and he took her breast into his mouth. For an instant, she felt as if he were pulling her very being deep inside his own body.
An errant memory of a book she’d once read about the Wild Woman mythology wafted through her mind. Now, right now, for the first time in her life, she felt she understood what it meant to actually be a Wild Woman. No
longer a child, not yet a Wise Woman, but that magical step in between.
At this moment, more than anything, a Wild Woman was the only thing in the world she wanted to be. His Wild Woman.
She ran her fingernails lightly down his back. His groan against her breast sent a tremor through her body that ended somewhere between her legs, sparking a sensitivity that made her think she could actually hear the blood pounding low, keeping time with her pounding heart, setting a rhythm for what was to come.
That what was to come was not in question. She knew what would happen if she didn’t stop them in their tracks right now. Only thing was, she didn’t want to stop it.
She was the Wild Woman.
With only his plaid separating them, the length of his shaft pressed against her sensitive folds and the need that had beat at her before became a demanding throb.
Two tugs to his plaid and nothing separated them, his hot skin scorching hers when next he rocked against her.
The hiss she heard when he sucked his breath between clenched teeth could as well have been the sizzle of heat firing between them.
“I doona think I’ve the will to tear myself away.” His voice, low and gravelly, slid up her spine as if he trailed the spot with his hand.
“Listen to me. If you stop now,” she panted in response, knotting her hands into the plaid bunched at his waist, “I swear to God, I’ll be angry with you for the rest of my life.”
“And that I could no live with,” he murmured, dropping his head to trail kisses down her neck.
This time when he rocked against her, she lifted her hips to meet him. The tip of his shaft slipped into her folds and he froze, hesitating to make the next move.
She felt a bubble of laughter building low in her chest. The next move was up to her. No problem at all for a Wild Woman.
Healing the Highlander Page 17