Northumbria, late winter, 1826
Matthew’s shocked expression was clear for Jenny to see, even in the flickering candlelight. He clenched his jaw and went perfectly still while she felt perilously close to tears.
“The Gypsies assumed y-you were my husband,” she whispered shakily. “So I-I let them—and you—believe it.”
She suddenly realized where her hands were, and yanked them away, awkwardly pulling up her blouse to cover herself as she climbed off him. “I was afraid you would die if I—”
He closed his eyes, and Jenny finally managed to right her chemise and blouse. She slipped away from the bed and grabbed the shawl that had been draped near the stove to dry. Wrapping it around her shoulders, she felt shaken and mortified by what had just transpired.
But she wanted him still.
She pressed her hands to her cheeks. They were hot, and Jenny knew they must be flushed. She didn’t know how she was going to face “Matthew” again.
“Come and sit down, lass.” His voice was dark and rumbling, and the sound of it caused impossible yearnings to stir in her heart once again.
“I-I—”
“I’ve covered myself, Jenny. Come and sit down.”
She took a deep breath and turned to face him. He’d pulled the blanket over his lap, but his chest was still bare. As was one leg.
Jenny chewed on her lip and sat down beside the stove. She could not trust herself to go any closer, not when he looked at her like a fierce pirate, eyeing his valuable booty.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re sure we’re no’ wed?”
“Of course I’m sure,” Jenny replied, her voice still shaky. She stood abruptly, feeling edgy and raw. “I know it was wrong to say so, but you were hurt, and it was freezing cold and raining. And that man, Tekari Kaulo, frightened me.”
“Aye. I can see how it was.”
Jenny began to pace in the small space. “I thought the highwaymen might come back—”
She turned and bumped into Matthew, who had come to his feet so quietly, she hadn’t even heard him. He grabbed hold of her shoulders to keep her from crashing into him, and Jenny sent up a prayer of thanks that he’d wrapped something around his waist.
“You’re still the most beautiful lass I’ve ever known,” he said softly, drawing her close to him, “and my wanting you hasna changed.”
Jenny swallowed the lump in her throat. He dipped his head and brushed her mouth with his. But her good sense prevailed before she could fall into his kiss.
“No! This is not…” She stepped back. “I’m not…”
“You are no’ what, lass?”
“I am not your wife.”
“Are you anyone else’s wife?” he asked.
“No, of course not.”
“Jenny, I felt your response to me.”
“That doesn’t mean I can sleep with you,” she snapped.
“Sleep? I wasna thinking of—”
“I know what you were thinking of, Matthew!” She whirled away from him. How could he be so obtuse? Even without a memory, he had to know that their actions had been reprehensible. Immoral.
He pulled her against him, her back to his chest, and slid one arm about her waist. “Jenny, there is no one to gainsay us. Come back to bed and let me show you how good it can—”
“No. ’Tis impossible.”
“You’ve said you are no’ married.”
“No, but you might be!”
Matthew’s heart had not slowed since the moment Jenny had put her hands on his cock. He wanted her desperately, but even without a memory to guide him, he was quite certain he was not a man to beg. “I doona think I am wed.”
“But you cannot be sure,” she countered. “There might be a wife waiting for you at home in Scotland. With your children at her side.”
He felt his brow crease as he tried to think, but all he got for his trouble was a sharp pain in his temple. He must have winced, for Jenny urged him to sit.
“I’m all right, lass,” he said, his voice a harsh rasp.
But the dream of Ana, the red-haired woman, suddenly came to mind, and he sat right down. He wasn’t all right, not at all.
“What is it? Do you remember—”
“I remember naught,” he said sharply.
The woman in the dream could not be his mate, not when his bond with Jenny compelled him so. He’d not made a true physical connection with her, but what he’d felt was beyond a mere physical mating with a comely female. It had been a fiery passion unlike anything he could ever have known. He would surely have remembered such a bond, in spite of the damage to his head.
“Why did you no’ leave me here with the Gypsies and go on your way, then?”
Wringing her hands together, she stepped away. “I couldn’t leave you here, so ill you could barely move.”
“We slept together last night.”
“But nothing more.”
“Until this morn.”
“Matthew,” she said sharply, “that was unintended. I didn’t even realize—”
“Is Matthew my name?”
She gave him a look of utter dismay and answered in a quiet voice. “I don’t know.”
“I doona think it is.”
“You remem—”
“No. But it doesna sound right. No’ the way Keating does.”
“Keating?” she asked. “My name is familiar to you?”
“Aye,” he said, irked by his peculiar malady. “But I doona know why.”
Matthew felt like a stranger to this place. He knew the language, but it was not his own. The people were entirely foreign to him, though mayhap it was because they were Gypsies. A sense of urgency tugged at the back of his mind, but he could not fathom the reason for it. Something to do with Ana…
He touched the bracer on his wrist and thought of the words etched there. Let wisdom and kindness prevail. The statement should help him to remember, but alas…
“Were we actually attacked by highwaymen?”
Jenny nodded. “I was. You came to help me.”
Aye. He wouldn’t have left this woman to face her attackers alone. “Was anyone with me when I came upon you and the highwaymen?” he asked.
“No.”
“Of course, else my companions would have remained with me to help,” he said, stating the obvious. “And you were alone as well?”
She nodded, and soft tendrils of her hair swirled ’round the delicate shells of her ears. She clung tightly to the shawl she’d wrapped ’round herself, clearly bent on discouraging his approach. “I was going to Carlisle, that much is true.”
“Why?”
“I was going to…” She let her words drift as she eyed the side of his head. “Your wound. ’Tis nearly healed.”
He shrugged. “Aye. Of course.”
“I’ve never known anyone to heal so fast.”
Matthew had an awareness that there were healers of all different abilities. He knew he was one of the best. He felt sure of it, but even his own formidable healing skills could not bring back the memory he had lost. ’Twas odd that there were certain things he knew about himself, yet his identity and purpose…his family connections…were deeply hidden.
“Why were you going to Carlisle?” he asked.
“’Tis a long, dull story.”
“Humor me, lass. You might say something that will bring me a memory.”
She sat down on the bed, then jumped to her feet again, as if the mattress burned her. With her cheeks flushed, she turned away from him. “I am—or I was—a teacher at a school a few miles away. I shared a room with another teacher, Harriet Lambton, who stole something of value from me and disappeared.”
“Disappeared? Did you find her after her vanishment?”
She gave him a puzzled look, as though she did not understand him. “N-no, I think she must have gone to Carlisle. Miss Lambton once mentioned that her brother lives there, so I assume that’s where she’s gone.”
He nodd
ed. “It makes sense. What did the woman take from you?”
“A locket,” Jenny said quietly. “’Tis a small silver pendant on a chain, all I have from my mother.”
Denoting a deep sadness when she said the words, he went to her and pulled the edges of her shawl together. “We’ll find her, Jenny. We can leave upon the morrow.”
“Matthew, you can’t come with me.”
“Aye, I can.”
“But what of your own journey? Clearly, you were going somewhere when you stopped to help me.”
“Aye. I feel it…something tugging at my brain. Something I must do, but I canna think what…”
Another explosion of gunpowder startled Jenny. “There, you see?”
“No. See what?”
“You must try to determine what it is, what’s tugging at you.”
“Jenny, every time I try to force it, the thought escapes me and goes even deeper.”
Something significant blazed between them. He wasn’t about to let her go off to Carlisle without him. Besides, ’twas her name that had drawn him here. He was certain of it. Somehow, Jenny Keating was tangled up in whatever purpose escaped him.
Jenny put her hands on her hips. “Why do you suppose you’re carrying so much gold?”
“I doona know.”
“I do.”
He tossed her a fierce, frowning look.
“You’re a wealthy man, Matthew. I suspect you might be lord of some vast Scottish estate.” He was certainly not English, not with his thick brogue and the Gaelic words that slid so smoothly from his tongue. Sometimes it seemed that he didn’t understand the things she said, and there were times when his meaning escaped her, too. Vanishment, for instance. She’d never heard such a word.
“If I am such an important personage, then where is my entourage?”
He said the words in a scoffing manner, but Jenny could see that the question bothered him. He’d likely thought of it already.
He took her hand and guided her to a seat at the table. Then he sat on the bed across from her, their knees nearly touching. “Tell me all that you remember when you first saw me,” he said.
She did not want to feel any sympathy for him. He belonged somewhere. Once he remembered his identity, he would return to that life, which included more gold than she could easily hold in both her hands. “I heard your voice first. You shouted to the highwaymen.”
“What did I say?”
“I don’t know. Something Gaelic, I think. Then you told them to stop.”
He looked down at his clasped hands, at the bracer that encircled his wrist. “Naught unusual about that. ’Tis what any man would have said under the same circumstances.”
Jenny nodded, although she doubted it. She could not imagine Mr. Ellis taking on four men in defense of an unknown woman. The young doctor hadn’t even had the gumption to contradict Reverend Usher’s criticisms.
“You saw no one near me?” Matthew asked. “Was this satchel the extent of my belongings?”
“Yes. There was nothing…Wait. You were pale and I thought you were ill.”
“Before I was shot?”
“Yes. I had forgotten that. You looked as though you were in pain.”
He looked at her intently. “So I might have been hurt before…” He rubbed his fingertips against his forehead, and Jenny kept silent to avoid interrupting any memories that might be emerging.
Jenny raised her brows and gazed at him expectantly, watching as every possible expression crossed his face. But for his fashionable suit of clothes, Matthew might have been a fierce Scottish warrior, come to the rescue of a helpless damsel.
He stood suddenly and moved to the stove, clasping his hands behind his back. She knew her honesty about their sham marriage had changed everything between them, which was as it should be.
He could not touch her the way he’d done only a few minutes before. Nor could they sleep together in the narrow bed. They could not even indulge in the small, affectionate gestures that seemed so natural for a man and his wife…
Because she was not his wife. She covered her trembling lips with her hand and fought tears.
She was no one. Her own aunt and uncle had wanted nothing to do with her, as though they’d somehow known of the aberrant force within her. She did not think Reverend Usher had connected her with the small accidents that had occurred with her anger, but he’d made certain she—and everyone else—understood all her other shortcomings.
She swallowed and looked up at him, bracing herself as he pondered all that she’d just told him, looking for the clue that might spark his memory.
“I think you’re wrong,” he said finally.
“I beg your pardon?”
“’Tis likely I’m running from something,” he said finally.
“I don’t understand.”
“This urgency that I feel…”
“No doubt you are expected somewhere.”
“Or I need to get away.”
“From whom? Or what?”
“I think I must have stolen that gold.”
Jenny could not help but laugh at the irony of Matthew believing he was a thief while Jenny was the one who’d been accused of it.
“’Tis no’ amusing, lass.”
“Yes, it is,” she retorted. “Look at you. Your clothes, your shoes.”
He glanced at the discarded items. “So?”
“They’re of such a fine quality, Matthew. Very unlike the clothes worn by the highwaymen who attacked me. I cannot imagine any thief on the run wearing such expensive attire. And your satchel.” She picked it up from the floor and slid her fingers over its butter-soft surface. “’Tis made of the finest leather I’ve ever seen.”
She glanced at him then and caught him looking at her hand as it glided over the leather. Only a few moments ago, her hands had caressed him, had fondled the thick strength of his manhood, encased in silky softness. She heard his breath catch.
Jenny felt the same hunger, but she had no intention of giving in to it. She set the satchel on the floor and looked away from him. “The thief that’s wanted is I, not you.”
“What do you mean?”
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Two constables came into camp looking for me this afternoon. They said I’d stolen something from Bresland.”
“That’s absurd.”
She felt ridiculously touched by his confidence in her, and swallowed a sudden burning at the back of her throat. “Bardo and the rest of the kompania got them to go away.”
“Will they return?”
“Perhaps. Bresland School is an important institution in Kirtwarren. The headmaster holds a great deal of sway in the district.”
They heard another series of small explosions outside, followed by laughter and the lively strains of a fiddle and the rhythmic clapping of hands.
“Then we must stay hidden among the Gypsies for now,” Matthew said. “As husband and wife.”
“We can’t.”
“We canna change our story now, lass,” Matthew said. “Besides, I doona like how Kaulo looks at you. I want him to understand you’re mine.”
It was merely a slip of the tongue. They both knew she was not his.
“I cannot stay here in this tiny room with you, Matthew.”
He came to her then and touched her cheek, sending shivers of wishful thinking down to her toes. “You are so soft, so beautiful.” He let his hand drop. “But I willna touch you unless you wish it.”
Of course she wished it. She wanted to go back to that bed, pull the wrapper from Matthew’s loins, and satisfy the burning need he’d kindled within her. But she knew better.
“Do you no’ trust me, lass?”
“I trust you,” she replied quietly. “’Tis myself I don’t trust.”
He took her hand. “Come to bed. Keep your Gypsy clothes on, but I plan to hold you through the night.”
He blew out the candle, and Jenny followed him down to the bed, letting him draw her into his arms.
True to his word, he made no advances, even though he’d discarded the cloth he wore and lay naked against her. She could hardly think when he pulled her close.
“Tell me about this place you came from. Bresland School.”
Matthew felt her stiffen. “’Tis just a school.”
“How did you come to be there?” he asked, fairly certain that the headmaster of “just a school” would not accuse an innocent teacher of thievery. And said teacher would not have found herself alone on a deserted road, vulnerable to attack.
“My history is quite dull, I assure you,” she replied.
“Humor me. I canna recall my own, so let me hear yours.”
She hesitated for a moment, then spoke quietly, her soft breath touching the base of his throat. “There’s not much to tell. My parents were killed in a boating accident.” She spoke steadily, but she took a deep, shuddering breath, and he skimmed his hand down her back.
“My mother’s sister was my only relation. But she and her husband…They had no use for a scrawny, little orphan girl. They sent me to Bresland School, which is where I’ve been ever since.”
“How old were you?”
“I’d just had my tenth birthday when my parents died.”
Matthew’s chest ached at the thought of Jenny as a wee, fair lass, her perfect eyes reddened with tears of grief and no one to comfort her. “Have you no brothers or sisters?”
He felt a slight shake of her head. “There was only my aunt Helen, and she…she let her husband send me away.”
Matthew had difficulty grasping such a concept, leading him to believe his own family must be very different. ’Twas no wonder she had difficulty believing he might wish to help her.
“What of you? Who is your family?” Jenny asked, and he saw her question for what it was—a deliberate attempt to steer the conversation away from her own circumstances. She knew he had no knowledge of his own origins, yet her question caused him a quick flash of a memory.
“I…” The thought was so fleeting, he could not grab hold of it. “You’ll no’ change the subject quite so easily, lass. Had you any friends at Bresland?”
She hesitated, and he knew she did not want to speak of this, either.
“I had Norah Martin,” she finally said.
“But you left her to go in search of your locket?”
Temptation of the Warrior Page 8