Highland Rogue

by Deborah Hale

  As it had when they were young, her antagonism rubbed against his pride to kindle an answering spark. “Maybe not, if the feelings are true to begin with and if neither of the folks have changed in the meantime.”

  “Are you saying you didn’t love my sister when we were young?” she demanded. “You gave a very fine imitation of it.”

  “I’m sure I did, for I was convinced that was what I felt.” Ewan looked back on his behavior with hard-won perception. “Mooning about … watching her from afar … showing off for her … dreaming of her—that’s the way a lad goes on about any bonny lass. And for me, I reckon it was all mixed up with wanting something better for myself.”

  “Ate you saying you only cared for my sister as a—a symbol of your ambition?” Could she look that indignant on Tessa’s behalf, if she had any true feelings for him?

  “Look, I’m not proud of it. No more than ye are of getting drunk and offering me money to share yer bed. I was young then. I don’t know if it’s the same for lasses, but for lads it’s like three or four years of being drunk on a brew of all the bloody queer feelings raging inside ye. Ye make a damn fool of yerself as often as not, and ye aren’t responsible for a lot of the daft things ye do.”

  Again Claire caught her lip in her teeth. But this time, Ewan guessed she might be trying to curb a wayward grin. “It is no different with girls.”

  “Well, there ye go.” It did not give him nearly the satisfaction to score that point off her than it would have once upon a time.

  “Tessa may not realize it yet, but she never loved me, either. Not the way it should be between a grown man and woman. I’m some kind of forbidden fruit to her. If I’d never been a servant, if I was some toplofty blueblood with her ma nagging her to marry me, she’d throw me over as quick as she did that poor Stanton chap. Quicker, maybe.”

  He thought for a moment. “I reckon she cares more for Stanton than she knows, if she’s stayed with him this long in spite of her ma’s approval.”

  Again Claire looked as if she wanted to laugh. Then she grew sober again. “That’s a great deal for you to have figured out in such a short time.”

  Ewan shrugged. “I’m smarter than I look.”

  “I’ve never underestimated your brains, Ewan Geddes.”

  She deserved a less flippant answer. “The truth is, maybe I’m not as smart as I look. I’ve had clues over the years about my own feelings, I just never tallied them all up before and made myself take a good hard look at the sum. It’s not easy letting go of something ye’ve hung on to for a long while.”

  Was that what she had done? Claire wondered. Clung to her old feelings for Ewan Geddes long after she should have let them go? Had she truly loved him, or had her feelings been tainted by something else—perhaps the need to compete with her beautiful sister for attention and love?

  “Must you go right away?” she asked. “Could you not stay a few days and break the news to Tessa more gradually?”

  Ewan considered her request, then slowly shook his head. “I reckon a quick break will be kinder in the long run.”

  Part of her wanted him gone. He posed too grave a threat to her self-control. Another part could not abide the prospect of losing him from her life again.

  “If you would like to stay … or go away for a while, then come back later, I meant what I said about you running a business here at Strathandrew. I still believe it’s a worthwhile idea and I’m convinced you’re the perfect man for the job.”

  Was this just another way of buying his presence in her life? In part, perhaps, she conceded after a ruthless scrutiny of her motives. But there was more to it. She had promised him the job offer was for business reasons, independent of personal considerations. She owed it to him to keep her word about that.

  Ewan considered her offer for a few moments. “Ye don’t think the whole thing would be too awkward between ye and me?”

  Devilishly so, and more on her part. All the same, if he wanted the job and was willing to take it, she must not let her apprehension stand in his way.

  “I expect it will be awkward between us for a time. But we aren’t sixteen anymore, Ewan. We’ve both knocked about the world enough to know that everyone makes mistakes now and then. We all do things we wish we could undo.”

  “Oh, aye.” He seemed to sigh the words more than speak them. “I reckon we both made mistakes last night. Ye’ve had the character to own up to yers and make an apology. Ye put me to shame.”

  What on earth was he talking about?

  Her puzzlement must have shown on her face, for Ewan asked, “Do ye remember what ye said to me last night?”

  A blistering blush suffused her face. It surprised Claire to discover she had any embarrassment left after last evening. “I’d prefer it if we could both forget everything I said and did.”

  “Aye, there’s some things I’d like to forget, as well. But there are other parts I want to remember always. Like dancing with ye at the ceilidh, and hearing ye confess ye fancied me once upon a time.”

  It had been so much more than a fancy, and by no means confined to the past. If she emptied a keg of hard cider, she might find the reckless nerve to tell him so. Or perhaps not. All the cider in the world could not sweeten the bitterness of humiliation she had tasted last night.

  Tasted? Nay—drained to its vilest dregs.

  “Why didn’t ye tell me it was ye I kissed that night by the dock, not Tessa?”

  His words staggered Claire. “What? And give you reason to hate me more than you did already? I’m sorry for what it cost you, Ewan, but I swear I had no idea until you told me a few days ago. And what good would it have done to tell you? The truth wouldn’t have changed anything.”

  “It might have made me realize yer sister didn’t care anything for me, back then. It might have helped me not feel so bloody guilty about the fancy I found myself taking to ye.”

  Ewan took a step toward her. “I should never have kissed ye, Claire. Not last night. Not that night on the Marlet. And for sure not that night ten years ago.”

  He took another step.

  Claire pressed herself back against the door, as if his words were weapons and he were threatening her with them. What had possessed her to come here?

  “Please …” She fumbled with the doorknob. “… you made your feelings abundantly clear last night. I don’t need to hear any more.”

  Berating herself for being a coward, but unable to dredge up the courage to face him a moment longer, she turned to flee.

  But the door would not budge.

  She grappled with the knob, twisting and pulling in a frenzy to escape.

  “I won’t hurt ye, Claire.” He stood so close, she could feel the warmth of his breath on her ear. “At least, no more than I have already.”

  Reluctantly she lifted her gaze to see Ewan’s strong brown hand resting high on the door, holding it shut.

  “Ye may not want to listen to me, lass, but I reckon ye need to, for ye’re not really hearing what I’m trying to say.”

  Perhaps this was what she needed. To purge any foolish wisp of hope from her heart. And to atone for her behavior last night.

  “Go ahead and speak your piece, then.” It took every scrap of nerve she possessed to turn and face him. “I assure you, I understand better than you think.”

  One glimpse at his face and she wished she’d had the sense to keep her back to him. He looked tired and troubled. But that only made her yearn for him all the more. Whatever her feelings had once been for him, they had since ripened into love.

  “I hope that’s not true, Claire, or I’m wasting my breath.” He shrugged his broad shoulders and flashed a grin that held more wariness than mirth. “I’ve got nothing to lose by trying, now … except my pride. And I reckon I’d be better off with less of that.”

  “Perhaps we both would.”

  He gave a slow nod. “Ye and me may be more alike than either of us would care to admit. I hope ye’ll pay better mind to what I have to s
ay than I pay to myself sometimes.”

  Thrusting out his lower lip, he blew a puff of breath that stirred the lock of hair hanging over his brow. “I’m sorry I kissed ye because I had no right while I was still claiming to care for yer sister. Last night, ye accused me of leading ye on, but I swear I wasn’t trying to do that. I was just so confused by my own feelings.”

  “You were?”

  “Aye. That was one of those clues I should have figured out. A man who’s in love doesn’t spend all his time thinking about another lass and wanting to kiss her every time he gets half an excuse.”

  She heard what he was saying. She wanted to understand and believe, but her guarded heart refused to grasp it.

  Ewan seemed to sense her doubt. “What I felt for Tessa was the fancy of a lad for a lass, because she was bonny. What I feel for ye is the love of a man for a woman who’s bonny … and clever, and passionate and proud.”

  He removed his hand from the door. “If all ye can ever feel for me is what I used to feel for Tessa, then I guess there’s no more to be said and I’d ought to get out of yer lives before I cause any more trouble for all of us.”

  Had she misunderstood him—hearing what she so desperately wanted to hear? Or if she had heard right, what could have made him say such things? “I told you, I don’t want your pity, Ewan, if that’s what this is about.”

  “Ye think I’d tell ye I love ye, because I feel sorry for ye?” He sounded as though he had never heard anything so foolish.

  “I don’t know. Would you?”

  “No!” He slammed his palm against the door. “—Haven’t ye listened to anything I’ve said, lass? I’ve finally figured out that it’s not right to mix love up with other feelings. Not ambition. Not rebellion. And sure as hell not pity!”

  Claire drew back at the severity of his outburst. The fierce strength of his declaration felt like a golden hammer pounding against the thick sheet of ice that had long encased her heart. That ice had been her prison, but it had also been her protection. Could she do without it?

  Ewan’s blast of outrage seemed to dissipate as quickly as it had erupted. With slow, tender restraint, he raised his hand to her cheek. And when he spoke, the gentle sympathy of his tone warmed her. “Look, I know plenty of men have had a hand in convincing ye that ye’ll never be loved for who ye are—starting with yer own pa. I hope wherever he is, he’s having to answer for that foolishness.”

  Her father had not been the wisest of men. She had rescued Brancasters from enough of his mismanagement to know it. Yet she had idolized him and craved any love he had left over for her. Could she accept that he’d been wrong about her?

  “I’m not asking ye to believe me all at once,” murmured Ewan. “I’m only asking ye to pretend for a few minutes that ye believe. Would that be so hard?”

  Slowly, Claire shook her head. Had she not done a good job of pretending when they’d first come to Strathandrew? Too good, perhaps. The movement of her cheek against the palm of his hand felt so comforting, she soon found herself nuzzling into his caress.

  “Good.” The corners of Ewan’s wide mouth curled in a slow blossoming smile that melted more of her ice palisade. “Then tell me this—if ye could believe that I loved ye, could ye love me? Not just wanting me to serve ye in bed, but as a partner ye could trust and respect, as well?”

  Fear told her that was too dangerous a question to answer truthfully, without the convenient excuse of drunkenness. As Ewan had said, she had nothing to lose except her pride. But pride was important to her. In the past, it had enabled her to carry on when she’d been tempted to surrender to despair.

  “I’ve never felt any other way about you.” She struggled to coax her voice above a whisper. “Though I made an awful botch of it last night, trying to tell you so.”

  As if it possessed a will of its own, her hand rose to graze his cheek. “I find you a most desirable man, and I would give most anything to … enjoy your company in bed. Never as a servant, though. A master, perhaps. A teacher. But not a servant.”

  Ewan hoisted his shoulder, to catch her hand between it and his cheek. “In that case, I reckon I could stay at Strathandrew a wee bit longer.”

  The breath she’d been holding escaped in a soft, hopeful sigh. “You could?”

  “Aye. Ye see, I need to mount a campaign to convince ye of how I feel about ye.”

  With their hands still pressed to each other’s cheeks, he lowered his face to hers, angling his lips until they were poised in a perfect position for a kiss. “It’s going to take a great many walks in the hills, I reckon. More billiard matches in the evenings. I’ll have to brush up on my Burns to recite ye lots of love poems.”

  Like the enchanted hill water, his gray eyes sparkled with rainbows, tempting her to chase a dream.

  “It all sounds too good to be true.”

  “That’ll be part of the challenge. To make ye believe it’s good enough to be true. To make ye believe ye deserve it to be true.”

  He chuckled—a sound as sweet and intoxicating as hard cider. “Lucky for me, I’ve always enjoyed a challenge.”

  His lips were so close to hers, she could feel their movement as he spoke, and the warm whisper of his breath. If he didn’t kiss her soon, Claire feared she might swoon or scream or otherwise embarrass herself and spoil the moment. She would not bid him, though, like a mistress bidding a servant. Instead, she waited, trusting that he would satisfy the desire he had kindled.

  Ewan did not disappoint her. Nor did he keep her waiting and wanting.

  His lips closed over hers, unhurried, but not uncertain. With a deft swipe of his tongue, he beguiled her mouth open, then treated her to a kiss that put Claire in mind of Mrs. McMurdo’s cranachan trifle—soft, sweet, rich … and mildly intoxicating.

  “I reckon it’s only fair to warn ye,” Ewan murmured when he had sated her with his kiss. “This sort of thing is going to be a key strategy for convincing ye how I feel. And this …”

  The hand that cupped her cheek began a slow, delightful descent, down her neck, toward her bosom, where it came to rest in a tantalizing caress. “It was everything I could do to keep my hands off ye, that first night we played billiards. From now on, unless we have company, I’m not even going to try.”

  Her mouth went dry and her knees grew weak just contemplating the prospect. They grew weaker still when Ewan’s lips followed the trail his hand had blazed down her neck.

  “I’ll serve ye notice about something else, too.” His words became kisses against the sensitive flesh of her neck.

  “And what might that be?” Her question emerged in a breathless whisper as she inclined her cheek to nuzzle against his hair.

  The hand fondling her bosom made way for his approaching lips by sliding down to her waist.

  “If I catch ye wearing a corset again,” he threatened in a husky purr, “ye’ll leave me no choice but to take off yer clothes and relieve ye of it.”

  A hot, sweet shiver rippled through her.

  “I’m wearing a corset now.” She arched against him, painfully self-conscious of such wanton behavior, yet reveling in it at the same time. “It’s a very tight one. Laces up the back. Fiendishly difficult to get off. I doubt you could if you tried.”

  “Do ye, now?” Ewan glanced up at her, the fires of sweet sin blazing in the depths of his eyes. “That sounds like a direct challenge to me. I’m afraid ye leave me no choice but to carry ye over to that bed and prove I’m more than a match for laces and whalebone.”

  She did not protest as he hoisted her into his arms and strode across the room, flinging her down upon the bed. But after he’d thrown off his coat and begun crawling toward her with lithe, predatory grace, she could not resist a further teasing challenge.

  “You aren’t still bashful about carrying on like this in my father’s bed, I hope?”

  “Hang yer father!” Ewan swooped in to kiss her with fierce, wild ardor worthy of some romantic Highland chieftain of old. Claire wondered what so
rt of challenge might provoke him to make love to her among the ruins of the ancient castle. Perhaps even wearing a kilt?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Who’d have guessed Claire Talbot had it in her to be such a beguiling little minx? Ewan thanked heaven he’d discovered the truth in time!

  He kissed her hungrily as he wrestled with her clothes. “If this damn hook doesn’t give way soon, I’m afraid I might tear yer pretty dress.”

  She grappled for his hand, caught it and raised it to the neck of her gown. “Rip away!” she urged him with a wanton chuckle. “I believe it might prove quite stimulating.”

  Stimulating—the word all by itself stimulated him. Let alone having Claire whisper it in his ear in that seductive tone while the backs of his fingers pressed against her breasts.

  Highland passion waged war on sensible Scottish thrift and trounced it soundly. His fingers tightened over the cloth and twisted. Then he gave a good, hard, sudden yank. The sweet screech of rending cloth almost made him lose control of himself.

  “There now!” He pulled the gown off her as he’d done last night. Only this time with a more cooperative partner and far less indecision on his part. “I’ve only a dozen or so layers left to peel away.”

  Claire gave a giddy, infectious laugh. “Would you like some help?”

  “I told ye …” Ewan kicked off his shoes, then pried off her slippers and tossed them onto the floor. “I like a challenge. Besides, undressing’s half the fun. It’s near as good as taking the pretty wrapping paper off a present.”

  Claire’s carefree bubble of laughter shattered. “I hope you will not be too disappointed by what you find under all the pretty wrapping.”

  That would be his greatest challenge, Ewan realized. Not bringing her pleasure in bed, but convincing her she pleased him. Persuading her that she deserved all the tenderness he could lavish upon her.