Elusive

by Linda Rae Blair

  “Thank you, I will,” Alexandre responded. He didn’t know what had possessed him to approach her but now, he thought, perhaps he could find out what the hell she was up to and why she was here in Edinburgh. The waiter approached and took their orders. Then Alexandre turned to her and let his gaze settle on her face. Once he got close she was even more striking than he had given her credit for. The gray eyes had little blue flecks. The light hair that from a distance he had credited to an expensive salon was, undoubtedly, her own natural color—an amazingly pale blonde. Her mouth—well, he found he didn’t dare let his mind go there for long.

  “Please call me Alexandre. Tell me, Rachel Wallace, what brings you to Edinburgh?”

  She loved the familiar French accent and felt herself start to relax just slightly. “I am here on holiday. I think it is a lovely country—all the historic buildings, the lovely woolens, the tartans. I find myself very glad I came, and I am hoping to see much more. And you, Monsieur?” she asked.

  “Ah, I am here on family business. Very dull, I’m afraid, but trying to make it more enjoyable by spending some time seeing the sights.” She was so easy to talk to. He would have to be careful around her, but he needed more time with her to find out what he needed. “Perhaps you could join me after breakfast. I planned to visit the Royal Museum.”

  “Oh …oui, that would be lovely,” she agreed, hesitating slightly. Surely being with him would be safe enough as long as they were in public during the daytime, she thought. “I had planned to see it today or tomorrow.” She had saved that one museum as a treat for a time when she could spend the whole day.

  Over breakfast Alexandre decided that, if she hadn’t been an imposter, he would have really liked her. However, since he knew she was up to no good, he remained on guard. Gradually, he got her to talk about herself, although she was obviously holding back, he felt he was getting some idea of her real opinions. By spending the good part of the day with her at the museum, he hoped he would be able to get a better idea of what the real girl was like. Since she was using a second name, Blair Delamare in France, now Rachel Wallace here, he knew he would have to be very selective in what he believed.

  For Blair, she was so lost in the moment that she completely forgot to find out why he had shown up at Roddy’s funeral.

  ***

  As they walked toward the museum, enjoying the displays in the shop windows, and the lovely weather as they walked, he noticed the oddly familiar face in the approaching crowd. He was uncertain about where he had seen the man before, but his reaction was one of instant wariness. Then he saw the knife.

  He grabbed the girl and pulled her out of the way just as the blade quickly rose upward toward her chest. Instead, it caught Alexandre in the right arm from wrist to bicep. The girl screamed, and passersby stopped to help Alexandre, during which time the man disappeared easily in the mayhem.

  His head swam as he dropped to his knees on the walk. The pain in his arm told him that it wasn’t just a scratch. Then he saw her leaning over him.

  “Alex, are you alright? Someone went for the police. We’ll get you to the hospital right away,” she assured him.

  He had never permitted the familiar shortening of his name until now. He found he liked the way it sounded when she said it. Then he realized that she was more shaken than he was. “I’ll be fine, Rachel. Are you hurt?” His head was spinning and she sounded as if she was far away, and yet those gray eyes were close and focused sharply on his.

  “No, I’m fine. I think you may very well have saved my life. Alex, thank you. Thank you,” she said. Her eyes were filling with the dreaded tears again. Once again, she didn’t seem to have any control over them.

  “It was the least I could do,” he replied, hoping she wouldn’t look so helpless and lost. Damn, she played a good game. It was going to be a challenge finding out her secrets, but he thought he might just enjoy the effort—if his head would just stop swimming. Then he heard the annoying whine of the ambulance and all went black as he slid the rest of the way to the street.

  ***

  There she was, standing over him again. Her face was so pale he wondered that she was still able to stand. If he hadn’t known better, he would have believed the concern in her eyes. “Well,” he said, quietly looking around the room and then up at her as he realized he was in a hospital room. “I seem to have missed the museum.”

  “Oh, Alex, please do not joke about this. You could have been killed. I would never have forgiven myself,” she said, as the tears overflowed. The doctor had told her that, if the knife had struck him less than an inch to the left it would have hit an artery, and he surely would have bled to death.

  “Rachel, please don’t cry. I’m fine, really.” Why was it that women could turn on the tears and rip a man apart at the drop of a hat? One tear from a woman and a man was useless and left with his pride blowing in the wind. It was a reality that had him feeling much more vulnerable than he had on the street earlier.

  Just then, the doctor came into his room. “Aye, he’s fine, lassie.” The doctor smiled at Blair and continued in his Scottish brogue, “Two hours of my superior skills in the surgery has him on the road to good health. He passed out from loss of blood, but the injury did nae permanent damage. As I explained earlier, it could hae been much worse.”

  Looking down at Alexandre, “The arm must remain in the sling for a week or so. Now that we hae him back in one piece, we will get a couple of good meals into him and watch him for the next few hours. He should be able to leave tomorrow morning.”

  Why did doctors always talk about you instead of to you, Alexandre wondered in a fit of piqué?

  “No!” Alexandre said, as he rose a little too quickly. To his surprise, his head swam briefly, and Rachel caught his good arm and hung onto him. “I’m fine, really. Please get my clothing, and I’ll take a taxi back to the hotel.

  “Alexandre, are you sure you should do this?” Blair asked, hoping he would listen to the doctor.

  Well, now I’m Alexandre again, he thought. Somehow he felt a little saddened by it. “Yes, Rachel. I’m certain. Doctor, please have my clothes brought to me.”

  It was obvious that his patient was not going to cooperate and, since he could not force him to stay, he cautiously gave in. “Alright. We’ll let you go, but I want your promise that at the first sign of any fever you will return immediately. An infection could undo all my superior surgical work.”

  Turning to Rachel, the doctor continued. “Young lady, I will release him into your care. His bandage should be changed three times a day for the next two days and daily thereafter. Understood?”

  “Yes, I’ll see to it,” she promised. After all, the man had saved her life.

  “When the police return to speak to you, I’ll send them over to the hotel,” the doctor continued as he strode out the door.

  “Rachel, I do not want you bothered with this. I’m sure that I can change the bandages myself,” he was almost growling at her. He was uncomfortable with her so close, and he had yet to figure out what she was up to. And then there was the attack. Why was someone trying to kill her? Perhaps it was just some street thug, but then why had the attacker seemed so familiar? His arm ached, his head pounded. He was in no condition to think about her or the attack any longer.

  “If you are going to argue with me, Alexandre, perhaps I should call the doctor back. Perhaps he can just knock you out to keep you down for awhile,” she said, with her arms folded in front of her and her expression set in determination. “Perhaps a nice big needle filled with some magical potion…?”

  “Well, if you’re going to be nasty about it,” he said, tentatively rising from the bed as the nurse brought in his clothing. His jacket and shirt were ruined, but they would at least get him back to the hotel.

  “You have yet to see me get nasty, Monsieur!” Blair turned on her heel and left the room—leaving him to dress with the nurse’s assistance.

  As she waited outside the door, Blair felt
her knees start to buckle. Alexandre’s doctor had been approaching his room, and he grabbed her in time to prevent her falling on her face.

  Holding onto her he said, “Are you alright, lass? Here, let’s get you to a chair. You just lean on me for a moment.” He took her to the chair across the hall and lowered her into it. “Let me check you out,” he said, as he looked into her eyes, listened to her heart beat, checked her pulse. No doubt about it, she was simply having a reaction to being attacked earlier and to her companion’s injury.

  He wondered how she had managed to stay alert until now. Sometimes people didn’t react to trauma until after all the excitement was over. Watching her he determined that, yes, now that his patient was doing well and she no longer needed to remain in control, the poor girl was finally letting loose of all the nerves that had built up.

  As Alexandre came out of his room, he saw the doctor kneeling in front of the girl. “What’s wrong? Is she hurt? Damn it, did that son-of-a-bitch hurt her?” Suddenly he found that both the girl and the doctor were just frozen. The girl’s pouty little mouth stood open in shock as she stared at him until the doctor snapped out of it and spoke.

  “She’s fine, lad—just fine. She’s just reacting to the shock of everything that’s happened,” the doctor told him.

  “Oh!” Now in addition to all his other pains, he really felt like an idiot! Covering for his gaff, he rationalized aloud, “I thought perhaps she had been injured, and she hadn’t realized it until now.” He cleared his throat and tried to think quickly. “Delaying treatment could have been very serious, could it not?” he asked the doctor.

  “Aye,” the doctor replied, smiling at the poor sucker who didn’t even realize he’d gotten hooked just like those delicious trout he intended to catch in the loch this weekend. “Aye, that’s perfectly logical.”

  Helping the girl to her feet, the doctor continued. “Now you two move along. And you lad,” he said, pointing his finger at Alexandre, “You go to bed as soon as you get back to the hotel.” In his opinion, if the lad was smart, he would take the beautiful lassie with him.

  “Yes, I will. Thank you, doctor. Rachel, are you feeling well enough to go now?” She still looked a little pale to him.

  “Yes, I’m fine, thank you.” As she slowly turned to leave, Alexandre grabbed her arm with his good one and led her to the exit.

  ***

  Damn the woman, he was drowning in her—her sweetness, her kindness, her nearness. Pushing that aside, he let his temper reign. Why wouldn’t she just go to her room and let him be? Not that he minded being pampered, mind you. But did she have to take her nursing duties so damned seriously? She had ordered room service—soup, tea, toast—for God’s sake. He wanted a good cut of beef! Not that he could have cut it one-handed, he realized as he tamped down his temper again.

  She was just trying to repay him for being the one to take the cut earlier. Well, he decided he would let her—for now. Maybe she would relax enough to slip up and tell him something that would shed some light on why she was here.

  In the meanwhile, he realized his room smelled of her. That faint scent she wore permeated his brain as though he were drowning in it. Shaking his head, he wondered what was wrong with him—other than his arm?

  “Alexandre?” Blair came into the room after tapping gently on the door. “It is time to change your bandages.”

  She helped him into the suite’s large bathroom where he sat on the straight-back chair near the sink. She gently removed the shirt she had helped him into when they got back to the hotel.

  Once again she was struck with the beauty of his build, the strong cord of muscles that stretched across his back, the curling black hair that traveled from his chest to somewhere—she dared not think of where—below his belt buckle. She busied herself removing the bandage and felt the blood drain from her head when she saw the wound.

  “Now, don’t pass out on me!” Alexandre shouted, grabbing her with his good arm.” I could hardly pick you up with only one arm!”

  She looked at him expecting to see that stern expression he had when he was angry with her, which for some reason seemed to be often. Instead she found him smiling at her, those blue eyes just staring at her from between the thick, black lashes. His mouth was just inches away from hers and, after the briefest moment of hesitation, he lowered his to kiss her so gently she was unsure at first that he had indeed touched her. After pulling back, he looked at her again, and this time she knew she had been kissed. Her head was spinning, but now it wasn’t from seeing his wound.

  “I’m sorry, Rachel,” he said, as he backed away from her again, gripping her shoulders. “I shouldn’t have done that. After all, you hardly know me.” At the moment, he hardly recognized himself.

  She backed away from him and moved to the table across the room to get the scissors. I am just sorry that you regret it, she thought to herself without uttering a sound. Returning, she finished rewrapping his arm. “I will let you get some sleep now. I will stop by in a few hours to rewrap it.” Backing away, she turned and walked out of the room. He stayed put until he heard the door to his suite close behind her.

  He had watched her during the process of changing the bandage. She was distant—cold—not speaking to him unless he asked her a question. Damn it all, he had apologized for kissing her! Why was she still so angry? He was far from naïve; he recognized her response—didn’t he? He’d step back, be sure he didn’t touch her again. He didn’t seem to be able to control his urge to touch her.

  He rubbed his face with his hand and felt the thick stubble of the day’s beard. Hum. And I’m going to have to trust her to shave me? I’ll be lucky to get out of it in one piece.

  Shaking his head, he arose, and returned to the bedroom feeling completely drained. He was still unable to shake her and her scent from his mind—from his senses.

  Blair continued to tend to his injury for the next two weeks, until his arm needed very little care and the stitches had been removed. She spoke to him as little as possible throughout the process. He would just watch her with an interest she did not understand, but he didn’t try to kiss her again. She found that that left her more unsettled than the kiss itself.

  Finally she decided she had to move on with her plans, and she checked out of the hotel early in the morning without saying goodbye to Alexandre. He had all but shut her out since he had kissed her. Obviously he was not interested in her, and her pride was more badly wounded than his arm.

  Even with her dear Julien, she had never felt the tug of attraction that she felt when she was around Alexandre. He unnerved her by simply looking in her direction. She thought it best that she just cut the ties cleanly, before she ended up in more pain than she was in already.

  Sadly, she looked around the elaborate lobby and tried to memorize everything about it, so that she could look back later on her memory of these weeks and see something besides those blue eyes.

  There was heavy, plush, upholstered seating set on the wooden floors covered in lush, thick carpets in rich colors. The dark, wooden tables gleamed with lemon wax that wafted on the air. They held fresh floral arrangements that were reflected on the shining surface of the wood, thanks to the lovely glow from the chandeliers high above.

  The walls held gilded mirrors and paintings of monarchs and dignitaries of the distant past. Heavy draperies surrounded the large windows that reached from just above the floors to a height of ten-feet or more. There were two large fireplaces on opposing walls. Glass sconces on each side of both mantles held candles that still flickered in the faint early morning light.

  She sighed as she stepped through the door to the outside. The doorman helped her into a taxi, and she left for the train depot determined not to give Alexandre Maigny any more thought.

  Despite her intentions, all the way to Donnach, she thought of little other than Alexandre. Finally, as they pulled into the station later that morning, she once again pulled herself together with determination. She would never see hi
m again. There was no use in spending any more of her time feeling sad about it. She exited the train, gathered her baggage and set off to find lodging in the village.

  **************************

  Chapter 21: Fruitless

  Donnach, Scotland – 1733

  It seemed that Macrath would have no heirs, at least by Seonaid. Unfortunately, Seonaid suffered three successive miscarriages within the next two years. She died giving birth to a stillborn son in their fourth year of marriage.

  Seonaid had been the only woman to claim even a small portion of Macrath’s black heart. Her loss, however, was mourned no longer than that of the stallion whose fall had broken his fetlock the year before.

  ***

  Macrath no longer believed in fate—only in his own determination. He married again the next year. Margaret MacMillan was a handsome. young redhead whose father pushed her into Macrath’s path, despite his reputation. But the sweet, milky-skinned Margaret also proved to be barren, and Macrath still had no heir. It was as if God himself was conspiring against him.

  In the meanwhile, young Fergus McDonnough, the young son of Mordag, grew into a teenager with a personality, selfishness, and innate deceit that exceeded that of his eldest half-brother. Had Macrath been able to read Fergus’s mind, he would have recognized the cunning and deceit. Fergus watched and learned from his half-brother—set him up as an example. But Fergus wanted more—he wanted it all. What he didn’t want was Macrath in his way! He would bide his time—for now.

  ***

  Macrath saw the writing on the wall. He’d heard that Bonny Prince Charlie was planning a return to Scotland. As certain as he was that the prince would return, he was just as certain that the prince was not going to win his fight for the crown. Oh, no doubt the Jacobites would give it a good try, but ultimately they would fail. They needed the support of the French. But the French couldn’t be trusted to keep their promises—he never trusted the damned French.