by Paula Quinn
He closed his eyes and nodded. She was right. He felt her moving his blanket up over his belly, caring for him after caring for his brother all morning. He wanted to be standing on his feet when he thanked her but it couldn’t wait. He took her hand before she moved away.
“Miss Grey,” he whispered. “Emmaline.”
“Mr. Grant?”
“I want to… kiss ye too.”
Chapter Ten
He must take at least seven sips, Alison.”
“Seven, yes, Emma.”
After six days at Cailean’s beside, Alison had earned Emma’s trust to tend to him as she herself would. Alison was very fond of the younger Grant. Emma didn’t blame her. Cailean was thoughtful and appreciative, unlike his brother.
It wasn’t that Malcolm Grant wasn’t thoughtful or… Well, in truth, he wasn’t. He was charming, and tempting, and he made her want to toss logic, caution, and everything else to the wind. When he had told her that he’d like to kiss her too, every nerve ending in her body ignited and left her burning, her blood boiling.
But he wasn’t thoughtful or very courteous. He didn’t thank her for anything. Not that she did anything for thanks. She didn’t. But no one ever thanked Clementine either. She liked him but he frightened her. People couldn’t be trusted. Hadn’t the people in her village proved that enough with Clementine?
Bess seemed to like him despite all his imperfections. Yes, she’d returned just in time to greet Malcolm when he woke from his hour sleep.
That was seven hours ago. She had the damn night off, and her voice was driving Emma to the brink of madness.
“Oh, Malcolm,” she cooed from her seat at the end of Cailean’s bed. “I didn’t know you owned your own castle. What do you call it again? Ravenwing?”
“Ravenglade,” Malcolm corrected her. He’d only had to correct her three times now. He didn’t seem to mind, at least not like Emma did. In fact, he sounded rather amused… a bit too tolerant if someone asked her opinion—which they didn’t. But then, this was what Malcolm Grant enjoyed, wasn’t it? Painted-faced women dressed in silk and satin, drooling over him and laughing over everything he said?
Emma flashed them both a sour expression. Truly, was Bess that dimwitted and Malcolm that easily captivated?
“I dinna’ live there though,” he continued, completely missing Emma’s scowl.
“Oh, Alison!” Bess laughed and stretched out her ankles from the mattress. “Do you not adore how they speak? He ‘dinna’’ live there.”
“Nae.” His laughter did sound a bit practiced and insincere, but he kept the game going because he liked all the attention Bess was giving him. “If ye are the one sayin’ it, then ’twould be ‘He doesna’ live there.’”
“Now, Malcolm.” Bess giggled like a fool. “You’re confusing me!”
Ugh! Emma nearly retched. Was this what a prostitute did for money? Did men really like simpleminded women? Did Malcolm? She couldn’t do it if it meant her life.
“I’d love to go to your Ravenglade and spend some private time with you,” Bess purred like a satisfied kitten. A master of her profession. “I’m sure you could work out a fair price with Harry. Perhaps after our time together you might decide to keep me with you.”
So! That’s what she wanted! She wanted Malcolm to take her from this life, keep her! Emma felt like screaming. She shook her head instead. She didn’t want to be here listening to this, but she refused to leave her patient alone with this seductress. If Bess had her way, she would take him to her bed. What did Emma care? Sadly, she cared a lot. She could pretend that she was concerned about the strain on Malcolm’s body if he slept with Bess. But she was certain he’d be just fine. It was more than that. Was she jealous? Did she like him? Oui, she did. He’d saved her brother’s life. If not for him, Gascon would still be outside. She didn’t know if she was jealous, but whatever she felt wasn’t pleasant. She had to step in and stop Bess from seducing him. “Mr. Grant,” she said in a hushed voice. “’Tis late. Cailean needs sleep.”
“Aye, of course,” he agreed and rose to his feet.
“Are you permitted out of this room?” Bess’s voice grated across Emma’s ears.
“I can go where I please,” he answered.
He was correct. Emma wouldn’t stop him. Let him injure himself further. She didn’t care. She turned away.
“Come with me to my room, then,” Bess compelled like a sorceress. “No charge.”
Emma fumed. She should just let him go since he seemed to enjoy Bess’s foolishness so much. It would serve him right to have Bess’s claws pierce him.
In the month Emma had been here, three patrons had fallen in love with Harry’s best girl, but the blond siren had mercilessly rejected them.
“Bess,” she said, speaking up for the first time that day. “I think Harry might object to you offering your services at no cost.”
A shift of fabric and the equal balance of sound in both her ears revealed that Bess had moved a little closer and turned to face her. “Emmaline.” Her voice dragged over Emma’s flesh like the edge of a well-sharpened sword as she stood to her feet. “Your brother already offered me to Mr. Grant at no cost. We haven’t taken our pleasure in his generosity yet. But I’ll see to it that we do. I understand that you ask some of the girls to describe Mr. Grant to you. I’ve been with him before and let me tell you he—”
“Bess.” Malcolm’s voice fell like a hammer, stopping Bess momentarily.
In that time, Emma wanted to run. Oh, how she wished she could hide, not from his description, but from her own. She sounded pathetic and desperate, asking others to describe—Oh, she couldn’t finish the thought. She wasn’t some weak dormouse to be pitied or a groping imbecile. She felt mortified in front of… him. Oui, his opinion mattered to her. She didn’t want it to. She didn’t even know if she liked him! But that didn’t change anything. She knew her flushed cheeks betrayed her. But if Bess saw her mortification, she didn’t spare Emma an ounce of pity.
“When I’m done with him,” Bess continued icily, “I’ll come to you and describe his body and the way he felt inside me. Would you like that, dear?”
“When ye’re done with me?” Malcolm interjected with a laugh just as cold. “Lass, ye speak like I could ever lose m’ heart to ye.”
Emma closed her mouth and swallowed. Bess had to be fuming, or on the verge of tears—as Emma might have been if Malcolm were speaking to her. Emma knew Malcolm Grant was no knight, shining armor or otherwise, but she didn’t expect him to stand up to Bess and especially not at the cost of sleeping with the highest paid prostitute in the brothel. Men didn’t argue with Bess. Why was Malcolm doing it?
“Stay out of my affairs, Emmaline,” Bess warned her, moving away from the bed. “Especially when they involve him. Or your dog will pay.”
Threatening Gascon was going too far. Emma knew her limitations but she’d be damned if she stood by and let someone hurt her dog. She took a step forward, but a pair of huge hands closed around her small waist and stopped her.
“Let her go, lass.” Malcolm’s breath was warm against her ear. “Let her go.”
Malcolm didn’t watch Bess leave. His eyes were fastened on Emma when she pulled out of his embrace and stepped away from him. She returned to Cailean’s side, but his brother was asleep. She’d done all she could for him. There was nothing else for now.
Malcolm knew Bess had embarrassed her. It had angered him when she taunted Emma about her sight, or lack of it. He didn’t give a rat’s arse if Bess believed she could make him pant after her. He’d interrupted to keep Emma from going toe to toe with such a viperous tongue as Bess possessed.
It surprised him a little that he cared about Emma’s feelings. He wasn’t a complete scoundrel, but the people whose feelings he usually concerned himself with were his family. Emma wasn’t that. But he cared just the same. It didn’t worry him too much. All the talk in Camlochlin about honor was stored somewhere in the back of his head. He’d rarely ca
lled upon it. He had no need to—most of the time. He never stayed around long enough to give a damn about anything. But he was here. Now. And he wouldn’t stand by and do nothing when someone was being treated poorly.
As for Bess, he had no interest in her whatsoever and he didn’t care if she knew it or not. He told himself he felt nothing for Emma either. He liked her but that was all.
“Does his fever linger?” he asked her, eyeing Alison at the same time. Gascon moved between him and Emma, and Malcolm rested his hand on the dog’s head.
He’d have a talk with Bess about threatening Gascon and let her know it wouldn’t be tolerated. But right now he wanted to get Emma’s mind off her.
“He’s a bit warm,” Emma told him. “Nothing concerning.” She took a step toward where her dog should be and rested her hand on top of Malcolm’s. She pulled away, but he caught her wrist and held it for a moment.
Tears pooled in her eyes, making them glimmer in the soft light when she tilted her chin to him.
He should have looked away. As much as he hated to admit it, the need to help was obviously ingrained somewhere deep in his head from his grandmother’s tales of chivalry.
“Him and Harry are all I have.” Her voice trembled along with her hand when she brought it up to swipe a tear from her face. The moment she did, her demeanor changed. Her shoulders straightened as if she were resigning herself to something. “If she intends to harm either one, you will not stop me from dealing with her.”
He wanted to smile at the fierceness of her loyalty, but the reason pulled at his heart.
Her life would be so different in Camlochlin, surrounded by laughter and love, and other dogs.
The thought came before he could stop it. He should leave the room. He should leave her. But he couldn’t even look away.
“I’ll warn her, Emma.”
She nodded and offered him a slight smile. He wondered if she’d ever kissed a man before. She had a bonny mouth with plump, naturally coral lips, made for passionate kissing and a life filled with laughter. Pity she seldom smiled.
He placed her hand on Gascon’s fur. “Come. Take a walk with me outside.”
“But ’tis night.”
“Aye, and the moon is full. I wish to get to—”
“No, I cannot.” She moved to pass him when he bent to retrieve his boots. “Harry already worries enough about me. If he catches me out at night—”
“I’ll be with ye.” He caught up with her as she headed for the door with Gascon. “Ye’ll be safe.” He hopped into his boots and almost collided with her. Gascon growled at him. “Ye’ll tell me aboot yer life.”
She tried to protest. “I will no—”
“Alison.” He turned to her. “We willna’ be far.”
“We will be apart,” Emma corrected. “I’m not leaving here with you in the dark. You’re beginning to prove your reputation true.”
“I never said ’twasn’t.” He followed her out of the room and into the hall.
She stopped for a moment to think over what she’d just heard. Gascon looked up at her face and whined.
“Really,” she said, continuing on. “I’d feel better if you would stay in bed for now. You’re not strong enough yet.”
“I’ll fergive yer ignorance when it comes to the strength of a Highland warrior because ye—What humors ye aboot that?”
He watched her smile deepen, like sunrise over the moors. He probably should be angry that she found the topic of his strength so amusing. But the sight of her quickened his heart to a maddening pace, and the only thought he indulged was how he could make her smile more often.
“If ye’re no’ leavin’ the brothel with me, then where are ye goin’?” He leaned in close. “A clandestine rendezvous with yer lover, mayhap?”
She turned and almost touched his lips with hers. He basked for an instant in her warm breath before she stepped back and set her fist on her hip. “Oh, so you think I’m a prostitute then?”
“What?” Damn, it was too late. He realized what he said and that the only way out was to deny it. “Nae, not at all—”
“I should slap your face.” She cut him off with a silken threat he found utterly captivating.
He smiled. “Then there is no one else.”
She tossed back her head, giving him a scintillating view of her throat. “You’re insufferable. Did you know that?”
“I’ve never heard it said before, nae.”
Her eyes widened at his teasing and her delightful lips curled into a smile. “I’ll walk with you, Mr. Grant,” she finally allowed. “But you’ll tell me about your life and how you became so arrogant.”
“Confident,” he corrected, taking her hand off her hip and leading her to the stairs.
Chapter Eleven
They didn’t go too far from the brothel. Emma was surprised when Malcolm stopped a short distance from the door, beside the small brook she’d visited so many times. He sat down and then invited her to do the same.
“I like it here,” she told him, sitting next to him and a patch of mushrooms. “I like how it sounds.”
“I canna’ see much in the wanin’ light. Tell me what ye hear?” he asked her on a soft, tender voice.
She smiled and listened. “Gently flowing water and droplets falling into it, the rustle of leaves in the treetops, like the soft chatter of endless voices in the slight breeze. I can hear night creatures scurrying in the underbrush; a hare perhaps, searching for food in the dark.”
“Aye.” He smiled. “I hear it too. I’ve spent many nights sleepin’ under the stars and I’ve never paid attention to the natural sounds around me.”
“My ears have become my sight,” she said. “I can hear the changes in a person’s breath, recognize the fall of one’s feet, the rhythm of his gait.” She knew how Malcolm breathed: deep and slow, like he had all the time in the world. She knew how he walked: determined and steady. “Sound reveals the things I cannot see.”
“That’s quite amazin’,” he confessed, sounding truly interested.
She didn’t tell him about how scent… or touch also helped her see.
She didn’t want to talk about her childhood and be reminded that the same thing that happened to Clem could happen to her. He didn’t seem the sort to tell her too much about himself, so she asked him about his brother.
“Did he lose someone close to him?”
Malcolm had been looking at her while she’d described the night and its sounds. She could tell by the sound of his voice ringing close to her ear. He didn’t turn away when he spoke to her now. “Ye do have a different way of seein’, dinna’ ye?”
“There’s deep sadness in his voice,” she told him. “I assumed…”
“Cailean doesna’ speak of it.” His breathing paused and shifted its rhythm. “His dog, Sage,” he told her. “She died after she saved him and our cousins.”
Emma pulled Gascon’s large head closer to her. “What happened?”
“Cailean, Patrick, and Tamhas went on an adventure in Nairn in search of a few lasses they’d met in Sleat. They found the gels and were caught kissin’ them in the family barn. Accordin’ to the lads, the gels’ faither bound them and whipped them thoroughly. We dinna’ know how far he would have gone or if he would have let them live. He didna’ believe that his daughters had only been kissed. Sage had been with them. When the lads were captured, she returned to Skye somehow bravin’ the rain and hail of the season. She brought m’ faither and m’ uncles to the lads and saved them.”
Emma marveled at such a dog and noted the drop in Malcolm’s tone when he spoke of her.
“She grew sick not long after that and died a se’nnight later from exposure.”
“Oh, how terrible,” Emma said in a low, horrified voice. She gave Gascon a squeeze that made him whine. “I don’t know what I’d do.”
“Neither did Cailean,” Malcolm told her. “The sound of his heart breaking echoed off the braes, and to this day no one in Camlochlin dares speak
of her in Cailean’s presence. Cailean doesna’ speak of her either. ’Twas as if she never existed. But she did exist, and her passin’ affected m’ brother profoundly.”
Emma wiped away a tear hanging from her lid. No wonder Cailean had a melancholy to his demeanor. She hadn’t thought he sounded happy until he woke to Alison at his bedside. Her heart broke for Cailean, but Malcolm’s reaction to his brother’s pain made her heart leap. She’d often wondered whose arms would comfort her at Gascon’s death. Her beloved friend was old, at least twelve years. Who would she weep to? Harry? He didn’t even like Gascon.
In that, Cailean was fortunate.
“You’re a good brother, Mr. Grant.”
“Malcolm,” he corrected gently, his breath a little shallow.
“Malcolm,” she gave in, letting herself enjoy the intimacy of speaking his name. “Cailean is fortunate to have you.”
“That’s kind of ye to say, lass. But,” he said, laughing hollowly, “m’ siblings might disagree.”
“I don’t care if they disagree.” She slapped her thigh. “I know what I see.”
Disturbed from its resting place, a frog leaped and landed in her lap and startled her. She squeaked, then did a bit of leaping herself. Into Malcolm’s arms.
He caught her in his embrace. The feel of his hard slabs of muscle keeping her close—and warm—lit her blood on fire. Heavens, but he was warm. She wanted to giggle. She did. She giggled in his arms like a witless fool and didn’t regret it when he pulled her closer.
He had her in his arms. Where he’d been wanting her since he woke up. She fit nicely, her slender waist pressed to his, her milky cleavage rising and falling against his chest, her plump derrière tempting him beyond reason to take all of her in his hands and hoist her over him.
And then what? Lift her skirts over her thighs and her over his ready cock? He wanted to, but he didn’t always do what he wanted, despite what his kin thought. He’d wanted to kill William Buchanan a few years back when the chief had entered Ravenglade unannounced and uninvited, but he hadn’t done it. He wasn’t a prisoner to his heart. At least, he never had been before.