by Paula Quinn
“I would rather waste m’ time with ye than with Bess.” He grimaced almost as soon as he finished speaking, realizing how bad what he said sounded. “No’ that our time together is wasted—”
“I know what ye meant, Mr. Grant,” she stopped him. “I’d like to speak to you in the hall if you please.”
She stepped back out and he followed her. He wondered on his way out the door how far he would go.
“Close the door please.” She turned to him and took a step closer while he did as she asked. “Did you go to Bess’s bed?”
“Nae.” He breathed deeply. It was a truth he was proud to tell her. It was the first thing he felt pride in, in many years. “Nae, I havena’ been near any bed but yers.”
She smiled and it nearly knocked him over. His heart froze in his chest and then jolted back to beating. Over and over. He thought he might be dying. If he was, he wanted her to be the last thing his eyes ever saw.
Harry’s voice interrupting them likely saved his life.
What the hell was happening to him?
Chapter Fourteen
Emma sat beneath the hot sun with Harry on her right and Cailean on her left. She didn’t know why she was here really. Everyone had come out to the brothel’s rear yard to watch Malcolm take on a rather large (according to Alison) patron. To everyone watching, it was an answer to a challenge, one issued by a boastful Highlander.
To Malcolm, it was practice.
Emma didn’t like it. She didn’t like the sound of metal scraping against metal. She didn’t like not knowing if blood was being spilled.
“Ah, shyt, Malcolm!” Cailean shouted. “I woulda’ seen that strike comin’ a league away!”
Emma shook her head wondering if she’d allowed Cailean out of bed too soon.
Judging from the gasps of some of the girls watching, and his brother’s taunting, Malcolm had taken a hit from his opponent. She prayed he wasn’t hurt. Even if it meant keeping him here longer, she didn’t want him injured.
She thought about yesterday in the hall with him. She believed he hadn’t visited Bess’s bed. It made her want to fall into his arms and promise him anything. But she didn’t. Part of the reason was because Harry had come upon them and asked to see Cailean. Harry seemed annoyed, but he said nothing about his mood and followed Emma into the room. Emma figured his foul temper had to do with one of the girls and didn’t question him.
“Satan’s arse, Malcolm,” Cailean shouted again, pulling her back to the present. “Are ye blind?”
Standing somewhere to her right, Harry cursed. And then Cailean cursed, as well. Emma could feel their eyes on her, everyone’s eyes, including Malcolm’s.
The sound of metal smashing against metal resounded in her ears and she stood to her feet, a warning to Malcolm to take care! Fool!
She took a step forward. Gascon blocked her path—and then a pair of hands closing around her upper arms stopped her altogether. Malcolm’s warm breath fell heavy on her face, the scent of sweat and fear rushed through her nostrils. He held her still and oh, but he was strong. She doubted any foe could stand against him. Still, he could get hurt. Was he hurt, bleeding? Oh, why did he need to practice anyway? No one was at war.
“I’m unharmed, lass,” he reassured, his voice thick with concern and exertion. “What were ye thinkin’ almost steppin’ onto the field?”
She wasn’t thinking. That was the problem. She was allowing her heart to rule her, almost putting her in harm’s way.
“And ye, Cailean,” he accused his brother, giving her an excuse not to answer. “Yer sense left ye to say something so thoughtless.”
“Aye,” Cailean agreed, sounding thoroughly repentant. “Fergive me, Emma. I—”
“I don’t care about that!” Emma told them. Malcolm hadn’t removed his fingers from around her arms. For an instant she wished Gascon wasn’t between them. “I thought you were… why are you doing this? Do you want to die? Is that it?”
“I’m unharmed.”
She wasn’t listening. At least, that’s what she told herself. That wasn’t humor in his voice when he spoke. His fingers hadn’t just moved over her arms.
The man was mad. And so was she.
“This isn’t good for your brother,” she continued. “I should never have agreed to it. It’s too soon for both of you!”
“Here, feel me.”
Before she could stop him, he snatched her hands in his and laid her palms on his chest.
“Check fer any wounds, Emma.”
Her heart raced so fast she felt light-headed and feared she might have to hold on to him for balance.
What was the matter with her? She’d touched him like this before when she’d felt him with the girls. But he’d been unconscious. When she walked him about the room, she hadn’t felt him, and never while he was standing over her, breathing hard.
She stood there beneath the sun for an eternal moment, in the sight of many, with her hands covering Malcolm’s chest.
“Come now, lass,” he tempted in a quiet voice. “I’ve watched ye tend to m’ brother’s wounds with nothin’ but yer hands to guide ye.”
And it had almost cost Cailean his life. Had Malcolm forgotten?
He covered her hands in his and seemed to read her thoughts. “No one else’s eyes are better than seein’ fer yerself—however ’tis ye see it. Aye?”
Oui. He was correct. She’d used Alison’s eyes, not her own senses the night of Cailean’s injury.
Malcolm hadn’t forgotten. He’d seen an opportunity to help free her from her guilt and self-doubt, and he took it.
She stepped closer to him and heard the sharp intake of breath above her when she moved her palms over the span of his chest, gently, curiously down to his tight belly, then up again, slowly and with measured temperance. She moved to his sides, tracing her fingers up his shoulders while she went. Even in her darkness, his powerful form made her hands tremble. When she stepped behind him, lifting her hands to his neck, her fingertips floated across the flare of his back. The touch of his hair along her knuckles was like a sensual breath that made her knees weak.
His muscles were tight, his back, arrow straight. She didn’t need to check his bottom half. If he was hurt below the waist, he wouldn’t be standing so balanced before her. He was telling her the truth. He was unharmed.
What about his face? What expression did he wear? How did humor look on him? What shape was his mouth? She dropped her hands to her sides, not daring to touch him further.
“I feel nothing.” She tried to sound unaffected and stepped away from him. She failed miserably. “But that doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind. You must cease this and Cailean must be returned to the room.”
“Aye,” he agreed, sounding thoroughly amused rather than repentant. “As soon as I finish this oaf.”
He was already stepping away from her, disobeying her orders and returning to the field.
Involuntarily, she reached out to stop him. Prideful fool! She had a mind to mix him a refreshment that would put him to bed for another se’nnight. But then she’d have to tend to him.
With nothing else to do but wait and be ready to help him if he was injured, she returned to her seat and sat down, mumbling through her teeth as she went.
“He’ll fare well,” Cailean leaned in and told her. “Malcolm was trained to fight by the most skillful men in all of Scotland.”
“You are as stubborn as he is,” she threw at him, seething. “If I’ve wasted the past se’nnight keeping both of you alive for another month or less, I’ll kill both of you myself.”
“Emma!” Harry, who’d been silent until now, admonished. “Whatever is going on between you and Malcolm Grant—and I will find out what it is—I’ll not have you threatening my guests.”
Whatever was going on? Did he think—? “Harry, let me assure you, nothing is going on. I don’t work here.”
“That’s correct, you don’t,” her brother snapped at her. “Remember that around him.
I warn you.”
He warned her? Emma’s hands wound the fabric of her gown in her lap. She was happy she’d found Harry. He was all the family she had. But he wasn’t her guardian. She’d taken care of herself for too many years to begin taking orders from him. Besides, what in blazes was so terrible about Malcolm Grant? The rumors may have been awful but so far he hadn’t lived up to them. Of course, he was injured, so bedding a voracious prostitute was still difficult. But she’d spent enough time with him now to know that he wasn’t as bad as everyone thought. And besides, wasn’t Harry the one who’d insisted she stay close to the Grants?
“Harry.” Bess’s voice cut off Emma’s as she opened her mouth to defend herself. “Be easy on her.”
Emma was no fool. Bess didn’t like her, so why was she taking up for her?
“’Tis difficult to remember to breathe when that pulsing beast is near,” she went on, infuriating Harry even more. “He seems to be fond of our sweet Emmaline. You cannot blame her for quivering at his touch.”
Emma felt heat move over her face. She did not quiver! Did she?
“Why, just feast your eyes on the strength of his legs and the thrust of his sword. His eyes are like fire, blazing flames about to consume. Who can stand a chance against him? Don’t you agree, Emmaline?”
Emma blinked, shattering the images Bess created in her mind. Images Bess had put there on purpose, knowing Emma couldn’t see how good he looked fighting. Emma didn’t need them. She had her imagination and it was working quite well at envisioning Malcolm thrusting and parrying. Bess was trying to anger Harry. Why? Emma needed to speak with her brother about the Malcolm she was getting to know. He needed to stop treating her like something fragile.
“Brother, I—”
“Emma, return to your room,” Harry commanded.
“Harry, I’m not a child,” she reminded him, giving Gascon a pat on the head when he growled at her brother. “Your friends are in my care, and ’twas you who placed them there. I’m not moved by what my eyes tell me, as Bess obviously is. I care only for the well-being of your friends’ lives, and ours, if rumors of their family are true.”
“They are,” Cailean said, sounding only mildly interested in the conversation.
Emma let a faint smile hover over her mouth when she addressed her brother again. “I’ll continue seeing to them, brother. If you wish to help, you will make your friend stop fighting.”
“He has stopped,” Harry told her.
“He won,” Bess purred beside him.
He won. Relief flooded through Emma, forcing her to sigh. She tried to muffle it, but when she heard his voice coming toward her, she almost choked.
She liked the sound of him, all smoky and soothing, the scent of virility coming off him in waves. She wanted to kiss him and discover how he tasted.
“Why the gloomy faces?” he inquired merrily.
How could the fool make her want to smile? She didn’t, knowing her brother and Bess were watching.
“I didna’ injure him too severely,” he informed them. “Not enough that ye would have to tend to him, Miss Grey.”
“That was thoughtful, brother,” Cailean complimented. “He looks—and smells—like he hasna’ bathed in over a month.”
Emma was grateful.
“Yes, it was thoughtful, Malcolm,” Harry agreed. “And to show my appreciation, you may take Bess tonight at no charge.”
It didn’t matter if Emma could see or not. She knew Harry was offering Bess to keep Malcolm away from herself. She could argue that with all the activity and… exertion, he could have a relapse, but the air seemed to thicken and made her gag a little. She didn’t want to sit around and listen to plans being made for Malcolm and Bess. She was too angry with her brother to say anything without letting things she’d regret spill from her lips. And really, it wasn’t Harry’s fault. He didn’t know how fond she was of Malcolm. Should she tell him? She doubted he’d take the news well that his sister was taken with the worst rogue in the three kingdoms. Perhaps later.
Holding on to Gascon, she rose from her seat and walked off. When her brother called after her, she called over her shoulder, “I need to replenish my stock of herbs, Harry. I won’t go far.”
She left before he could stop her and made her way to the edge of the woods. She tried not to think of Malcolm while she bent to her knees and felt around the sun-warmed earth for plants and roots. She needed to forget Malcolm. His brother was making a quick recovery now that his infection was clearing up. Soon the Grants would leave Fortune’s Smile and she’d never see Malcolm again. The last thing she should be doing was thinking about any kind of future with him.
She heard footsteps. Her heart leaped, knowing the measure of his gait. Even Gascon was happy to see him and wagged his tail hard enough to make the rest of him shake.
She stopped moving and inhaled his unmistakable male scent. It went straight to her head like fine wine.
Malcolm.
His presence made her feel drunk. What about him didn’t inebriate her?
“Emma?”
Certainly the sound of him unsteadied her. His smoky, knee-melting voice behind her convinced her that trying to put him out of her mind was useless.
What was he doing here, following her, instead of taking Harry up on his offer?
“Go back,” she told him. “You need your rest. I know my way around and I’ll be fine.”
“I know,” he said softly, coming closer. “I’m no’ certain I will be though.”
Chapter Fifteen
Are you hurt?” She began to rise but he stopped her with a tender touch on her shoulder and bent to his haunches beside her.
“You said you were unharmed!”
Malcolm didn’t know what the hell he was. But looking at her made everything else unimportant.
“Nae, nae, I’m fine,” he assured her, unable to look away.
Her hands moved out to grope and feel him. He didn’t stop her. Why the hell would he? He liked how she touched him, like her fingers could see him. It made him feel slightly unstable, completely taken with her. There was something so intimate about the way she touched him, so softly, so curiously, he could barely think straight. She swept her fingers over his chest, his arms, his neck, moving closer until she was almost pressed against him. Why didn’t she touch his face the way she’d touched the rest of him? Her quickened breath and worried expression so close to him tempted him to lift his hand and smooth the crease in her brow. Or pull her closer and ask her what was happening to him.
He didn’t touch her. He was afraid that if he did she might shatter like a dream at dawn. He took her in, examining every inch of her face, from the gold-dusted curve of her cheekbone to the pert slope of her nose. The urge to kiss her dulcet brow made his head spin.
“I wasna’ harmed, Emma.” He bent and pressed his mouth to her brow.
“Then why did you startle me by saying you weren’t certain if you were fine?” She pushed him away, her hands dropping back to her sides.
“Because I’m no’ fine,” he told her. “Many times durin’ the day, I feel sick to m’ stomach fer no reason.”
He watched her go pale. She was thinking she’d missed something with him, like she had with Cailean. If she had, it wasn’t her fault and he’d make certain she knew that.
“I understand I was struck in the head.”
“You were.” She nodded.
“Mayhap it has caused more damage than we suspect?”
“Are you seeing double? Odd lights?” she added when he said no. “Are you forgetting things? Do you feel unbalanced?”
“A wee bit unbalanced from time to time, but nothin’ more serious than that.”
“Do you remember anything specific happening when you feel this?” she asked innocently enough, her lips tempting him to abandon it all and kiss her.
“Aye, I remember what it is.”
She waited, her eyes wide with concern.
“’Tis ye, lass,” he told he
r. “I find m’self thinkin’ aboot ye and when I do, I feel ill.”
That likely wasn’t the right thing to say.
“Are you telling me that I make you sick?” She stood up and glared down at him for a moment before she stormed off, into the trees.
“I’ll admit it sounds worse when ye say it,” he called out, and then followed her.
“No, Mr. Grant.” She stopped abruptly and spun on her heel to face him. “Let me assure you, it sounds worse when you say it.”
He stared at her and probably for too long. She looked especially beautiful swathed in a shaft of late afternoon sunlight breaking through the trees. Her curly locks fell around her shoulders capturing light and shadow. The dark circles around her eyes were gone and she looked as healthy as her two patients.
“Fergive me. Let me start over.”
“All right.” She waited.
He didn’t want to talk. He wanted to go to her, sweep her up into his arms, and carry her off deeper into the woods. He wanted to quiet the voices in his head, the dragon at his back. He was certain that making love to her would silence everything. It always had before, but everything he’d accomplished in four years would mean nothing. He’d be right back to where he was in the beginning. A rogue who slept with women even knowing that they would never mean a thing to him. A rogue unworthy of Emmaline Grey.
“I’m not… I’ve never…” He looked around at the leaves on the ground. What the hell should he say? He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He feared and hoped at the same time that it had something to do with her. A horrifying thought occurred to him. What if he finally found a lass that evoked more than lust in him and she didn’t feel the same way?
“Emma.”
“Oui?”
She stood there. A few feet away, her hands clasped behind her back. A breeze came in from the north and blew a lock of her hair across her face.
“Ye’ve been sleepin’ in a chair. How is it that ye look so damn good?”
He’d complimented many women before. Why did he now feel like he sounded like a foolish ogre?