He felt the hard burn of shame. The room was cold. The whole world seemed cold away from Laire and the bed. “I’ve told ye what I am, what I did. I must live with that every day of my life. Your trouble is that ye think with your heart, lass. Others don’t have that luxury.” He reached for a shirt.
She made a purring sound, undeterred by his harsh words. “It’s what the Fearsome MacLeods do. It usually turns out right enough. We all make mistakes. My father was thinking with his heart—he wants a son, a woman who loves him. It doesn’t make him evil. It makes him human. How are you any different?”
Was she so naive? Anger flared. “How in hell would you know? You’ve never made a mistake. You’ve not got a selfish bone in your body.” He let his eyes slide over that body again.
“Have I not?” She slipped off the bed, wrapping the sheet around herself. She stood on the opposite side of the bed, regarding him soberly in the candlelight. “I’ve sins of my own, Iain Lindsay. I’ve got scars on my soul too.”
He sent her a long look, but she raised her chin. “I had a twin brother—Papa’s longed-for son, his pride and joy. When we were five, we went into the garden to play. We picked pretty flowers and steeped them in water and wine, called it ale. We stole two of Papa’s best pewter cups. Lachlan drank his ale fast, and he liked it so well he took mine and drank that, too.” Her eyes were haunted, staring into space, seeing the events. “I was angry. I refused to speak to him. When my mother put us to bed that night, I was still mad. He came and crawled in beside me in the dark, curled himself against my back, crying.” She shut her eyes against the grief. For a moment he watched her lips tremble, but she shut her eyes, refused to cry. “I wouldn’t turn, wouldn’t forgive him. I heard my brother gasping, pleading with me. I thought he was playing a game, trying to get my attention, but he was sick.” A tear slid over her cheek anyway, gold in the candlelight. “Then he stopped making any noise at all. He was so cold, and he wouldn’t wake up. I turned and wrapped my arms around him, tried to keep him warm. I couldn’t see what was wrong in the dark, and I was too frightened to call out for help. They found us together in the morning, Lachlan dead and cold, gone away, taken in the dark. I saw the terrible pain in my father’s eyes, knew he wondered why his son had died, while I, another girl, had lived. My mother was devastated. I tried everything to make my father forget, but I could not be the one thing he wanted—his son. My brother.” She looked at him, her eyes liquid, more tears flowing now. “So you see, there must be a reason why I lived. Perhaps this is my chance to make things right.” She dashed the tears away with her fist. “I won’t fail them again.”
He swallowed. “That’s why you fear the dark.”
“The dark takes things. Precious things. But now I know. Sometimes, like with Wee Kipper, it gives them back.”
They stared at each other across the rumpled width of his bed. He felt the heat rise again in his body, a new tide of desire, a need to comfort her, hold her, find absolution in her arms, offer her the same. But it was just bedding, nothing more. “Lass,” he began, but her breath hitched, and her eyes widened, and he knew she felt what he did, wanted him the way he wanted her. He swore softly and looked away.
“Ach Dhia, sweetheart, I need to get you home to your uncle’s before he thinks I’ve . . . done what I’ve done.”
But she came around the bed, took the shirt from his hands, and tossed it aside. She slid her arms around his neck, and sheet dropped away between them.
“What we’ve done, Iain. My uncle isn’t here, and I don’t intend to tell him. Do you?”
He shook his head, his throat closing with renewed desire. She smiled sweetly.
“Then perhaps I don’t have to go just yet.”
By the time he walked her back to her uncle’s house, dawn was turning the city a beguiling pink. He pulled her into the shadows before they reached the house and kissed her again. She clung to him, kissed him back.
“Ye’ve got to go in, lass,” he groaned.
“I came out through the window in the sitting room. Can ye help me climb back in?”
He slid open the window and lifted her slight weight in his arms, passing her through the opening. Even that contact made him want her again. She leaned out the window and kissed him. He felt joy surge through his veins and laughed as he broke the kiss. “Away with ye, wench, or the neighbors will talk.”
She smiled, her face flushed, her mouth kiss-swollen, her hair loose and love-rumpled, her eyes bright. She looked like a woman who’d been well loved, all night. He couldn’t help it, he grinned, imagining what he looked like.
“So you’ll come to the salon this afternoon, speak to my uncle?”
He nodded, already looking forward to seeing her, scarcely able to leave her now. He wouldn’t be able to touch her at her uncle’s salon, surrounded by other people . . . “I’ll bring Dux. The lad needs a mentor. Perhaps he’ll find one here.”
She smiled, as if he’d come up with something so clever that no one else had ever thought of it. “Aye,” she said. “Aye.”
She kissed him again until he groaned and pulled back.
He turned and walked away before he was tempted to climb through the window and love her all over again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Glen Iolair
The snow had fallen steadily throughout December, filling the woods, covering the frozen loch, and robing the mountains in white. The inhabitants of the castle were unaware of the weather, slumbering by day and dancing by night. Bibiana waited impatiently. Even an early spring would not come to the Highlands until mid-February.
Her sealgair would reappear, and the birds would begin a new season of breeding. He mouth watered for the taste of sweet flesh. She grew so tired of caged birds at this time of year.
For now, she lounged in the bath, reveling in the pleasures of hot water and a blazing fire. Rafael added the contents of another copper, and Bibiana sighed.
The door opened and Terza entered, bringing a gasp of cold air with her. Bibiana cast a sharp glance at her, and Terza shut the door quickly and made her way through the steam.
“There’s another delivery all the way from Edinburgh,” Terza said. “This time it’s a letter for the laird.” Rafael crossed to peer at the missive over Terza’s shoulder.
“Give it to me.” Bibiana said, drying the fingertips of one hand before she took it. “Sir Hamish MacEwan? Who is he?”
She broke the seal and read the contents.
“My lady?” Rafael said. “You’ve gone quite dangerously red . . .”
“How is this possible?” Bibiana demanded. She rose from the tub, her body glistening and pink. Terza hurried forward with her robe, thick red velvet, trimmed with raven feathers. Bibiana shrugged into it and paced the floor, leaving steaming puddles behind her. Rafael picked up the letter from where Bibiana had dropped it and read it. She allowed it.
“She’s alive?” she heard Rafael gasp.
Bibiana cursed in an old, forgotten language. “It seems my sealgair has betrayed me.”
She looked at her face in the mirror and saw perfection and rage. “This is her fault, a chit of a girl. How is this possible? Iain Lindsay is mine,” she hissed.
She whirled upon her servants, snatched the letter from Rafael’s fingers.
“Pack at once,” she commanded him. “We leave for Edinburgh within the hour.” She looked at Terza. “They must sleep while I am away.”
The old woman cackled. “Aye.” She moved to help Rafael pack.
Bibiana dressed, choosing a silver-blue gown and a thick, hooded white-fur cloak. She swept toward the cracked mirror and looked again. She was beautiful in her vengeance. She opened her jewel box and took out a bulky ring. It bore the head of a raven carved in jet, with ruby eyes. Inside the beak was a small chamber that contained a few drops of poison. She slid the ring onto her finger, next to Iain Lindsay’s signet ring. She pressed a button on her dressing table, and a hidden compartment popped open. There was nau
ght inside but a tattered piece of blue cloth, rumpled and threadbare, the pocket of a man’s coat. The corner was stained with blood.
She didn’t care about the girl. She might have simply let it go, since the world dealt cruelly with pretty young girls all alone, and she’d been as good as dead when she left this glen. But Iain—he was the one who had betrayed her, and she couldn’t forgive that. Now they’d both have to pay, the sealgair and the girl. Did he love her? That would make destroying him all the sweeter. Even if it was simply lust, she’d make him pay, make him watch while she killed Laire MacLeod before his eyes. And then . . . She looked at the scrap of blue cloth and smiled.
“I know your secret,” she whispered, and tucked it into her bodice.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Edinburgh
Laire’s breath caught at the sight of Iain as he entered her uncle’s house the following afternoon. He wore a pewter-gray coat with lace at his throat. He was taller than any other man at her uncle’s salon, broader, handsomer. His eyes met hers and she thought she would melt.
She kept her eyes on him as he made his slow way across the room to where she sat. Dux beside him, looking nervous.
Laire fought to keep from sighing as he made his way across the room.
Then he was there beside her. She dipped a curtsy, and he bowed low, sending her a momentary heavy-lidded look of knowing, and in an instant she relived all the touches and kisses of the night before, the joining of their bodies, the soft sighs. He seared her with a glance, and she could hardly stand. He was here, and no one else in the room mattered.
He’d promised himself he wouldn’t do this, that he’d concentrate on introducing the erstwhile medical student to Edinburgh’s finest physicians and scientists and keep his distance from Laire. But she lit up like a pine torch the instant she saw him, and he swallowed a groan, felt desire roar through him. She was wearing a pale-blue gown that brought out the color of her eyes and the creaminess of her skin. He knew every inch of that skin . . . She was blushing, and she looked like a woman who’d been well bedded. Twice. He introduced Dux to Sir Hamish’s guests without hearing the brief exchanges. He couldn’t look at anything but Laire. She was trying not to look at him, and failing. He heard the soft, throaty catch in her voice as she greeted Dux and dipped her curtsy to him. Iain bowed. If he touched her now, she’d melt. Hell, he’d melt. Arousal made him sweat. The mere touch of her hand made him harder still, and intensely glad for the full-skirted gray coat he wore. He kissed her knuckles, felt her fingers tighten, heard her soft sigh. “Are you well this afternoon, mistress?” he asked politely. The simple words came out as a barbaric growl, full of sin and lust, somehow suggestive and improper, and her blush deepened. He curled his fingers against her palm, slid them up to the pulse hammering in her wrist.
“Exceedingly, Laird Lindsay.” She was as breathless as if she’d been running.
“Is there somewhere we can speak?” he asked.
“Yes, of course,” she said, the dark center of her eyes flaring. “Would you like to see my uncle’s conservatory? There’s a marvelous plant called a pineapple.” She expected a tryst, stolen kisses. She wouldn’t like what he had to say.
He offered his arm, and she set her hand upon his sleeve and led him into the glass house.
“Oh, Iain,” she breathed as they walked among the plants. Her skirts swirled against his boots, the silk and lace of her sleeve whispered against the velvet of his coat. His body roared for deeper, more intimate contact—his mouth on her eyelids, her throat, her breasts, her legs around his hips. Her uncle’s guests were on the other side of the glass wall, a few feet away.
She led him deeper into the leafy bower until they were hidden from view. She slid her arms around his neck and kissed him until they were both breathless. “Touch me,” she pleaded.
“Nay. I didn’t come to ravish you,” he said, but he cupped her breast, knew the way her nipples hardened at his touch. “We must talk, Laire,” he said as he kissed her ear.
“I’ll come to you tonight.”
His cock twitched at the promise, and he swallowed. “No. It’s too dangerous, too—” She slid her hand down, gripped the rigid bulge through fine wool of his breeches, and he groaned. He could scarcely think. The damned glass house was too hot. She was too hot . . .”Lass, stop,” he said halfheartedly, his hand on her wrist. He forced himself to curl her hand in his, drag it away. She made him pant . . .
“What did you wish to talk about?” she asked primly, but her eyes danced.
“You asked me to speak to your uncle, tell him about Bibiana.”
“Yes,” she said. “Shall I get him now?”
“Nay, stay.” He shut his eyes. I can’t do it, Laire.” He saw her face fall, her lush lips part. “If I begin telling tales of poison and magic, he’ll think I’m mad. It would only make things worse. It would destroy his regard for you, lass. He has a reputation to protect, and he loves you. If he isn’t willing to help, then let it be.”
The playful smile left her eyes. “I see.”
But he knew she did not. “We’ll try to find another way.”
“How?”
“Dux will make discreet enquiries. There may not be any—”
She stood on her toes and kissed him hard, and he caught her in his arms. The hinges of the conservatory’s glass door creaked a warning as it opened. “Tonight,” she whispered as they sprang apart.
A carriage pulled up alongside Iain as he walked home. Dux had stayed, deep in discussion with the famous doctor Alexander Monro, his pale eyes glowing behind his spectacles.
Janet Fairly lowered the window. “Good afternoon, Lindsay. I am heading back to the Pearl. May I offer you a ride?” He got into her coach, and she smiled at him. “I see ye found your dark-haired lass. She is a beauty.”
“She’s Hamish MacEwan’s niece,” he said, and he watched her brows rise in surprise.
“How exactly do ye know Sir Hamish, Janet?”
She raised her chin and lowered her lashes. “I do have a private life, Lindsay.” He was silent, waiting, and she sighed. “I knew him when we were both young. I had hoped we’d wed, but he sailed away in search of plants. It was a higher calling, perhaps, or his true love. I married elsewhere, and when he returned, he called on me and wished me well. I can’t help but wonder . . . if I’d waited . . .” She paused. “Well. That’s really all there is to tell. It was a long time ago. Nearly twenty years.”
She looked out the window. “I haven’t seen him since. I have, however, followed his work. I know he’s raising money for a new infirmary, and I have given a very generous donation—anonymously, of course, so no one will be embarrassed. That infirmary will benefit the poor of this city, and the kind of women who ply my trade in the streets.” He saw the regret in her eyes, overlaid by practicality and pride. “But enough of my past. Tell me of your bonny lass.”
“There’s nothing to tell. I am trying to convince her to leave the city, and the country.”
She smiled. “To run away with you, elope? How very romantic.”
“Not with me. Despite me. She’s in danger if she stays. I have enemies, Janet. They are her enemies as well.”
“Then an elopement seems a fine idea to me. You love her, don’t you?”
“It’s more complicated than just that.”
“Is there another man?” Janet asked.
“A woman. A witch,” Iain said.
“A witch? Oh, I’ve known a few of those in my day.”
They reached the square and pulled up in front of the Pearl. He descended and offered Janet his hand. She squeezed it briefly, smiling her thanks. “If the trouble you fear finds you, and you need a safe place to hide . . .” she said softly, and shrugged. “You never know.”
He glanced at her in surprise, and she tilted her head and smiled. “Believe it or not, I make it my business to protect the members of my sex as best I can, and my friends.”
“My thanks,” Iain said. He bowed
and crossed the square to Lindsay House.
Laire arrived in the company of Sir Hamish’s housekeeper that evening. Mrs. Groves looked around the grand foyer of Lindsay House with undisguised awe.
“Are these your bairns, Laird Lindsay?” she asked, her face wreathed in smiles when she saw the youngest members of the clan.
“They are my guests.”
“We came to see how Dux had enjoyed the salon,” Laire said, smiling at the young man. Iain took her cloak, breathed in the smell of her hair.
“I was very pleased to meet Sir Hamish,” Dux told her, grinning. “And Dr. Monro, and Drs. Sibbald and Balfour, of course. If my uncle hadn’t died I’d be a physician myself by now.” he said. “When I met Sir Hamish and Dr. Balfour today, and learned that they study medicinal plants—well, I knew I’d like to do that.” He looked at Laire through his spectacles. “I don’t fear sap the way I do blood, and I want to learn all I can—especially if it can help your kin, Laire.”
“Thank you, Dux,” she said. She tilted her head. “I take it you are the Rob Macintosh my uncle was enthusing over?”
“It’s my real name,” he said. “Dux is my clan name. It means top pupil, and I am indeed a quick study.”
Mrs. Groves insisted on helping Morag with the little ones while Laire and Hoolet worked on the pretty green gown. “My uncle said that I might bring you and Dux to the Duke of Argyll’s Ball. It’s to be a masquerade.”
Hoolet’s eyes widened. “Truly? Oh, Laire . . .”
“We’d best get to work. Will you go as an owl?”
Hoolet shook her head. “Nay, I want to be something pretty. A sprite, perhaps? What will you wear? You could go as a dove or a swan.”
Laire pricked her finger and winced. “Not a dove,” she said.
Iain knocked on the half-open door, smiling slowly as he looked at Hoolet. “Ye look very pretty,” he said, before he turned to smile at Laire. She swallowed a gasp of longing and felt hot blood fill her face and make her body heavy with desire. She met his eyes, waited to see an answering longing in the gray depths. Except for a slight lift of his brow, he gave nothing away.
The Lady and the Highlander Page 21