He moved away, turning his back while he hastily pulled on his trousers and fastened them over his arousal with a wince.
She pulled her skirts down over her legs. Before she could jump down from the table, he turned back and helped her, holding her up when her legs threatened to buckle.
Never had she felt so languid, so wonderfully relaxed...or so inadequate.
He brushed her hair back from her face and peered into her eyes. ‘Satisfied?’ he asked in a mocking voice.
‘Yes,’ she admitted, but wishing she’d been enough of a woman to bring him to completion. For breathless minutes, she had felt like a siren. Now she knew her husband had spoken the truth. As a woman, she really was a failure.
In silence, he finished dressing, picked up his coat and walked out into the night, leaving her to shiver in a blast of cold air.
* * *
What on earth had just happened? Clearly she was not the woman he wanted. He’d found her inadequate. Undesirable.
Why would she feel surprised? Or hurt? Deeply hurt. No man, not even her husband, wanted her in that way. She just wasn’t the kind of woman men found appealing and she’d pushed him into doing something he hadn’t wanted.
And now he was gone. Out into the night. Leaving her feeling sickened by shame.
She stared at the door.
Her heart stopped still in her chest. What if he never came back?
No. She wouldn’t believe he would abandon her out here in the wilderness. He’d been angry. He’d gone to cool off. To settle his temper. To take care of his needs. Mortification washed through her that she wasn’t enough.
He would come back.
He had to.
* * *
The hours of waiting passed interminably slowly, and while she had lain down beside the fire and huddled under her cloak, she didn’t sleep. It was fear making the time crawl.
Finally, she gave up pretending and rose and folded the blankets. She put more peat on the fire, coaxing it into a blaze. Lit the candle, wishing there were windows that would spill light out into the night and welcome him back.
Inside she trembled.
What if he didn’t come back?
He had looked so disgusted. So appalled. Even in the little light given off by the fire, and the single candle, she had seen his revulsion. As if what had happened was her fault.
She should have fought him the moment he touched her. Fought him? That was a lie. She should have fought herself. While she could still not believe the strength of her climax, something she would never forget, her heart ached for the loss of their growing friendship. He’d laughed with her. And she’d spoiled it all by throwing herself at him like some frustrated spinster.
No wonder he’d walked out with that look of disgust on his face.
She let go a shuddering breath and paced around the small room. Walking to keep warm and to dispel the fear inside her, the burgeoning panic. And as she walked she could not help looking at that door. Waiting for him to return.
But he didn’t.
And when she couldn’t bear it anymore, she peeked out. The sky had lightened. It was morning. And he hadn’t returned. Had he taken his horse?
The idea robbed her of breath.
If he had ridden away, did that mean he wouldn’t return? Her heart pounded hard in her chest. She picked up her cloak and pulled it around her.
His horse would be there. He would not have taken it unless he planned to go far away. He wouldn’t do that. He had promised to see her safe to the duke. Swallowing the dryness in her throat, she opened the door wide and peered outside. The wind tugged at her cloak, trying to rip it from her clutching hand as she took in the view. The clouds still lowered over the hills, obscuring their tops. And it had snowed again during the night. There were no tracks.
She walked around to the back of the bothy. Her horse raised its head and pawed at the ground. Drew’s mount was nowhere to be seen.
If his horse was gone, then he had left. And she was now on her own. Alone in the Highlands and no idea where to go for safety. Her knees weakened. Threatened to give way.
She forced herself to stand straight, took a deep breath and glanced around at the white landscape. If only she had looked at the map before they left. She had left it all to him. Trusted him to see her there safely. There was nothing to tell her which way to go.
Should she go and risk getting hopelessly lost? Or stay and freeze once the peat for the fire ran out?
Quite the conundrum. The sort of problem she sometimes set for her pupils as an exercise in logic for their young minds. In the warm comfort of their schoolroom it hadn’t seemed quite so terrifying.
But whereas she might want to be mastered in her fantasies, in real life she needed to be strong. She’d sooner die trying to rescue herself than simply wait for the end. And that meant she’d have to gather up her belongings and try to find her way to a village. Or back to McRae’s inn.
The inn would be closest, if she could only remember the way.
Downhill. She would head downhill away from the bothy. She strode back inside. The heat inside the little house felt blissful on her chilled face. She went to the fire and stood over it, revelling in the warmth percolating through her clothes. It would be hard to leave such lovely heat and head out into the unknown with only hope and a vague sense of direction as her guide. She looked at the pile of peat against the wall. It might last another day. Perhaps she should wait. Trust he would come back.
And set out if he did not.
Her stomach growled.
If she was hungry now, she would be worse later. She crouched down and ransacked his saddlebag. There was the handful of oats, the bread roll, a tinder box, a handkerchief and a pouch of coins. In the bottom she found the little bag of tea leaves. And beneath that she felt a small book. Not her business.
She frowned as the thought occurred that he’d taken nothing with him. He must have meant to come back.
Perhaps something had happened to him? Her stomach roiled. Could he have run into the smugglers and come to some harm? Were they even now on their way here? If so, she’d be a fool to remain.
Whatever those men wanted, they had meant nothing good.
She looked at the tiny hoard of victuals spread out on the blanket, wishing she had also thought to bring food. She broke a piece of the crust and chewed it slowly. And then another piece. And then half of it was gone and her stomach ached for more, urging her to finish it all. She forced herself to put it back in the saddlebag, stuffing everything back inside. She might need the rest of it later. Although a few tea leaves in hot water would help with her hunger. And warm her, too.
She would make tea, and then she would leave.
The door opened. Cold air filled the cabin.
Surprised, she sat down on her rump with a bump and stared at the tall figure in the doorway.
Drew. He’d come back. He stared at the saddlebag and then up to her face.
Relief flooded through her, chasing away the fear. Followed swiftly by anger. ‘Where have you been?’
He dropped a bundle of fur on the floor. Rabbits. ‘I went hunting.’
‘How dare you leave without a word?’
Anger blazed in his eyes, like the rage of a cornered beast.
She’d said too much. She turned away, her hands clenched together, searching for words that wouldn’t have him disappearing again. ‘I thought you’d left for good.’
There was a long silence. And then the door opened. She swung around, heart in her throat.
He paused in the doorway, looking back. ‘I’m going to clean these wee beasties so we can cook them.’ His voice was harsh and raw. He went out with a slam of the door.
She closed her eyes. He had come back.
* * *
Outside, behind the bothy, Drew skinned and eviscerated the rabbits. Even that act of violence wasn’t enough for the rage deep inside him. He wanted to hit something.
He was rock hard. Again. He’d thought he’d dealt with that problem. He’d walked away to distance himself. To get himself back under control. Then he’d come back and done exactly what he said he would never do again.
Let himself be seduced by a woman. Her frightened face had left him wanting to hold her. And to use her again.
Guilt swirled in his gut. He’d used her as if he was some sort of animal. He could see from the pain in her face that he’d hurt her. He’d shamed her. Forced her to submit to his disgusting fantasy. As if she was her.
And she wasn’t. She was a strong, brave woman who deserved so much better.
At least she wouldn’t trouble him anymore with her sweet smiles and soft eyes and the temptations of her sweet body. It would not happen again.
He quartered the rabbits, then sliced the meat thin. It was little enough, but it would fill their stomachs before they set out. He walked a little distance off from the bothy and hid the remains under a few rocks. Foxes or other scavengers would no doubt find it, but it wouldn’t be obvious to any casual observer that it was human killed. He’d retraced their flight from the previous evening for a good long way and, as far as he could tell, the smugglers had not followed them, which didn’t mean they wouldn’t, but it did mean they had time to eat before they set out.
Steeling himself for more of her anger, he went back inside to discover that she had put water in the pot and it was already beginning to steam.
‘Good thinking,’ he said gruffly.
He was not surprised that her smile was small and painful, as though it hurt. She gestured to the bit of bread he had brought from the inn. ‘I ate my half while you were gone.’
He heard the guilt in her voice and looked into her smoke-grey eyes.
‘I really thought you weren’t coming back,’ she added softly.
He wanted to say she should have known he would. But how would she? He’d behaved like the worst cur imaginable. He shrugged. ‘It took longer than I expected.’
She took a deep breath. ‘Did you see anything of them? Those men?’
‘No.’ Her face said she didn’t believe him. She was too clever for such an offhand assurance.
‘Not that I’m thinking we’ve seen the last of them,’ he continued. ‘But they’d be here by now if they’d followed us last night, and I saw no sign of them on the track. And if they’ve waited for morning’s light, as I believe they have, then it will be a while before they make their way here. By then we’ll be gone.’ He pulled a thin, flat rock from his pocket and set it on top of the fire. As a skillet, it wasn’t much, but it would serve a turn.
* * *
Soon the little stone room was filled with the aroma of roasting meat and they were taking turns at sipping from the mug containing the last of his tea. He broke the remains of the roll in half and offered her one.
She shook her head. ‘You need it more than I.’
He raised a brow.
‘There’s more of you,’ she said, her smile tentative.
A soft feeling invaded his chest at the kindness of her words. He’d forgotten that women could be kind. She had always eaten first and thrown him whatever scraps were left. And if he had angered her, she’d given him nothing but punishment. It still shamed him that he’d let her treat him that way. Let her use him, at first out of gratitude and then out of weakness.
But he couldn’t let Rowena’s kindness sway him into being soft. It would make it too difficult to keep his distance. He grunted. ‘Your choice.’ He turned the meat on the stone. It looked ready. He cut into a piece with his knife to ensure it was cooked through.
‘How did you catch them?’ she asked.
Surprised by her interest, he looked up. ‘With a snare.’ He pulled a piece of looped string from his pocket. ‘I learned a great deal from the Indians. They are clever hunters.’
He skewered one of the strips and held it out to her.
She pulled out her handkerchief and took it from him, blowing on it to cool it, then took a small hesitant bite. A smile spread across her stern face, making her look younger and almost pretty, more like the woman he’d pleasured in the night. He hardened. The devil confound him, why would his mind keep going back to that?
‘Oh, my,’ she said. ‘That’s delicious.’
Warm pleasure at her compliment spread through him. Warmth he should not be feeling. ‘Because you’re hungry,’ he said curtly.
She flinched. And he ground his teeth at the look of hurt in her eyes. He preferred her anger.
He divided the strips between them and they tucked in. He ate his with the bread. It didn’t take very long and he wished there was more, but he was used to an empty belly. She wasn’t. He could see it in her face.
‘Let us be on the road, then,’ he said. ‘If we are lucky we will reach our journey’s end in time for supper.’
The look of longing on her face filled him with guilt. He couldn’t even feed her properly. He was supposed to be protecting her, not putting her in danger. She’d come to him for comfort and he’d treated her like some low class of woman. But it was too late to put the beast back in the cage. All he could do was go forward so she would not have to suffer his presence for very much longer. Soon she would not be his responsibility.
The thought caused him to suffer a pang in his chest. Bloody indigestion, that was all.
He rose and began tidying up. ‘We’ll leave it just as we found it. For the next traveller.’
In silence, they began packing up.
Chapter Eight
After an hour or so of slow riding through the drifts, the sun came out. The glistening snow made it hard to see, but despite the cool wind, Rowena felt the warmth of the sun on her shoulders. She watched with interest at the way Drew had looked up at the sky, then adjusted their course.
‘Do you know where we are?’ she asked during one of their stops to rest the horses.
‘Roughly.’ He pointed ahead. ‘That way is north-west. The map I saw showed that mountain due north of where we are headed.’ He pointed at a distant jagged peak.
‘How do you know that is the mountain you saw on the map?’
‘I’ve been here before.’
‘You have?’
‘A long time ago. I was on my way to London.’ He urged his horse into motion and she followed suit, catching him up.
‘You’ve been to London?’
‘For my sins.’
She had the feeling he didn’t want to say any more about it, but she could not hold back her questions. ‘Is it as large as they say? As grand?’
‘It is much bigger than Edinburgh, certainly. And crowded and dirty. Except for the small area occupied by the very rich. Mayfair and St James’s. That is grand enough, I suppose.’
She digested this in silence. ‘You don’t sound very impressed. Why did you go?’
‘Family business.’
And that was all he was going to say on the matter, she realised from the finality in his voice. A stab of hurt twisted in her chest. She forced herself to ignore it. Men did not like women poking their noses into their business, private or personal. She meant nothing to him. She couldn’t even bring him the most basic of pleasures.
Heat rippled across her skin at the memory of the pleasure she had found in his arms. And the disgust she had seen on his face. Perhaps if she could make him understand that she had been true to her husband until that very moment, he wouldn’t think her quite so wanton. And perhaps if he understood she planned never to marry again, he wouldn’t fear he’d be trapped. She was a widow and she could do as she pleased, provided she was discreet, if that was what had bothe
red him so.
Clearly what had happened had been a mistake. For both of them. It would not happen again. Because he didn’t want it to. The hollowness inside her grew.
They mounted up again and as the path narrowed she let her horse fall back, content to follow, and only glanced back over her shoulder occasionally, when she heard the sound of a bird or some other small noise.
Just in case it was those horrible men.
* * *
When they arrived, late that afternoon, the house was nothing like Drew expected. It was a mean and ill-appointed stone two-storey dwelling, lying ten miles from the duke’s residence and five from the nearest village. It stood at the edge of a small forest of pines with a burn wandering through an overgrown patch of snow-covered garden. Why send her to a place so far from anywhere? As if he didn’t want her talking to anyone.
It wasn’t as bad as the bothy they’d so recently left, but not far off.
Rowena looked about her calmly, though also clearly disappointed. He could not help but admire her calm manner when dealing with adversity.
She had not been so calm when she thought he had abandoned her, he acknowledged wryly, but who could blame her? He had walked out on her without a word, shamed by knowing he should have stopped what had happened. He still could not believe he had treated a lady so roughly. He’d expected recriminations. When they hadn’t come, he’d felt worse, realising she feared he would abandon her to her fate.
But there was little he could say to explain.
He leaped from his horse. ‘The place looks deserted.’ He helped her down.
‘It does,’ she said, glancing up at a chimney absent of smoke.
He tied the horses to a fence post and tossed the saddlebags over his shoulder. ‘Let us take a look inside.’
She handed him the key the Pockles had passed on from Jones the morning they had left. The front door opened with a painful shriek of rusted metal. He wanted to curse the duke. Instead, he stepped over the threshold. Inside it smelled musty and dusty and damp. He grimaced at the smell. ‘I think you might have to take rooms at an inn until the place has been aired out.’
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