Bryce frowned. “And you did not pursue it further? That is what I am paying you for,” he ground out. “I need more. Go back and fulfill your task.”
The stranger recoiled. “I have done my duty, just as you demanded. Do not blame me if there is nothing further to be dragged out of the people who know these men.”
“And the will?” Bryce nodded to the papers in his hands. “Is there any news there?”
The stranger frowned. “His Lordship sealed up his daughter’s inheritance right and tight if, after he is declared dead, she marries before Christmas Day. But if she doesn’t marry by the stroke of midnight on Christmas Eve, for any reason, the title and the estate pass to you.”
Even at a distance, Colin could tell Bryce’s expression was one of pleasure. “All right, Barker, you did well with the will. However, I’ll not be paying you a farthing more until you dig up something useful on these men. I need to know exactly who they are and how they can be blackmailed into ceasing their pursuit of Lady Jane.”
Colin kept silent as the minutes ticked by while Bryce and his investigator arranged their next meeting two nights hence then said their good-byes. Deep in thought, Bryce stalked back to the castle.
Colin waited only until Bryce had passed before heading after the investigator. He intended not only to foil Bryce’s plans to dig up dirt on his competitors, but also to know more of what the man had found out about his own life. If the investigator had discovered even the smallest of clues, it would be more than Colin had ever had.
And if he was determined not to talk, a few nights of isolation in Bellhaven’s dungeon might loosen the man’s tongue.
Jane lit the last of many candles and stood back to observe the labyrinth in the chapel. It took up the entire surface of the floor at over forty feet in width and length. There were no sides to this maze. The pre-Christian design had been adopted by her ancestors, no doubt in imitation of the Chartres cruciform labyrinth. Just like the meditation maze in France, this one was open, and one or more persons could walk the path at the same time.
She had no idea which of her ancestors had carved the meditative path into the stone floor during his lifetime, but the creation dated somewhere in the twelfth century, around the time when Richard Lennox had ruled over Bellhaven. She had always assumed it had been his creation. Why he had built the concentric circles on the floor of the chapel, she knew not either. But she had always been grateful for the time she and her mother had spent here in contemplation and prayer.
Jane removed her shoes, then stepped up to the path that would take her inside the labyrinth. She took her first chilly step onto the path and tried to clear her mind. A tiny gulping sound of grief escaped her and a single tear rolled down her cheek as she allowed the memories of her mother to wash over her.
No matter how much she wanted the stories of her mother’s ghost to be true, she knew they were not. If her mother were still in this world, she would know. It would be the same sensation she felt now, the same conviction that told her her father and brother were not yet gone from this life. She still felt them deep within her soul.
The cool stone chilled the bottom of her feet through her stockings as Jane took slow, even steps through the winding path. She allowed her progress to calm her as the yellow-gold light of the candles illuminated her way. She quieted her mind, only aware of her breath as it filled her body then forced its way out.
Silence surrounded her. The muscles in her neck and shoulders began to relax, and her thoughts shifted from her mother to Nicholas. They had both driven her here tonight, but it was Nicholas who remained with her. Was she ready to confront what she and Nicholas had been? What they still could be if only she let him back into her heart?
Was it the competition that had him pursuing her—the threat of someone else vying for her affections? Would he make her want him again, body and soul, only to deny her in the end?
Or was it something more—something she dared hope for?
“Jane?” A soft voice broke through her thoughts.
Nicholas. Had she conjured him with her thoughts?
“Jane.” The voice came again.
Jane stopped walking and turned slowly toward the chapel door. Nicholas stood there, his features softened, and for a heartbeat she saw not only sadness, but fear, before the look vanished.
“Why did you follow me?” she asked, forcing back a twinge of annoyance at his invasion of her sacred space.
“You should not be alone. You should never be alone until we find who is after you.”
“I am not alone. I am with God.”
“God cannot stop a flying dagger,” he growled beneath his breath. He strode toward her, onto the labyrinth.
“Stop.”
He halted. His brows drew together.
“If you want to talk to me here, you have to walk the path. But first you must remove your boots.”
He frowned down at the floor, then took several steps back toward the opening in the concentric circles. “Surely you jest?”
“No. I am quite serious.” She saw the uncertainty in his gaze, felt his hesitation. “The labyrinth can be very inspiring if you give it a chance.”
Silence settled heavy between them.
With a sigh, he bent down and removed his boots, set them aside and took a step. He hurried along the path.
“Slow down,” she said in a calm, serene tone. “Use the path for reflection or inspiration.”
He was silent for another long moment before he said, “Can we talk as we both walk?”
“No.” She gave him a quick, teasing smile. “Not one word until we both reach the center.”
“The center?” he groaned.
“Let the path give you whatever it is you need.” The conversation flowed between them as it used to with no tension or reserve.
“I need you to listen to me,” he said.
“Only after you have quieted your mind and listened to your soul.” She drew a steadying breath and started back on her journey toward the center, weaving back and forth along the circuitous path.
“Another challenge for me alone?”
She stopped and gave him a measured look. “We could bring the others here if you would prefer.”
“No,” he replied quickly, and started walking, more slowly this time. “I want you all to myself.”
Jane hid a smile. She and Nicholas walked in silence. As they traveled toward the center, they passed each other once, twice, three times. Their hands brushed. Their gazes met. Her heart fluttered, and she could feel the tension thrumming between them. The sound of her own heartbeat echoed in her ears, matching her steps. She increased her pace.
Nicholas’s stride lengthened and his gaze shifted from warm to molten gold as she reached the center and waited for him there. Each step he took seemed to take a lifetime, until finally he entered the center and stood across from her.
He drew her to him, lifted her hand, and brought it to his lips. His eyes locked with hers. He kissed her fingertips, then turned her hand and pressed his lips to her palm. He let them linger just long enough for her to remember what his kisses had been like, to feel his heat.
He had called her a passionate seductress. When those words had first come back to her, they had hurt her to the core. But with him here, standing before her, when it was only the two of them, the term did not seem as harsh as it once had. With Nicholas, passion came easy. Seduction was a natural extension of two people who cared about each other.
The question was, did she still care about him like that? Did she want to play the seductress to his passion once again? Could she survive it if she did?
“What did you want to talk to me about?” she asked, her voice a whisper as she tried to deny the sensations racing across her hand, her flesh.
“I want you to see that I am here, standing before you.” With a hold on her hand, he tugged her gently, drew her a step closer. Still holding her captive with his gaze, he bent his head and pressed his lips to her wr
ist.
“I see you.” Her pulse leapt as he spoke.
He brushed his lips back and forth across her tender flesh. “No, Jane, you do not. But you will. Eventually you will see that I am here. I am not leaving. Never again.”
A long moment passed while she looked into his eyes. Jane tried to keep her mental distance, to hold tight to the calming effect of the labyrinth on her soul, but she could not, not with his sherry-colored eyes calling to her. She was drawn in by the warmth in his gaze, by the touch of his lips on her sensitive skin.
“I have not decided who is to be my husband.” She said the one thing that could put some distance between them.
Nicholas paid her no heed, as though he sensed what she was trying to do. She was never very good at hiding her emotions. With his arm at her waist, Nicholas drew her gently against him. “Husband or not, you own a piece of me, right here.” He placed her hand over his heart. “You always have.”
She smoothed her hand against the soft fabric of his shirt as though searching for proof that he did possess a heart. Her fingers trembled, but there was no fear in her eyes. “If I were in your heart as you say, how could you leave me so easily and say the things you did?”
“I would never do anything to hurt you, Jane. Not intentionally.” He looked into her eyes. “Your brother demanded I leave. And I did. It was the worst decision of my life. If I had to do it all again, I would lay down my life rather than leave you.”
In the flickering light of the candles, she studied him. “I knew Jacob was not happy, but it was Father’s approval you needed.”
He raised both hands, framed her face, tipped it up to his. “Jacob never gave me the chance to speak to your father or to you.” Nicholas took a slow, steady breath as he held her.
“Why are you telling me this now, after all this time?”
He kept his gaze locked with hers as she searched his eyes, his expression, most likely considering what she saw. “I want you to know I did not leave you because I grew tired or bored. I left because I was given no options and I think you knew that even then.”
The moment stretched and her gaze remained unwavering. He could sense her hesitation to open herself up to hurt once more. “I was told nothing, other than that you were gone. The knowledge of why you left does not change anything. It is my heart, not my mind that needs persuasion.”
She wanted proof.
Her heart had been his once. Could it be his again? He brought his lips to hers and kissed her tenderly, giving her a chance to back away.
But she did not resist. Instead, she melted into his embrace. Need flowed between them, hotter than he remembered. He graciously accepted the gift, and with his tongue stoked the embers into a fire. He would use their attraction, fan it into a bonfire, while she made up her mind about who to marry. He would reassure her of his devotion. He could make her believe in him again, that he would always be there, be there to love her every night and every day. Because he was not sure what he would do if she decided to remain apart from him.
His hands left her face to move over her shoulders and back. He gathered her closer, allowing the familiar heat and the fire to follow as it always had between them, consuming her reservations and the ability to think. He let the demanding heat devour him as one thought settled in his heart. He was back in her life and back in her arms. He was not going to let her go no matter how many suitors stood in the way.
Jane groaned and broke their kiss, pulling back slightly. “We cannot do this,” she breathed against his lips.
“For once, follow your heart, Jane. Not what your head is telling you.” His entire body throbbed and ached at the loss of her touch. He closed his eyes and breathed in her sweet feminine scent. She would step back too soon and the moment would be gone.
As though reading his thoughts, she pulled away, putting distance between them.
“I trusted my instincts once, only to be made a fool. I cannot do that again and survive.”
“Jane—” He reached for her.
She stepped further away. “No, Nicholas. I cannot lose myself in your passion again, no matter how much I might want to. I do need to use my head to decide which of my suitors will be the best choice for me and for my people. Passion can have nothing to do with that choice.”
Nicholas stood in complete silence as her words washed over him. Passion had everything to do with this choice. Did she not see that together they made sense, they were happy, and the world seemed right?
Apart, nothing worked, felt right, or prospered. But only when she stopped denying what was between them did he stand a chance of winning her back.
I choose you. He would give anything to hear her say those words. But he would have to wait.
“Very well, Jane. I only want what is best for you.” His heart heavy, he offered her his arm. “Allow me to escort you back to the keep.”
She shook her head. “I can find my own way back.”
Nicholas nodded and headed for the door. He had work to do if he were to convince her that the “way back” was with him.
After Jane fell asleep that evening, her dreams drifted for a time like mist over the moors, coalescing without shape or form. The sweet, lingering sensations of Nicholas’s kiss remained on her lips.
Nicholas.
Her thoughts wandered back through the mist, over the land bordering Bellhaven. Men and women from neighboring clans twirled and tumbled in her mind until the images cleared and she saw a single woman with her golden hair streaming in the wind, running over the mossy ground in her bare feet. The hem of her dress was shredded and caked with dirt. A sash in the colors of the MacGuires blurred then became the familiar colors of the Lennox red-and-green tartan.
The dream twisted and turned. Her heart raced. Her pulse quickened as the sounds of laughter came to her ears. She felt a strange mixture of sadness and joy as the woman stopped running and turned instead toward Jane’s bed. The flaxen-haired woman stood over the bed, staring down at Jane with a menacing glare.
Jane thrashed in her bed, tried to wake up. To no avail.
“How dare you,” the woman said, lifting a dagger and thrusting it downward, through Jane’s heart.
Jane’s chest constricted. She cried out and came awake with a start. She sat up and grabbed her chest. No dagger rested there. Her heart thumped beneath her hands. She drew a shuddering breath as her senses reoriented to her chamber and the darkness.
She drew a shallow breath. The dream had seemed so real, frighteningly so. Jane could still feel the presence of another even though her eyes told her she was alone. She paused, listening in the darkness. The sound of her own breathing was all she heard.
Driven by a sudden irrational fear of being alone in her chamber, Jane grabbed her dressing gown and left her room to find Margaret. She made her excuses to the guards at her door as she ran past them, down the corridor, to her aunt’s chambers. Without hesitating, she opened the door. A single candle burned next to the curtained bed, casting shadows against the wall.
Her heart hammering, she slipped under the covers of the bed next to her aunt, as she used to do when she was a child.
Margaret opened her eyes. “Jane?”
“Is it all right if I disturb you?”
“You never disturb me,” Margaret replied, shifting on the bed to allow Jane more room.
“How are you feeling?” Jane asked as she settled on the bed, grateful that her aunt was improving.
“I am happy to be alive.” Margaret smiled, and Jane could see that her aunt’s blue eyes were no longer hazy and unfocused as they had been earlier. Instead, a brightness of spirit entered her gaze as she gathered Jane next to her side. “I am better than I have ever been.”
“Truly?” Jane rested her head on her aunt’s shoulder.
“Truly,” Margaret replied. “Tonight Lord Galloway asked me to marry him.”
Jane pulled back. “He did?”
Margaret nodded. “You could have blown me over with a feather
.”
The remnants of Jane’s dream faded as joy filled her heart. She laughed, the merry sound filling the room. “That is marvelous.”
Her aunt bit down on her lip. “I am not certain it is.”
Jane scooted back, no longer needing reassurance. “Are you not convinced of his feelings for you?”
“Oh no,” Margaret replied. “He is devoted, of that I am certain. You should have seen him today while I was in the grips of the poison. He kept begging me to stay with him, not to leave this earth before we had a chance to act on our feelings.” Margaret’s cheeks flamed. She brought her hands up to cover them. “Imagine, at my age, blushing about a man.”
“You are not old.”
“I will admit, around Lord Galloway, I do feel young.”
“Then what is it?” Jane asked. “I know he cares about you. I have seen the way he looks at you, as though he wants to devour you.”
Margaret gave a nervous laugh. “That is the problem, but in reverse. I am afraid ’tis I who will devour him.”
Jane shook her head and gave another laugh. “What is it about the Lennox women? We are so strong when it comes to defending our land and our people, and yet when it comes to our personal relationships, we fall victim to irrational fears?”
“You do understand.” Margaret sighed. “I know what happened with Thomas will never happen again.” She crossed herself. “At least I pray it will not. But that does not stop the fear.”
Jane patted Margaret’s hand affectionately. “Let me ask you something that you asked me not many days ago—do you love him?”
Her aunt smiled a smile that lit up her face and seemed to brighten the room. “With all my heart.”
“Then let that love guide you.”
Margaret laughed. “I should be the one giving you advice, since we started this whole competition to secure you a husband.”
Jane smiled at her aunt, feeling an overwhelming sense of joy. “I am pleased you have found someone to share your life.”
Margaret opened her arms and Jane moved into her embrace. Relief flashed across her face. “Thank you, Jane, for being happy for me.”
A Laird for Christmas Page 17