by Karen Ranney
Did he wait for her to rebuff him? She should do so kindly, with well-chosen words that would let him know that she wanted, very much, to accept his invitation, but that she was more concerned with her decency and respectability.
She smiled at herself, thinking that it was a bit late for that.
Returning to the bed, she finished the letter.
I realize that this decision will make it impossible to meet with Mr. Marshall. Please convey my most sincere apologies to him, but I cannot leave.
Your friend,
Mary
She sealed the letters and sat back on the bed, staring at them. How innocuous they looked. No one seeing them would know that they represented such a shocking decision. From this moment forward, she’d hold a secret inside, an interlude she’d never discuss with another soul. Only Hamish would ever know that she wasn’t the proper widow, that she’d turned her back on the life and the person she’d always been. Only she would hold these memories inside, warmth against a cold future.
Remaining at Castle Gloom would be a bit of hedonism in a well ordered and pleasant life. Or something else that she didn’t quite want to admit, a curiosity about forbidden behavior, or simply a desire to plumb the depths of her own wildness.
One day, perhaps, the rebellious nature that she so adequately hid would be tamped down at last, and she’d truly become one of the proper matrons of Inverness. If, from time to time, she thought of her wayward nature, it would be with a faint longing, like the distant pealing of a faraway bell.
Not now, however. Not yet.
Chapter 11
“A re you entirely certain this is wise?” Brendan asked, glancing at the letters in his hands.
Hamish didn’t answer him, choosing instead to remain silent. There were some questions that should never be asked, a lesson that Brendan had yet to learn. There were times when he thought his brother would be forever young. He possessed the careless insouciance of an adolescent. The only place he didn’t act with joyful abandon was on the bridge of his ship. From time to time, Hamish had the impression that being a ship’s captain was a role Brendan donned like a large and uncomfortable cloak, almost too heavy for his younger brother to wear.
“I want you to take Micah and Hester with you.”
“You’ll need people to help you,” Brendan said in protest.
“I require no help. I lived here well enough for three weeks before you arrived. We’ll do so well enough after you leave.”
“So you’ll keep Mary prisoner?”
Hamish smiled at that thought. Mary Gilly would be no man’s prisoner. Hadn’t Brendan learned her well enough to know that?
“Leave two horses for us, I will see her safely to Inverness when the time comes.”
“When will that be, Hamish?”
“When it’s time,” he said, more forcefully than he’d intended.
Brendan turned over the two letters in his hands once again, as if committing their addresses to memory.
“I know this one place; it’s the goldsmith’s shop. But the other?”
“A friend of Mary’s. Surely you don’t begrudge her communicating with a friend?”
“I only begrudge her making a mistake. Or your doing the same.”
“Have you become the arbiter of our morals, then, Brendan? I don’t need fatherly advice from you. Go back to Gilmuir and forget about us.”
“You would never have done such a thing before India, Hamish.”
Nothing could restore the past, or the man he’d been.
“What if Mary’s friends question me? What am I supposed to say to them?”
“Silence would be the best answer, Brendan.”
“The world is not your hermitage, Hamish.” Brendan lifted his hand and gestured around the room as if to encompass the whole of the castle. “It’s not an empty place like this deserted fortress. It’s filled with people and opinions, reputations and words like honor and dignity.”
“If you don’t tell anyone, Brendan, then no one will know what goes on here. So I place the ruination of Mary’s reputation in your hands.”
“And your honor, Hamish?”
Brendan looked so intent that he almost answered his brother. But Hamish knew that he could never explain how he truly felt, or translate what he’d gone through into words. Words sometimes weren’t enough; a man had to live through an experience in order to understand.
Honor? Honor was a code of ethics, a way a man behaved in society. Dignity? Again, a way of behavior. A man did not take tea naked in the parlor, or appear drunk in the company of ladies. But to a prisoner, what did either word mean? He’d lost his honor the first time he’d screamed in agony, and his dignity had been stripped from him as he was led nearly naked from village to village.
He’d faced himself in those months in India, seen himself as he truly was, not as he wished to be. He’d tested each of the words he’d been reared to believe in, coming away with the knowledge that he’d strayed far from his upbringing. He’d faced, at the last, the true degradation of his spirit. Not from the acts of others, but from his own behavior.
That was something else he wouldn’t tell Brendan.
Mary offered him a respite from himself, and he would greedily and gratefully accept the interlude. Perhaps she was unwise to agree to stay with him for however long he could convince her. However, he thanked Providence, or heaven, or whatever mankind wished to call it that had convinced her to do so. He’d been given a reprieve from his own shame and horror in the form of a gently smiling, forthright lover. He was not going to be so noble as to send her away.
Brendan’s look darkened in the silence, as if he bit back a hundred words. It was the first time in their lives that he could ever remember Brendan being so restrained. His brother turned and would have walked from the room, but hesitated on the threshold. He glanced over his shoulder at Hamish.
“India really did change you, didn’t it? You told me that it had, but I refused to believe it. I told myself all this time that you were so different only because you were injured or simply lonely for home. I never realized that you weren’t the same man I’d always known.”
“You should have believed me,” Hamish said gently. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“Then tell me the truth, Hamish. By keeping Mary here, won’t you hurt her?”
“I don’t know,” Hamish said. “I only know I must.”
“Is he gone?” Mary asked, walking into Hamish’s tower room an hour later. She carried his lunch tray and gratefully set it down on the table beside the door. Climbing the stairs had not become easier with familiarity.
“He’s crossing the bridge now,” Hamish said, glancing over at her. “Hester and Micah are leaving also.”
“I know,” she said. “I’ve said my farewells.”
“You’re not going to try to convince me to let them stay, are you?”
“Should I?” Her friends would know that she was here with him, but there would be no one to tell that they were alone. She doubted if Brendan would divulge that information. Therefore, there would be no one to tell tales of her behavior, or look at her disapprovingly. Even so, Hester had made no secret of her disappointment, and Micah had not once looked in her direction. Mary had only known them a few days, and their opinions of her shouldn’t matter, but oddly enough she found that they did.
Brendan had only looked at her across the courtyard and turned and walked in the other direction. Repudiation in a glance. It was practice for her, if anyone in Inverness ever learned of what she was doing.
She studied Hamish, framed as he was in the window, bared to the light. She’d known him even less time than Hester and Micah, and here she was, altering the very framework of her life to stay with him.
He turned his head and returned her stare, as if he knew every doubting thought that tumbled into her mind.
“They’re barely over the bridge. If you hurry, you can catch up with them.”
Her conscience was remark
ably silent. Her heart didn’t even speak. Her mind had no logic at all to offer.
“I know that I should,” she said softly. “I can occupy myself very well in Inverness. There are probably patients to see even now.”
“No doubt,” he said dryly.
He turned and watched the empty wagon roll over the bridge.
“They left all their provisions here,” Mary said. “We won’t starve.”
“When you’re tired of jerky and smoked fish,” he offered, not turning his head, “I can hunt.”
“Are you a good hunter?”
“All the MacRaes are,” he said offhandedly. His hands clutched the edge of the window frame tightly, belying his casual speech.
She should have been shy with him. Instead, it felt as if he were the dearest of companions, someone she’d known for most of her life.
She came and stood beside him, placing her left hand on his right arm, slowly caressing him from forearm to shoulder, a long smooth stroke. He glanced at her once, his smile summoning hers.
“Brendan looked very angry when he left,” she said. “He doesn’t approve of my staying with you, does he?”
He shook his head.
“We’re both doomed to perdition, then.”
“Do you care what the world says about you, Mary?”
“I should say that I don’t, shouldn’t I? The mark of a truly independent person. Like you. But I’m afraid that I do. Does that make me foolish in your eyes?”
He turned toward her. Her hand fell, and she clasped it with the other, standing in front of him, the object of his intense regard.
“Do you care about my opinion of you, Mary?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “I find that I do.”
His smile slipped. “You shouldn’t, you know.” He threaded his fingers through the hair at her temple. “I’m no one to judge another. I have sins beyond sins on my soul.”
“Do you?” She placed her hand on his cheek, feeling the scars beneath her fingers, wondering why he should be handsome to her when he was so marked. There was something about him that was greater than all his scarred parts. “Then you and I have something in common. I can claim a multitude of sins, not the least of which is remaining here with you.”
His smile was back in place, and this time, it was replicated in his eyes.
“You’re the Angel of Inverness. What great sins can you have?”
“I question entirely too much,” she said, dropping her hand to place it on his chest. His heart beat so steadily and loudly that it was oddly reassuring. “I used to wonder, if God did not wish me to question, why he’d given me a mind with which to do so.”
“An appropriate curiosity. What did people say?”
“I learned not to mention my thoughts,” she said, her fingers playing on the buttons of his shirt. They looked to be carved from bone, or perhaps ivory.
“I give you free rein to do so, at any time you wish.”
She glanced up to find that his smile had disappeared again, and in its place a solemn look. One he might wear when giving his promise or granting a wish.
Too many times, she’d wanted to discuss what was on her mind and had no one with which to do so. At first, Gordon had been amused at her thoughts, but then she’d realized that for all his fondness of her, he would forever treat her like a gamboling kitten or a frolicking puppy. Nor could she speak of such things with Elspeth; the young woman looked to her as an example, for all that they were friends. How could she teach Elspeth to question all that society had taught her to believe? Why deliberately foment rebellion when there was no need?
She tested him, perhaps, by asking a question. “Why do men treat women as if they should be cosseted, while outside of the parlor, life itself does not treat them so gently? I’ve seen grown men pale at the sight of their wives giving birth.”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, “but your thought has merit.”
He trailed a path along her jaw, gently traced her bottom lip.
“Why are women considered more sinners than sinned against? Why do poor women and children seem to suffer more than men in a similar plight?”
“Because it’s easier to blame the defenseless,” Hamish said. “And those who have no one to speak for them.”
She looked at him, startled at his quick answer.
“Will you talk to me of the places you’ve seen?” she asked. “Even if they’re not considered proper?”
“When have we been entirely proper with each other?” he asked, amusement obvious in his sudden smile.
“Will you teach me shatranj?”
“So that you can win? I doubt you will.”
There, that’s what she wanted, his honesty.
“Will you tell me what happened in India?”
His face suddenly froze. Just as quickly as a thought, his smiling expression was gone, to be replaced by absolutely no expression at all. Yet she had the impression that she’d surprised him with her question.
“Have I not?”
She shook her head. “I suspect that more occurred than you’ve told anyone.”
“Why would you think that?”
He half turned toward the window again, distancing himself from her. She took a step closer, wrapped her arms around his waist, and waited. Finally, he glanced down at her again.
“Because of the look in your eyes sometimes, Hamish,” she said softly. “They seem to be haunted, as if you’re keeping a secret that’s poisoning you.”
“Do I know your secrets, Mary?”
“No,” she admitted, “you don’t.”
“Then it’s hardly fair of you to ask for mine without divulging some of your own, don’t you think?”
“Will we be that intimate?” She tilted back her head to study him. “I thought we were to be lovers, not friends.”
He looked disconcerted at her bluntness. “Can’t we be both?”
“It might be wiser to remain the former, and not strive for the latter.”
“Why? Don’t you wish to be my friend?”
No. She wanted to be able to leave him behind when the time came and not feel a loss.
She raised her hands and put them on his shoulders. Instead of answering him, she asked another question of her own. “Are you going kiss me?”
“Is that a request?”
“If we’re to be lovers,” she said softly, “perhaps we should begin immediately.”
She linked her hands behind his neck, thinking that a man who had undergone such grievous injuries should not look so alluring. Nor should a healer be having such lascivious thoughts about her patient.
His friend? No, she wouldn’t be his friend. That was only one short step removed from other, deeper emotions. Hamish MacRae would not give his heart easily, if at all, and she should guard hers with care.
Reaching out, she began to unfasten his shirt. Pulling it from his waistband, she placed her hands beneath the fabric, flat on his chest.
“I should treat your wounds,” she said.
“You are.” His smile was infinitely charming, with a touch of wickedness to it.
She shook her head at him, amused.
“I want you to undo your hair like you did last night, but I don’t want you to take your hands from me. How can I accomplish both?”
She felt a surge of heat travel through her at his words. How could he do such a thing to her with only a softly voiced sentence?
Withdrawing her hands, she hurriedly fumbled with her braid.
“You are so indescribably lovely,” he said. “And I’m so ugly beside you.”
She clutched at her hair with both hands, wishing that she didn’t hear more in his words. She didn’t want to be so attached to him that her heart ached at the hint of his regret. These days were for sensuality only, not for emotion.
“I am not,” she said. “I am simply ordinary.”
His smile broadened to become a grin, a boyish expression she’d not seen before. “Then if you’re simply ord
inary, what must I be in comparison?”
“Hamish. You are simply Hamish. Isn’t that enough?”
There was that look again. Something lingered in his eyes, some horror he’d not yet articulated. So disturbing was the thought that she wanted to reach out her arms and enfold him in her embrace. She couldn’t shield him from what he’d already endured, but she could help him forget.
“Hamish,” she said gently, placing both her hands on his exposed chest. “Whatever they did to you is over. You needn’t remember it again. Not ever.” Just as quickly as it was there, the look was gone.
He reached out one hand and finished undoing her braid, spearing his fingers through her hair until it fell in coils around her shoulders.
The two of them were framed in the window, but she didn’t seek the shadows. Instead, this sunlit moment seemed perfect to begin their forbidden relationship.
“Kiss me, Hamish.” It was both a declaration and an order.
But he said nothing, nor did he react. His stillness was almost a dare. She’d been the darling of her older parents, having been their only surviving child. Being so well loved had given her a foundation of confidence, something she needed now as she extended her hands upward to cup either side of his face. Slowly, she pulled his head down and stood on tiptoe to press her lips against his.
As he’d taught her last night, she allowed her tongue to dart out and trace the seam of his lips, the fullness of his lower lip.
His arm went around her, holding her close. But even that touch was not enough. Her skin warmed in remembered passion, and dampness pooled in secret folds as her body readied itself for him. How odd that she should anticipate and welcome him with no more than a kiss.
The dress was one she’d worn the day before. Over it, she’d donned her treatment apron. Without being asked, she removed it, and then slowly began to unfasten the laces of her bodice.
He watched her, his eyes downcast, as if hiding his response from her. His silence made her shy, made her question why she was there and why she’d agreed to stay. It felt as if he tested her by standing there doing nothing but regarding her.
“You’ll not urge me, will you?” she asked, understanding suddenly.