Dancing for the Devil

by Marie Laval

  She could hardly see where she was going and stumbled against a sharp stone and let out a whimper as pain shot through her bare foot.

  ‘Here, let me help.’ Bruce scooped her into his arms and pressed her against his chest. Instinctively her hands gripped his shoulders and her face nestled in the crook of his neck. At once his scent enveloped her – pine forest, salt and heat – and made her dizzy with longing.

  She stiffened and tried to wriggle out of his grasp. ‘I don’t need you. I can walk.’

  ‘No, you can’t, and you do need me, whether you want it or not,’ came his answer, snarled through clenched teeth.

  She looked up and shook her head. ‘Well, I see you haven’t changed one bit. You’re still the same charming Lord McGrowl. My house is just over there at the end of the lane, by the way,’ she said, pointing to the garden’s white walls and the thick, carved wooden door.

  ‘I know. We came round before with our guide but there was nobody there.’

  ‘I live alone these days.’

  Bruce looked down. ‘What about your mother, your servants?’

  ‘My mother is in Djanet with my brother, his wife and their baby son. She turned our estate into a cooperative a few months ago and I stayed behind to oversee the transition and finalise the arrangements. Everything is sorted now and I too will leave for Djanet as soon I have packed everything up and closed the house.’

  He glanced down, his gaze dark and stormy. ‘Living on your own is dangerous, isn’t it? It’s more than that: it’s downright irresponsible! You didn’t answer earlier when I asked what you were doing out tonight. Didn’t you realise how risky it was to go out?’

  She shrugged. ‘Of course I did, but I had an important message to pass on.’

  His face darkened further. ‘Don’t tell me you’re involved with those rebels the French are chasing all over town.’

  His tone was so sharp that anger suddenly ripped through her and she squeezed her fists hard and pushed against his chest. It was pointless, he didn’t even appear to notice.

  ‘Whom I’m involved with is none of your concern. You made it clear you wanted nothing to do with me when you cast me aside, when you didn’t even say “goodbye” before the Sea Eagle left. I waited and waited that morning …’ Her voice broke as she remembered the heart-rending moment when she realised he wasn’t going to come to Wrath Harbour and Captain Kennedy said he couldn’t delay any longer.

  ‘I waited in Algiers for weeks, I wrote to you, to Doctor Kilroy, even to your friend MacBoyd, but you never wrote back. In fact, without the note Doctor Kilroy sent me after the trial, I would still believe you in jail – or dead.’

  He sighed and pain flashed through his eyes. ‘Aye, and I’m sorry for that. More than I can ever say.’

  Wallace opened the garden door and the three men walked into the courtyard.

  ‘Which way now?’

  ‘Through the archways across the courtyard,’ she said, tugging on the sleeve of Bruce’s black shirt. ‘I want you to put me down.’

  Once again, he ignored her. Damn. Why did the woman have to be so contrary? Everything was going from bad to worse tonight. He’d had months to think about the moment he’d be with her again, able at last to hold her in his arms and feel her slender body against him. When they rode into Bou Saada earlier after a gruelling few months travelling from Algiers through mountain ranges, deep cedar forests and scented orange groves, through desert plains and parched, rocky terrain, he could hardly contain his excitement … he’d even asked their guide to teach him a little French so he could surprise her! Yet all they’d done for the past half an hour was snap and snarl at each other.

  It was his fault, of course. He’d been arrogant, patronising and overbearing, but he just couldn’t help himself. It made him mad just thinking of Rose alone in this dangerous place, riddled with rogue soldiers and rebels. What made him even more mad was to see that she didn’t seem to mind the danger at all.

  Ignoring yet another request to put her down, he strode into a vast hallway with mosaic-tiled walls and floors and into a large drawing room. Tall candles burned in cast irons candelabras, large, simmering tapestries and hangings embroidered with gold, red and blue silk adorned the whitewashed walls. Low divans covered with embroidered cushions, dark wood furniture inlaid with intricate mother of pearl and copper patterns and colourful rugs completed the décor.

  He stopped in front of a lioness’s hide which was nailed upside down on the wall, its huge yellowing teeth sticking out of its open muzzle, its glazed, amber eyes forever blind. A shiver went through him – a mixture of pity and dread. Even the most lethal, the strongest and proudest predators could end up as a pathetic display like this, nothing but than a vulgar ornament.

  At the other end of the room a dining table had been set for two, with white porcelain plates, silver cutlery and tall crystal glasses which sparkled in the candlelight. Jealousy ripped into Bruce’s heart, and his fingers tightened around her slim body. He could almost feel her bare skin under the light, sheer costume.

  ‘I thought you lived here alone.’ He pointed with his chin to the dishes of flat breads, meat and candied fruit laid out on the table.

  ‘A friend visited earlier.’

  ‘What friend?’

  ‘His name is Ahmoud. Not that it’s any of your business. He is a friend of my brother’s.’

  ‘Ahmoud the rebel?’ he barked as he remembered her telling him about the man once, when he was ill at the old cottage in Sith Coille … a lifetime before. He was the man who had fought with her brother against the French army, the man who had vowed never to surrender whereas her brother had given in.

  ‘Are you completely mad to shelter a rebel when the town is full of soldiers?’

  ‘And what would you rather have me do? Turn a man away when he is being chased like a wounded lion? Ahmoud asked me to deliver a message to his friends to warn them of the impending arrival of the French. They were in a tavern in the bazaar, that’s why I dressed like an Ouled Nail dancer. I can only hope they all managed to escape in time … now will you let me down? I’m cold and would like to change.’

  He nodded and set her gently on her feet. She said she wouldn’t be long and disappeared down a corridor.

  As soon as she left, Wallace whistled between his teeth.

  ‘Miss Rose is as lovely, brave and feisty as I remembered.’

  Bruce let out a grunt. ‘Aye. She’s all that, and more.’

  She wasn’t a doubt-ridden girl any longer, but a confident young woman. Would she agree to listen to him, and forgive him? What if there was something other than friendship between her and that rebel, Ahmoud? What if he’d left it too late? He rubbed his face with his hands and sighed. Well, he’d soon find out.

  He asked Wallace to patrol the gardens with Fraser and keep an eye out for French soldiers or stray rebel fighters. The last thing he wanted was to be disturbed before he had time to talk to Rose – to talk to her properly.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Bruce stood alone, his hands clasped behind his back in front of the lioness’s hide. Her throat dry, her heart beating too fast, Rose pulled on the ends of the shawl she’d thrown on to hide her ripped dress and walked, still barefoot, across the reception room.

  ‘Where are Wallace and Fraser?’

  ‘In the garden, keeping watch,’ he answered, still staring at the hide and without turning round.

  ‘This was the first lion my brother killed,’ she said as she came closer. ‘He was fourteen at the time. My father said he’d saved his life that day.’

  An uneasy silence fell between them.

  ‘Why did you come after all this time, Bruce?’

  He turned to look at her. She’d been wrong when she thought he was the same man she’d left after the dreadful and traumatic events at Wrath, one year before. He had changed. His eyes were softer, warmer. He almost looked nervous. If only he knew it was she who was terrified of what he was about to say.
/>   ‘I came because I owed you an explanation.’

  Disappointment hit her like a blow to the chest but she bit her lip to repress a whimper of pain.

  ‘Oh … I see.’ She just about managed to control the quiver in her voice. What did she expect? And why did she hurt so much? After all she’d had one year to reconcile herself with the idea that she had lost him.

  She had learnt so much about herself these past few months. She had worked hard to set up the cooperative, and had realised that people – her mother among them – loved and trusted her. All her new self-confidence now came crashing down, and she felt insecure and riddled with self-doubt once again.

  She wasn’t, however, about to show him. She stiffened her spine and tilted her face up. ‘You don’t owe me anything. So if that’s all you came for, you might as well leave’

  He frowned. ‘No … no, you don’t understand. That’s not all. I have something for you.’ He patted the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small velvet pouch.

  ‘There. It’s yours if you want it,’ he said, holding it out to her.

  She loosened the ties with clumsy fingers and pulled out a shiny, crescent-shaped medallion attached to a gold chain. ‘Your mother’s half of the medal,’ she whispered, tears prickling her eyes.

  ‘I’ll never thank you enough for rescuing it from the fire at the Nag’s Head.’

  She held the medal in front of her, then resolutely handed it back to him. ‘Why are you giving it to me? You should wear it – together with your father's.’

  ‘I wear McRae’s half, which you somehow managed to rescue too before McRae destroyed the letter. My mother’s medal is for you, if you want it.’

  His eyes turned a stormy grey as he let out a frustrated sigh and raked his fingers in his hair. ‘Damn it, Rose. I am making a mess of this. What I’m trying to say is I brought you the medal because I want to marry you and take you back to Wrath. So what do you say?’

  Her anger and hurt vanished like dew in the morning sun. Her heart beat as hard and fast as a bendir drum during a dance, and she suddenly felt so light she could fly. He had come for her. He loved her. He wanted her. Who cared if his proposal was raw and abrupt, and totally devoid of fancy and flowery words?

  He looked so cross with her, with himself, and the whole world that she couldn’t stop herself from teasing him.

  ‘This is a very grumpy marriage proposal, Bruce McGunn, even by your standards.’

  He sighed again. ‘You’re right, gràidheag. I’m sorry. You asked me why I was here. Well, I came for you, and my only regret is that I didn’t do so any sooner. Things were difficult, even after the trial, because the effects of the withdrawal from the datura were just as bad as the drug itself. When I finally got better, I kept telling myself I had so much to sort out I couldn’t afford to spend any time away from Wrath. The truth is that I was scared.’

  ‘Scared? Of what?’

  ‘I was scared to see you again, scared you’d say “no” if I asked you to marry me. Scared you’d found another man and would send me away.’ He pointed to the table set for two and coughed to clear his throat. ‘I see I was right. This Ahmoud … it’s obvious you have feelings for him. I suppose you will say it has nothing to do with me, and you’d be right, of course.’

  She shook her head. ‘Ahmoud is an old friend, that’s all.’

  His eyes closed for a second, relief painted on his face and he took a deep breath. ‘Then it may not be too late … I have so much to tell you, sweetheart, so much to explain, but first I must apologise if I caused you any pain. I believed I was doing you a favour by ignoring your letters and keeping well away. I thought you deserved better than me – you probably do anyway … I convinced myself I was doing the right thing. But all this time I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and in the end nothing else mattered but to find you, hold you in my arms and make you mine again.’

  He paused. ‘So when Kilroy assured me I was free at last from the effects of the datura, when I secured the future of Wrath and paid off all my grandfather’s debts, I left MacBoyd and his new wife Agnes in charge and set off for Algiers with Wallace and Fraser.’

  ‘Agnes married MacBoyd? How lovely … but I don’t understand why you said you had to pay off your grandfather’s debts. Didn’t the judge recognise you as Niall McRae’s son? When Doctor Kilroy wrote that you’d been cleared of all charges and Morven convicted in your place, I assumed that the truth about your father had been established as well and your inheritance reinstated.’

  He shrugged. ‘No, I’m still plain Bruce McGunn of father unknown, and have no right to either McRae’s name or wealth. The medals didn’t prove anything, the judge said, and without the letter and the diary, there was no written evidence I was entitled to anything.’

  His body tensed as he leaned towards her. ‘Does it make any difference to you what my name is?’

  ‘Oh yes, it does, but not in the way you think. To tell you the truth, I like it that you’re still a McGunn. I don’t think I could find as many entertaining nicknames if you had changed your name to McRae.’

  She tapped a finger against her cheek, and pretended to think. ‘Let me see. There is McRough, of course, but no, I think I’d much rather be called Lady McGrump …’

  He smiled at last. ‘Does it mean you accept? You’ll marry me?’

  ‘I do, and I will,’ she answered, deadly serious this time.

  He gave her a look so hot her breath hitched in her throat. Taking her hand, he lifted it to his lips and kissed the inside of her wrist. Her whole being melted under his mouth’s insistent caress. She wanted to cry with joy and tell him she loved him and there was nothing she wanted more in the world than be with him, but her throat was so tight even air didn’t seem to be able to pass through, let alone words.

  So she rose on her tiptoes and brushed her lips to his mouth. He wrapped his arms around her, and lifting her off the ground he held her and kissed her long and deep.

  ‘I was so sure you’d say “no”. I wouldn’t have blamed you at all if you had,’ he said in a harsh whisper, leaning his forehead against hers. ‘I’ve been an oaf, and you can call me whatever monkey name you want.’

  He bent down and kissed her again, with even more urgency. His body shuddered, his skin so hot it felt like he was burning with a fever. When he realised she was still clutching the medallion, he let her down and stepped back. ‘Here, let me …’ He clasped the chain around her neck. ‘I’m sorry. I know it’s not much of an engagement gift.’

  She shook her head and touched the medal that now hung between her breasts. ‘It’s perfect.’ It was the strongest, sweetest token of love he could ever give her – the acceptance of who he was, the gift of his past, his present and future.

  He bent down to kiss her again, and again, before scooping her up in his arms. ‘Where’s your room?’

  ‘Down that corridor,’ she answered, snuggling against him and almost purring with contentment, ‘it’s the third door on the right.’

  Despite stopping every other step to kiss her, he somehow made it to her bedroom and laid her on the bed. He put one knee down on the next to her, his weight making the mattress sink to one side, and looked down. His eyes shone as if carved out of silver in the moonlight pouring in from the patio doors. He looked like he wanted to devour her alive, and a shiver of anticipation ran through her, making her pulse beat harder and her body tighten.

  He bent down slowly, his face dark and intent. ‘I have waited a year for this … for you. I don’t think I can wait any longer.’

  As he kissed her again, his fingers found her bare skin through the rip the French soldier had made in her dress, and ripped the fabric some more until she was naked and the dress in tatters. She almost cried out when he touched her breasts. Closer, she wanted to be closer. She wanted to melt into him, be at one with him at last.

  The rough fabric of his jacket rubbed against her skin, his hands probed harder as they slid down the flat plane o
f her stomach, along the sides of her waist to grab hold of her hips and dig in, lifting her off the bed to press her to him.

  He kissed her throat, her breasts, while his fingers spread her legs open and caressed, creating molten waves that rippled throughout her body.

  ‘Bruce, please,’ she moaned, arching higher to meet his heat, even though right now she didn’t really know what she was pleading for.

  He straightened up and tugged at the opening of his shirt before pulling it over his head and throwing it in a heap onto the ground. His chest glistened in the moonlight and she stared, mesmerised and her eyes wide open in shock.

  ‘Your Ahankar tattoo … it’s gone,’ she said, lifting her hand to his heart to touch the bumpy ridges of a wide, ugly scar.

  He nodded. ‘It is indeed. I could say Morven did me a service when he shot me.’ He captured her hand in his and kissed the tips of her fingers with a shaky breath. ‘I realised you were right about everything, my love, and I’d been a stubborn fool. There was no curse. The tattoo meant nothing. It was all in my head and in the poison McNeil was feeding me.’

  Letting go of her hand he stood up, kicked his boots off and divested himself of his riding breeches before lowering himself onto her body. Even though he rested his elbows on the bed so as not to crush her under his weight, he was so big and heavy she could hardly breathe … or perhaps it was because his skin slid, burning hot against hers and that she could feel the strength of his need for her.

  He kissed her again, and her fingers trailed down along his back and up again.

  ‘I want you so much.’ He brushed her hair off her forehead and pecked kisses on her eyes, her cheeks, her lips and down the side of her throat.

  She looked into his eyes and saw love and passion, everything she’d always wished for. She was his, and he was hers, and it wasn’t a dream. His eyes never left hers as he pushed deep inside her, pinned her hands down on the mattress above her head and drove in faster and faster until the world dissolved into a chaos of need and pleasure.