Highland Song

by Young, Christine

  "That must have been awkward," Slade said dryly, challenging Lainie to tell him all her secrets. "Is that why they kicked you out?"

  “That was cruel.”

  “But is it the truth?” he asked bluntly.

  "Bertram and his men were searching for Callie Whitcomb. They came to the castle to take her back to England."

  "Go on."

  Though Slade wasn’t looking at Lainie any longer, he was truly interested for the first time. She inhaled a slow discreet breath and kept talking.

  "Callie believed my brother Hawke was a friend of her father’s, and she came to the castle seeking refuge from her half-brother. She was wrong. My brother loathed David Whitcomb. When he was a boy, he vowed vengeance against the family," Lainie said. "I think the only person he hated as much or even more was the man Callie had been betrothed to."

  Slade turned back to look at Lainie, drawn by the changing emotions in her voice as well as her features.

  "All this might be true but what does it have to do with you and your nimble fingers? Why would you take such chances with your life?"

  She lowered her lashes in an attempt to avoid answering him. She wove a fine tale, and he guessed somewhere in the story the answers he sought would come to light. He just didn’t know how to get her to lower her guard and tell him. He knew, while Callie Whitcomb might be part of the story, Callie wasn’t all of it or the main part. Something Lainie didn't want to share with him caused the pain that showed in her eyes every time he pushed her for the truth.

  "Callie’s fiancé was Lord Huntington," Lainie said simply.

  "I’m supposed to draw conclusions from that?"

  Lainie nodded.

  "You’re going to have to tell me something else. I don’t know Lord Huntington. Even if I did, I wouldn’t know what all this has to do with you."

  "Nothing," she said simply, turning away from him as if to hide some deep, dark, emotional secret. "Absolutely nothing."

  "Wrong answer."

  She turned back and smiled sadly. "In some ways you are a very infuriating man. This is not your business. The only one who knows is my maid, and I left her at my ancestral home. I'm certainly not about to tell my darkest secrets to a dark-haired stranger who seems to have settled into my campsite uninvited."

  "Another vague statement," Slade said flatly. “You can hide from me forever. I will discover the truth.”

  "Why do you think I’m vague? My story is uninteresting and boring. You would fall asleep over the telling of it," Lainie said, nervously crossing her arms in front of her.

  "A spy who is bad at lying should find another profession," Slade said watching her closely.

  "That’s not what I meant," Lainie retorted. "Let the truth be told? Perhaps I should. I’m sure you wouldn’t believe a word I say."

  One of Slade’s black eyebrows rose. "Let me guess. You seduced Bertram, and when he wouldn’t make wedding plans, you tried to kill him. Now he wants revenge so he has planted evidence against you just to get you back to Edinburgh."

  Lainie’s smile was as small and cold as the highland locks in the middle of winter. Guilt was something Slade never let himself feel.

  "Of course you're right, Englishman. Although I am sure some of the evidence he holds over my head he has falsified."

  "Don’t bet on it, little fox. You stole sealed documents from me. We both know it. And now you are on your way to trial."

  "I'm not," she told him flatly.

  He didn't answer. It would do little good to argue with her. She would end up whereever he chose.

  Inhaling deeply, she tossed her head, sending her white-blond hair cascading over her shoulders.

  "I thought at first you were different from Jericho, but you’re not," she said. "You haven’t the least idea what it’s like to make your way in a world that is stronger, harder, and crueler than you could ever be."

  "You won’t sneak into my good graces by comparing me to the likes of Jericho Slater and his merry band of cutthroats. Jericho is a cruel, hard man and you should count your blessings that he didn't know who you were."

  "Mercenaries," Lainie corrected. "They operate with your English king's blessings," she paused, watching him. "I’m not trying to get into your good graces, Englishman."

  "You’d better start." The threat was as clear and cold as the crystal water slipping down the rocks. He didn't want to admit even to himself that he did not want her compliance. He was growing used to her spirit and he liked watching her eyes blaze and spit fire.

  Lainie’s chin rose a notch and her eyes burned blue fire, but she didn’t say what appeared to come to mind. Instead, she watched him with intensity and a passion he'd never seen from a woman.

  There was no gentleness now in Slade’s eyes or in the line of his mouth. He was both frustrated and angry. When he spoke again, his voice was cold and remote. He liked watching her spirit but even more, he wanted answers.

  "Be satisfied Rory needed to die," Slade said flatly. "If you’d set me up to kill a man, I’d have to let Bear and Rory have you. You wouldn’t have liked that. Bear isn’t one of those kind men you so favor. Neither is Rory."

  "He can’t be worse than Jericho or Bertram," Lainie said bleakly. "My memory isn’t dulled by time. I don’t know what he’s capable of, but it can’t be anything worse than Bertram."

  "Bear has a reputation with women that’s too sordid to repeat--even to a spying aristocrat who picks pockets that are filled with secret information."

  "Did Bear ever--" but she broke off leaving Slade without the information he sought from her.

  Lainie’s voice crumbled into silence. She clenched her fists tight, and it seemed to Slade she fought for self-control while her entire body shook.

  "What are you saying?" Slade asked in a low voice, suddenly wondering what could have her emotions tied in knots and her hands shaking so bad she wouldn't be able to hold onto anything including the tiny dirk she kept laced to her calf.

  She shook her head.

  Slade cursed softly, wishing for the truth, wishing he could shake it out of her. He wasn't a patient man by nature. His eyes narrowed. "What did Bertram do to you?" Slade asked in a low voice that most men would cower under.

  Lainie looked at Slade with pain-filled eyes that were full of tears.

  "Bertram doesn’t care about anyone," Lainie said bitterly, wiping away the moisture in her eyes. "He just takes…"

  Her words withered into a painful silence. No matter how many times she swallowed, she couldn’t force out any sounds.

  "Don’t," Slade said.

  He put his finger gently over Lainie’s lips, sealing in the words she was trying to speak. He hated himself for his weakness. He wanted to know what had happened, but he couldn’t force her to say whatever was bothering her. Time would eventually tell him what he wanted to know and probably what he didn't want to know as well. He told himself he could wait until she was ready.

  "I guess I’ve overstepped polite society this time. You ever want to tell me, I’ll listen."

  Lainie grabbed Slade’s hand, but not to push him away.

  "Tell me," she said urgently, her lips trembling. "You killed Bear, didn’t you?"

  Slade nodded. He could see the wild pulse at her neck. "Rory too."

  She let out a long slow breath and whispered. "Thank you, I only wish it had been someone else so I wouldn’t have to look over my shoulder all the time."

  All gentleness vanished from Slade’s emotions.

  "You want me to kill someone else for you? Could that person be Bertram?" he guessed, once again challenging her for answers despite his earlier vow to wait until she was ready.

  "I don’t want anyone killed in my name. I just don’t want to live in fear." With the back of her hand, she wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  "A man’s life is worth less than a little fear. What on earth happened to you?" Slade asked.

  Lainie’s mouth tightened. "Ye have no idea."

  "So you do
want me to kill him."

  "No--yes." Her breath rushed out in a slow hiss.

  Slade made a sound, which was too hard and too bitter to be a laugh.

  "Which is it?"

  She shook her head.

  "The truth."

  "The truth is I saved your life," Lainie whispered.

  "Saved it?" Slade demanded. "You did your best to get me killed. You ran off and left me to fend for myself."

  "When--" she began, but he cut her off.

  "Disappointed I'm alive?" he interrupted, wondering what her answer might be.

  "I turned back to see what had happened," she said, ignoring his interruptions. "Then Rory drew a knife and you were faster, but then another man pulled a knife to kill you in the back. I killed him first. You would have died on that spot."

  Unexpectedly, Slade laughed.

  "You’re a good, little fox, cunning and sly to the bitter end. The wide eyes and earnest, trembling mouth are unequaled."

  "But--"

  "Save those lips for something better than lying," Slade said, bending over Lainie once more.

  "I killed him," she protested. “I saved your life."

  "But you missed your mark, me. That’s why you hesitated before you sprinted out of the tavern as if it was on fire. You wanted to be dead sure I wouldn’t follow you and arrest you for your acts against the crown."

  "You’re wrong. 'Tis not the way it was. I--"

  "Stop the charade," Slade said curtly, watching her with an intense hunger. "You’re exhausting my patience."

  "Why won’t you believe me?"

  "Because a man who believes a liar, a spy, and a runaway is more of a fool than Aaron Slade is."

  His fingers closed around Lainie’s thigh once more. And once more, she wasn’t able to break away from his touch.

  "I’m not a liar or a spy," she said angrily, her hand pushing futilely against his. "And I hate being so weak I can’t put a man like you in your place. I’m a lady born, but you’re an English soldier, and you have no respect for women. Despite my birth, there was a time I was given no choice. Since then my life has been dedicated to righting the wrong that was done to me."

  Lainie’s voice shook with anger as she continued, not letting Slade interrupt.

  "But you don’t listen to anything I’ve said, and you believe only the worst," she said. "So you should have no trouble believing this--my biggest regret about yesterday is not letting Bear's dirk find a place in your back. I should have left you to fend for yourself."

  Astonishment loosened Slade’s grip for a moment. It was all Lainie needed. She jerked from beneath his hand with a speed that shocked him.

  She rose taking a blanket with her. With hands that showed a fine trembling, she wrapped the blanket around herself, concealing everything of her body but her flaming cheeks that showed both her humiliation and anger.

  Slade thought about taking the blanket away from Lainie. He had enjoyed looking at the satin curves and velvet shadows beneath the old, thin cotton fabric of her shirt. Her fury both astounded and fascinated him. Women who were trapped in deception generally became all soft and wary and willing to make reparation to any man who came along.

  But not the girl named Lainie MacPherson. Her eyes were measuring him for a shroud.

  Ironically, Slade admitted to himself that whatever else he could say about Lainie--and none of it good--she had nerve. He admired that in men, women, and horses. Somehow, he knew she wouldn't give up without a fight.

  "Don’t be so touchy," Slade said slowly. "I might decide to get up and ride out of here, leaving you for Jericho."

  Lainie hid the streak of alarm that knifed through her at the thought of Jericho and his gang.

  "Shame you didn’t kill him, too." She said beneath her breath.

  "So, you prefer me to Jericho. That's comforting," Slade said. "But you seem to be a wee bit bloodthirsty.”

  Slade watched her for a moment before swearing softly beneath his breath.

  "I’m not an executioner."

  Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at the thinness of Slade’s voice. "No, but you’re a bounty hunter. Aren’t you? Bertram hired you to find me and bring me to him. I'm not going."

  His cold green glance searched her face for a long moment before he nodded.

  "See that you remember who I am and why I found you," he said curtly. "Don’t ever set me up as an assassin again. I’ve got a job to do, and I mean to carry through with it."

  She nodded, knowing she would do all in her meager power to keep him from doing his job.

  Slade rose to stand in an unhurried, graceful movement that reminded Lainie of her brothers Hawke and Ian. Slade was every bit as dangerous.

  "Get dressed," he said. "We can talk about our trip north over breakfast. Maybe I can figure out what I'm going to do with you."

  "It's not your choice," Lainie said bitterly.

  Slade hesitated, ignoring her. "You do know how to cook, don’t you?"

  "Of course." She lied, not wishing to tell him she’d supervised kitchens but never actually cooked a meal.

  He smiled. It was a slow, lazy grin. "Not every girl can cook."

  The tender pleasure in his smile intrigued Lainie. It was as unforeseen as snow in August.

  "Who was she?" Lainie asked before she could think better of it.

  "Who?"

  "The girl who couldn’t cook."

  "An English lady. Prettiest thing a man ever did see. Hair as dark as a raven’s wing and eyes like amber."

  Lainie told herself that the feeling streaking through her couldn’t be jealousy.

  "What happened?" she asked casually.

  "What do you mean?"

  "If she was that beautiful--"

  Slade stretched and looked down at Lainie from his much greater height. "Why didn't I marry her?" he finished Lainie's sentence.

  She stood her ground. She waited for the response to her inquiry as though there were no disparity in size or strength between herself and the man who could have snapped her like a dry twig.

  In his determination to bring her to his will, he reminded her once more of her brothers. But their male strength never diminished another. She wasn’t sure about Aaron Slade.

  "Wouldn’t the pretty lady have a bounty hunter? An English soldier who took orders from pigs like Bertram?" Lainie asked. Why she taunted him she didn't know.

  "I don’t take orders from Bertram. But that’s not why Josie wouldn’t have me."

  "She liked gentlemen," Lainie guessed.

  To mask his annoyance, Slade grabbed his hat and tugged it down over his unmanageable black hair.

  "I am a gentleman."

  Lainie looked from the corner of Slade’s hat to the worn buckskin jacket that came to his hips. His pants were dark and had seen hard use. His black boots were the same.

  "When it suits me," he finished.

  Nothing about Slade gleamed or flashed, and that included the handle of the dirk he’d stuffed into his waistband of his pants.

  In all, Slade didn’t appear to be a gentleman. He was a man who was fast and dangerous and took what he wanted. He looked every bit the treacherous bounty hunter Lainie knew him to be, a man who’d be portrayed in shades of night rather than day.

  Except for his eyes. They were the vibrant green of early spring leaves, as lucid and clear as cut crystal against the sun-darkened skin of his face. His eyes, if they were the mirrors of the soul, were the only light that emanated from him.

  But a person had to be close to Slade to discover the clarity in his eyes. She doubted that many people got that close.

  --or wanted to be. Lainie didn't think Slade let anyone get close to him.

  "Josie is my little sister," Slade said flatly. "And she’s married to one of my best friends. Except for a few huge reasons, I might have tried my hand at romancing a woman like her."

  "Romancing?"

  Lainie’s gaze shifted to the tangled bedroll where she had known her first taste of
passion.

  "Is that what you call it?" she asked. "Romancing?"

  "Romancing is for ladies. That--" Slade turned his head and looked pointedly at the blanket"--was a quick romp with a woman who gives her favors away for trinkets. Something that is fast and fun with a sly little fox who spends her free time spying on the English."