by Paula Quinn
He had been different last night.
“’Twould only take Duff a moment to reach us.”
“And half that time,” Elsie said, her voice sounding lighter as she turned toward the pasture, “for Mr. Campbell to save you again.”
Aye, Charlie thought watching her go. The Highlander had saved her once. She would make certain not to let it happen again. The only reason she’d found herself needing rescuing when Archie Dunbar thought to take her was because Elsie had been there. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have hesitated to fight back. Usually, a hard blow somewhere in the groin was enough to bring a man to his knees.
She bit into her apple and coaxed by the sun, set her path for the wheat house where she would gather the chicken feed. A warm breeze wafted over her, lifting the delicate layers of her gown and spreading through her hair.
Setting her hand over her eyes for shade, she turned one last time to watch her sister reach the sun-drenched meadow. No one else was about. Her eyes turned toward the village beyond the low hills.
How are Mary and Robbie this morn? Had Patrick vanquished wee Nonie’s frightening dreams?
Charlie smiled remembering his soft, compassionate voice. She would never have believed him so considerate of a child’s fears, but he’d gone to Nonie’s bedside as if her peace of mind were his responsibility. She hummed as she walked, swinging her arms wide and squinting at the sun. It seemed he was more than a pretty face.
Her thoughts returned, as they had numerous times since last night, to his deep, sensual kiss, the feel of his hard angles pressed against her soft ones. She cursed herself for thinking it, but she wished for another opportunity for him to do it again. No man had ever taken such liberties with her before. She likely would have killed one if he had, but instead of taking her dagger to Mr. Campbell, she’d merely slapped him. And she was fortunate to have been able to do that! What she had truly wanted to do was pull him in for more.
If she was truthful, and Charlie considered herself to be so, she must admit that the very thought of him warmed the blood in her veins.
She reached the wheat house and wiped her brow from the effects that the Highlander and the sun had on her. She fanned her face as a gentle breeze lifted a few curls off her neck.
Honestly, how did Elsie wear so many layers?
She pulled open the wide door and stepped inside. Light splashed from behind her across sacks overflowing with wheat and other grains. She plucked two buckets off hooks that were secured into the split pine wall to her right and headed for the sacks.
Tonight she would return to Blind Jack’s Tavern in Pinmore. According to Mr. Will Stewart—a patron she’d met there during her last visit—a physician by the name of Malcolm Lindsay would be traveling through the town tonight. She’d learned the best way to gain information was from loose, drunken lips. Indeed, many of the same tongues that had, last winter, helped her discover the truth about Kendrick’s disappearance five years ago.
It was risky to spike her family’s drinks three nights in a row, but she would be there to meet Dr. Lindsay and speak to him about helping Elsie.
Set to her cause, she shoved her first bucket into the grain and listened to the spray of seed overflowing to the floor. She set the full container down then filled the next.
Unbidden thoughts returned to her of the Highlander’s sure, strong voice while comforting a little girl. And then to his embrace and passionate kiss beneath the moon. Slapping him had been difficult because the last thing she’d wanted him to do was stop, and satisfying because she wasn’t a wench to be manhandled and because he made a living from fighting. His cheek could take it. She imagined many women had slapped it.
But there was no place in her future for a charming rogue. Too many people needed her. And how could she betray Kendrick’s memory by letting herself be seduced by a man like Patrick? It was best if she forgot him now.
Bending to the first bucket handle, she hauled up both and turned to leave. As she went, she thought she might have to spike Mr. Campbell’s drink tonight to keep him from following her.
She stepped outside and set down the buckets so she could shut the door. When she saw the Highlander leaning his back against the outer wall, hands crossed over his chest, his face tilted toward the sun, she drew in a tight gasp.
The sound drew his attention and he turned his head to set his eyes on her. “I can think of nothin’ but our kiss last eve. How aboot ye?”
Her knees went a bit weak—before she pulled herself together again. He was a bold rascal who was well practiced in the art of seduction. The slant of his scandalous lips proved it. He expected her to swoon. Instead, she straightened her shoulders.
“You call that a kiss?” She tried to maintain a serious composure while he laughed. “What is it truly that possesses you to follow me around the vale, uninvited?”
He unclasped his arms and stretched them outward. “I’ve been askin’ m’self that verra question.”
“And?” She turned away and pulled on the door.
“And,” he replied, pushing off the wall and bending to her buckets, “the answer still eludes me.”
What was he trying to say? What was so difficult about deciding why he followed her? She glowered at him and snatched one of the handles. He let her take it.
“I thought at first,” he continued, picking up his pace to walk beside her along the path back to the henhouse, “’twas the way the sun spills over ye like ye were created to dance in the light.”
Oh, but he had a masterful tongue. It worked like soothing ointment to a wound that had been opened too long. Her lips ached to form a smile. Her heart raced, wanting to let go and fly. She loved to fly.
“I considered if ’twas the challenge of winnin’ a mare as wild as the wind in winter, or a naggin’ affliction to want to know who ye are, that possesses me to follow ye.”
Affliction?
“But I’m still undecided.”
So, getting to know her was an affliction. She flicked her eyes to him. As for his confession of being undecided, could he possibly be as guileless as his current smile implied? Oh, but he had other smiles, ones that were tainted with trouble.
It frightened her. Allowing him, or any man for that matter, to distract her from saving Elsie. She couldn’t lose sight of her task. Not even for a man whose kiss curled her toes and scorched her blood.
She had to keep her head clear and her heart well guarded. This Highlander, with his dancing eyes and full, decadent mouth was temptation incarnate. But she didn’t want to be tempted. She didn’t want to note the height or breadth of him so close, or how his easy smiles put her at ease. Or how he’d snatched the power from Nonie’s monsters and given it back to her. But he didn’t want a wife. Hadn’t he told her? He was a rake of the worst sort. She’d seen him with Bethany. He considered integrity and honor dusty ideals.
“Did you ever consider,” she put to him, “that the reason you want to win my favor has nothing to do with me, but with you?”
He quirked his brow at her, his dimple flashing.
“Your victory,” she explained, “would be another notch for your belt.”
He paused and looked down at his belt. She kept walking until she reached the henhouse and entered it. When he caught up, she should have insisted he leave, for the small shack was dimly lit and being alone in it with Patrick Campbell wasn’t wise. But when she heard him enter a moment later, she inhaled a satisfied breath.
“Ye think ye know me.”
His voice was like feathers falling over her skin when he spoke behind her. The hairs rose off her nape while the feathers continued down to her belly. She took a step away and turned to face him.
“I do know you, Mr. Campbell, and many men like you. I know your ultimate goal is to have your way. You think to flatter me into submission, but you will not succeed.”
He grinned, addling her senses. What in blazes was wrong with her? He was a man, just like any other man—only he wasn’t.
“I disagree.”
Perhaps she was wrong. She wanted to slap him again. “You think me weak?”
“No’ at all,” he said lifting his fingers to her face. “In fact, I think ye’re quite extraordinary.”
He mesmerized her. That was the only logical explanation she could come up with to explain why she remained in her spot, why she closed her eyes at the touch of his large callused palm against her face. He must have spoken these words to a dozen other women. He’d probably spoken them to Bethany. She wanted to laugh at him and his well-practiced words and tell him she wasn’t fool enough to believe them but the thought of him and Bethany made her grind her teeth. What did she care? He was a rogue and this is what rogues did. In her rational mind, Charlie knew what she should do. Stay clear of him until he left.
But there was nothing rational about the heart, and she feared she could lose hers to him. To a careless knave.
“You flatter me, Mr. Campbell,” she said, gathering her strength around her and returning her attentions to the hens. “You don’t have to. I will not be won.”
“By anyone?” he asked, sounding amused beside her.
She slanted her gaze to him. He didn’t bother concealing his dark, dubious smirk.
“No’ ever?” he asked.
She didn’t know. She hadn’t thought about ever before. “Perhaps in time, after I’ve lived life with Elsie the way I’ve dreamed of for many years. Why?” she asked with the arch of an eyebrow and a smirk of her own. “Would you wait?”
“Would ye consider me if I did?” he countered with a grin.
“If you waited for me that long,” she told him letting out a soft laugh, “I’d consider you a fool.”
Chapter Ten
He was a fool.
A fool to linger in Pinwherry, to linger here…with her. Why didn’t he leave, even now, after she professed her deep desire to be left alone? Out of all the women in Scotland, he wanted a lass who didn’t want to be won.
He wanted her. Not just in his bed. He ached for the sight of her, the interaction with her. He enjoyed her company and he didn’t want to leave it just yet.
How much longer would he stay?
Her fingertips settled on his ear and tightened the muscles in his abdomen.
“You’re bleeding.”
“Duff is a brute.”
She smiled with him and he fell captivated, as if he were under some sort of spell. As if he couldn’t control his own thoughts, only his actions. And why was he keeping himself from sweeping her into his arms and seducing her senseless? Because he didn’t want to jeopardize the life she’d dreamed of.
Hell, was he ill? Had he caught a fever? Was he delirious? Was he truly not going to kiss her?
Damn honor and integrity!
He decided to stick with the topic he was more comfortable with. Her brother, for instance. It was safer and there was something about Duff that bothered him, like a nettle in one’s boot, pricking at his thoughts. Sparring with him this morn proved that Duff knew how to fight. Not only that, but he enjoyed it, smiling when his fist collided with Patrick’s body while they had sparred. It was that smile…that smile Patrick had seen somewhere before. But where?
“I’m surprised Duff didn’t break your jaw,” she said, dropping her fingers to her side and returning to the hens. “He likes to break jaws.”
“Whose?” Patrick asked, tossing seed from his bucket to the hens.
“Men who deserve it,” she granted. “Men whose names I will not speak, who’d harmed some of the children in the village and the next. Duff broke their jaws before he killed them. He shows no mercy.”
So then, he thinks like a Highlander.
“D’ye know who his faither is?” Patrick asked her, wondering if he knew the man.
“If Duff wanted you to know his father’s name, he would have told you.”
His gaze took in the splendor of her alluring profile while she denied him in the splintered light. “Ye’re loyal to him.”
She shook her head but then her dissent faltered. “Duff had no part in the circumstances of his childhood, no say in who fathered him.”
There was mercy in her. It pleased Patrick. She shared no fondness for her brothers. She’d made it perfectly clear. Her disdain for Hendry was understandable, but Duff had not laid a finger on any of the villagers, at least, according to Duff when Patrick had asked him earlier.
He admired her loyalty for compassion’s sake, but he wanted to know more. “Was his father so terrible that Duff would find shame in acknowledgin’ him?”
She shrugged her dainty shoulder and turned back to the chickens. “Terrible enough to ride through Pinwherry and stay long enough to father a child and then leave, a child who grew up defenseless in this merciless world with only a mother to protect him. I saw what having a rogue for a father did to Duff. He fights well because he was forced to learn at a young age.”
So, Patrick thought, this was where her disdain for rogues was born. It was understandable.
She’d drawn her walls back around her when she thought he didn’t comprehend what Duff’s father had done wrong. He could. He hadn’t wanted to think on such things before. Was he ready now?
“Aye, ye have it right,” he admitted. “’Twas terrible to leave a lass alone with his bairn.”
She slipped her dark gaze to him once again while she bent to the hens. A thin beam of light fell upon her, illuminating the skeptical quirk of her lips.
“Something you’ve been careful to avoid?” she asked.
He began to answer with a resounding aye, but he found himself unable to follow through.
Hell. He didn’t want to think about any babes he may have left behind, who would live out their lives fatherless. He had never witnessed the aftermath of his carefree, selfish way of life. According to Charlie, she had with Duff.
“In truth,” he confessed quietly, dipping his gaze to the fowl, “I dinna know fer certain what I’ve left behind.”
Silence passed between them for a moment that lasted an eternity for Patrick and left him feeling heavy with remorse.
“I see.” Her voice played like a sultry breeze over his skin. “You think little of me to believe I’d toss myself over that precipice.”
He knew he should feel defeated, but damn it, she was quick and genuine and she didn’t give a damn if she injured his feelings. She forced him by deed and by word to face the man beyond the reckless smiles. The man he had allowed himself to become. And while self-examination brought him to a darker place he preferred to avoid, she pierced the gloom and made him smile.
“I dinna think little of ye, Charlotte,” he told her, unable to stop himself, not wanting to. “In fact, I think more of ye than anyone I’ve ever known. Ye’re braw, no one’s fool. Yer compassion and wise counsel with yer neighbors last eve convinced me that ye are a far better person than I.”
Had her smirk softened into a smile? Was that the sound of her shallow breath that tempted him beyond reason? He reached out and swept a wavy lock of her hair away from the apple of her cheek. He let his fingers trace the soft contour of her face and felt his chest expand beneath his tunic when he thought her gaze went warm on him, her breath faint. He wanted to hold her, kiss her. He’d never wanted anything as badly. He stared into her eyes, fearing he was close to losing all. She was everything…
But he thought too much of her to take her to his bed and then leave. He thought of her more than he should.
“I…I should be goin’.” Did he just deny himself his desire? Did he stammer doing it? Hell. What was she doing to him? He didn’t want his heart to stir because of her. He didn’t know what to expect and if his current condition were any indication, he was in deep trouble. He wasn’t ready for this. He feared giving up his veneer and succumbing to the duties of devotion.
“I told Hendry I would ride with him to the village to collect Robbie’s rent. I want to make certain he terrorizes them no further.”
Her tight little
gasp tempted him to toss his fear to the wind, lift her in his arms and kiss her breathless.
“How did you get Hendry to agree to let you accompany him?”
He grinned and stepped away, setting down his empty bucket. “I didna ask.”
Following him out, she stopped him with a hand on his arm. He looked down at her slender fingers, able to hurl a sling or offer comfort. He knew he shouldn’t, but he raised his gaze to her sunlit face and then over the rest of her gloriously garbed in a dress that looked like it had been fashioned by a host of sprites.
Hell, she was bonnie.
“What will you do if Nonie or the boys see you?”
The children. He hadn’t thought of that. They’d likely mention seeing him last night and mayhap Charlie, as well. Hendry would discover that she’d sneaked out. “Mayhap, I shouldna’ go then. I dinna want to put ye in jeopardy if—” His eyes narrowed on her. “Would he put his hands to ye? Would Duff, or yer faither?”
“You should go,” she told him, ignoring his question. “We need to make certain he doesn’t bring any more harm to them. Let me come with you. I will gather Mary and the children and keep them inside.”
His smiled widened and before he spoke, her smile matched his. “’Tis a good plan.”
Damn it, but she was radiant in the full light of day, dazzling him senseless with her excitement.
“But ye dinna need to ask m’ permission, lass. Do what ye wish.”
“Hendry will—”
“—no’ be given a choice.”
“You would cause him harm?”
“No’ if I dinna have to.”
Her smile remained while her fingers stroked his arm.
“Thank you, Mr. Campbell.”
Aye, she made him smile. “Patrick,” he corrected.
Charlie had thought he would try to kiss her again, but he hadn’t. She should be thankful, instead she felt disappointed. It was only because he’d told her it was all he’d thought about. There was no other explanation, and no other reason to dwell on it further.