“Ma invites you to supper, if you’ve the time.”
“Thanks. I will.”
The two cousins walked the path toward Taldale Farm, their horses trailing behind them. After a few minutes of silence, Alex cleared his throat.
“It’s too bad the whisky season falls right in the middle of courting season,” Alex said.
“I didnae ken there was a particular season set aside for courting.”
“I speak metaphorically, ye ken. I only mean now might be your best opportunity.”
“Why now and not a week from now?” He refused to fall prey to his cousin’s goading. He’d already won Caya by saving her brother. No worries about courting from now on.
“Because, well…” Alex pulled at his collar as though he’d tied his stock too tight. “Someone else may beat ye to it.”
Alarm seized Declan in his tracks. He growled out one coherent word. “Who?”
Alex paused and tugged at his collar again but didn’t answer.
He grabbed the front of his cousin’s coat and jerked on it once. “Who!”
Alex’s face remained impassive. He blinked and said cordially, “Declan, let go a’ me.”
The air went out of his passion all at once. He relaxed his grip, smoothed his cousin’s coat, and stepped back, embarrassed by his outburst. “Sorry.”
Alex cast a resentful look at him before untying his stock and loosening his collar with irritable tugs. At last, he said, “You were right aboot the vicar. He’s most definitely pursuing Caya.”
“That bloody Bible-beating God-botherer—” He stopped himself, a horrifying thought having occurred to him. “Does she return his interest?”
“I dinnae ken, cousin. But ye best be about your business soon, or she might.” By “business” his cousin meant courting, a thing about which Declan was not well versed.
“There’s nae need to court Caya. She’s mine.”
“Oh really? Does Caya know that?” Alex was a little too smug sounding for his liking. “Because I dinnae think the vicar knows she’s taken.”
Gullfaxi stomped and nickered.
“Has he asked permission to court her? Has your da agreed?”
Alex shrugged. “Dinnae ken, but why would he say no?”
Bloody hell. Was the vicar good at courting? Would the vicar’s skill at wooing Caya outshine his own clumsy efforts?
“He’s got no business sniffing around my woman, and I’ll tell him that first chance I get.”
“Seems to me you ought to make yourself plain to Caya.”
Gullfaxi nudged Declan in the back, and he pushed him away.
“I have. Repeatedly. But your da and that blasted vicar keep getting in my way.” And anyway, wasn’t saving her brother from arrest enough to secure her commitment? “Why do I have to suffer the indignity of courting when it’s a simple matter of marrying the lass and taking her home?” Gullfaxi nudged him in the back more forcefully. “Christ, you’re an impatient beast.”
“Aye, you are,” Alex said. “And if you don’t slow down and listen to what Caya wants, she’ll find it somewhere else.”
The truth of Alex’s words burned their way through his conscience. He was an impatient beast. He knew very well that women expected romance. Aside from three bunches of flowers and a scant few words about gowans and revel buns, he hadn’t bothered with any of that. Though humiliating, it was time to admit he knew nothing about courtship and ask Alex for help.
Alex started to walk, and he fell in beside him. “Did you court Lucy?”
“Och, me? Well, ye ken we were betrothed by our fathers. Marriage was assumed, of course, but I still needed to win her favor if we were to be happy, so I tried to court her.” He chuckled and leaned his head back. “Oh God, I made such a mess of it, it’s a wonder she didnae turn around and head straight home for London.”
“You mean the trick you played on her?” When Lucy had first arrived in Scotland, Alex had pretended to be a common soldier. She’d discovered his chicanery and had been so livid Declan thought she’d never forgive Alex, but she had.
“That and other stupidity. I was thoughtless, jealous, arrogant.”
Declan cringed a little. Alex had just described his own behavior.
“I even forgot to ask her to marry me.” Alex shook his head. “I was too proud to tell her.”
“Tell her what?”
“To tell her that I loved her. I almost lost Lucy because I couldnae stop long enough to court her properly, to woo her like a man. And you’ll lose Caya if you neglect her.”
“I dinnae ken how to court.” He ran a hand through his tangled hair.
“Och, it’s easy, man.”
“Easy? What did you do? I mean, how did you do it?”
Alex leaned toward him and spoke low as if he were about to disclose the secret to making gold. “You’ve got to get close enough to kiss her first. If you kiss her, and she kisses you back, then you know you can bind her to you.”
“Oh?” He’d kissed women before and was confident he’d done it right, but couldn’t recall any of them kissing him back. However, the thought of kissing Caya and Caya kissing him back pleased him very much.
“You’ve got to ask her to marry you. Dinnae forget to do that. And you need to tell her things, true things, things you feel in your heart.”
“Like what?”
“Tell her she’s pretty. That’s a good start. She’ll also want to know why you want to marry her.”
They walked in silence for a much longer time. Declan debated the wisdom of telling Caya why he wanted to marry her. He wanted to marry her because his dreams told him it was the way it should be and he trusted his dreams. He also wanted to marry Caya because if he didn’t, he thought he might die.
Perhaps if he kissed her, and she kissed him back…yes, if she kissed him back, he would tell her about his dream. If she kissed him back, then she would believe him when he told her why they should be married. And if she kissed him back that would mean she liked his kissing. Wouldn’t it?
“Alex, do women like the kissing?”
“Oh, aye. They like kissing a lot.”
“And do they like the bedding, as well?” Declan couldn’t imagine any woman enjoying his ugly bits.
Alex snorted. “Do you mind the time we hid up in the stable loft? The time we were in trouble wi’ my da?”
“Which time? We hid there every time we were in trouble with your da.”
“That time we saw Geordie with Tottie in the loose box.”
He flushed with the memory of the two half-naked bodies grunting and struggling in the hay. He and Alex had been barely thirteen. At first, they’d thought Geordie was hurting Tottie. But it soon became clear that both parties were enjoying the frenzied tussle. The alarm he had felt had quickly turned to arousal when Geordie had abandoned his breeks and waved his considerable cockstand lewdly at Tottie. Tottie in turn had pulled her skirts up to her waist and, for the first time, Declan had caught a glimpse of a woman’s private parts.
He and Alex had lain frozen on their bellies in the loft above, staring wide-eyed at the activities below. After spending some time fondling Tottie while she panted and moaned for “more, more, more,” Geordie had climbed aboard and begun his business in earnest. The final indignity was when Geordie had yelled, “Put yer finger up my arse. Put yer finger up my arse.” Tottie obliged him, after which Geordie had assaulted her with a string of curses until he’d finally collapsed on top of her.
The event had raised conflicting emotions of arousal and disgust in Declan. He and Alex hadn’t talked about it for some time. Weeks later, though, when they’d been playing a game of attack-the-keep with Ian and Magnus, Alex had spontaneously used it as a battle cry. He’d charged Magnus and Ian with Declan at his side, yelling, “Put yer finger up my arse! Put yer finger up my arse!”
The boys had laughed so hard, Ian had wet his breeks. It had been a private joke between the four of them. Even when they had become grown men, w
henever they heard someone boasting about his female conquests, one would lean to the other and mutter, “Aye. But did she put her finger up his arse?”
He smiled at the memory. “Oh, aye. I mind it.”
“It’s like that,” Alex said. “I mean, no’ all of it, of course, but, aye, your wife will like your bed fine.”
“Oh. Good.”
“Go slow the first time, mind you. Let her get used to you. Take all night if you must, but, Declan…”
“Aye?”
“I wouldnae ask her to put her finger up your arse.”
They laughed. Hard. It was a joke that never stopped being funny.
Declan knocked on the front door to Balforss, nervous as hell. And no wonder. He’d rather fight a wild boar armed only with a knife than what he was about to do. He’d been trained to fight with a knife. What training did he have for courting? A few jumbled words of advice from Alex?
Alex?
Why the bloody hell was he listening to Alex? And where the hell was Magnus? Magnus was much better with women than his clot-heid cousin, Alex.
He was about to turn and run when Auntie Flora greeted him at the door, saying he’d arrived just in time. “The men havenae returned from visiting the tenants. Will ye go and fetch the ladies for me? I ken they took Jemma to feed the ducks.”
“Sure, Auntie. Will you—” His voice warbled like a chicken. “Will you tie this stock for me? I can never manage it.”
Flora chuckled. “Of course.” She smelled of beeswax and bergamot, and the ruffle of her starched white kertch tickled his chin. The combination of those smells and her nearness triggered a memory of her blowing on his skinned knee and kissing away his tears. In all this time, nearly twenty years, she’d barely changed a whit.
“There,” she said stepping back. “Not too tight, is it?”
“No.”
“You look real smart.”
Her words had the same effect as her kisses had on his tears when he’d been a boy. He smiled. “Thanks, Auntie.”
On the way to the duck pond, he repeated Alex’s advice to himself. “Tell her things. Get close. Kiss her. No. Wrong order. Get close and kiss her first, then tell her things. Propose. Tell her…tell her…” Damn.
Alex had given him too many things to think about. Bloody hell, courting was complicated. When Hamish had come to court Margaret, things had seemed straightforward enough. Hamish arrived with gowans, asked her to marry him, and she said yes. Why was there so much more involved with courting Caya?
The light laughter of women fanned across the tall grass. Waist-high daylilies laden with their orange blossoms bent over the path and left their ruddy pollen on the sleeve of his coat as he brushed by. He rounded the tall juniper and saw her surrounded by gowans, her yellow hair loose and swaying on her shoulders, facing away. Just like in his dreams.
But not like in his dreams. Like when he’d seen her in the bee field two days before, everything about her was the same—her hair, the flowers, her gown—and yet everything was not the same as his dream. How could that be?
…
Caya heard her name and turned, knowing whom she would see. He smiled that impossibly charming smile that demanded hers in return. For a moment, she admired his lanky lope, so lithe, graceful. Then she considered her own appearance. Oh dear, her hair had come down.
Lucy scooped Jemma into her arms. “Come on, sweetheart.” Jemma screeched an ear-piercing protest that made everyone wince. “Hello, Declan. You’ll excuse us. Jemma’s cutting a tooth, and she’s been in a foul temper today.” Lucy hurried back toward the house with Jemma squirming and flailing in her arms, leaving Declan and Caya alone.
She searched her apron pockets for something to bind her hair. Finding nothing, she wrapped her kerchief around her head.
“Don’t,” Declan said.
She lifted her head and met his warm brown eyes. His look was so shockingly direct it made her heart stutter.
“Leave it,” he said, his voice velvety. “Your hair is too pretty to hide.”
Caught in his gaze, she was powerless to do anything but obey. She slipped the kerchief off and stuffed it back into her pocket. “You weren’t—” Her voice sounded like a squeaky hinge. “You weren’t at church this morning.”
“I’m sorry.” He stepped closer to her. “I’m here now, though.”
“My brother—”
“He’s fine. He’s safe.” Declan took another step closer. And then another.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you—”
“Wheesht now. Dinnae fash aboot that.”
He was close. Close enough she could feel the heat of his body. “We should go back to the house or we’ll be late.” Her statement was so lacking in commitment even she didn’t believe herself. She should back away for modesty’s sake, but she couldn’t.
No. That was a lie. She didn’t want to.
“Caya.”
Her eyes closed at the sound of his voice speaking her name low and rumbly. His sweet breath brushed her cheek with cinnamon and clove. He pressed his soft lips to hers and she reeled. She clutched at his coat to keep from swaying. No need. Declan had her in his arms, his big warm hands on her back. His lips released hers for a moment and then fell back into place, fitting perfectly. His kiss grew urgent, and she answered him, pulling him closer, slipping her hands over his shoulders, her fingers finding and stroking the downy hair on the back of his neck. Oh dear, how could anything so wrong, so sinful, feel so wonderful?
This was bad, lovely but bad. She shouldn’t. They must stop. Now.
She broke the kiss and pushed against Declan’s chest. Goodness. He was out of breath, and so was she. Who knew kissing would be so strenuous?
He looked down on her, surprised. “I kissed you,” he said, and blinked.
“Yes, but we need to stop. You must release me.”
“But you kissed me back.” Somehow, that aspect of the kiss was causing him confusion.
“Yes, I did. I’m sorry. It was very wicked of me.”
“God, no,” he said, looking at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. “You kiss like an angel.”
“Thank you very much, but I’m afraid all this kissing has to stop.”
“Why?” He closed his eyes and touched his forehead to hers.
Caya felt her resolve weaken and her lids begin to droop. “Because we’re not supposed to…not supposed to touch…this is too…”
He whispered in her ear. “But you kissed me back.”
She was definitely in trouble, sinning with her mind and her body. How could she ever face Vicar James in the confessional? She grasped at the only lifeline left to her, the residual anger and fear from the ugly business in church, and freed herself from Declan’s embrace.
“You weren’t at church this morning,” she scolded. “I had to face all those people on my own while you stayed at home making your stupid whisky.”
“What people?” he asked, baffled.
“The people at church. They were calling me witch behind my back and—”
Declan jerked to attention and clapped his hands around her shoulders. His face contorted with anger. “Who called you a witch? Who?”
She twisted away. “Never mind. It’s over now.”
“Och, lass. I’m sorry,” he said, truly remorseful. “Had I been there, I would have run anyone through who’d said a cross word to you.”
“Yes, well, that’s just the problem, isn’t it?”
“Problem?” he asked, back to his former state of bafflement.
“You and your swords and your whisky. I don’t understand those things, I don’t trust them, I don’t approve of spirits and violence. I require a life of temperance and quietude. I can’t abide whisky drinking in my house or swords or, or, or all these passionate kisses in broad daylight. You and I are very different, Declan.”
“But you kissed me back. You liked the kissing part,” he said. “Husbands and wives are passionate with each other
. Did you not know that?” He raked a hand through his hair, pulling wild strands free of his queue. “Whisky making, that’s who I am. I cannae change that. And it’s true I was a soldier once, a bloody business, I know, but I cannae change that, either, and I’m not ashamed, I’m not sorry. A man must protect his family, and I can do that. I will always protect you.”
“There are ways to protect someone other than with violence. Vicar James protected me—”
“What?”
Declan dipped his head, and his brow cast a dark shadow across his face. She had waded into dangerous territory by naming Vicar James.
“He put a stop to the gossip this morning. The vicar didn’t have to use a sword. He used a more powerful weapon, the Word of God.”
Declan staggered back as though she’d struck him. “You think the vicar is a better match for you because he’s a man of God and I’m a man of blood?”
“I don’t know what I think,” she said, feeling her anger slip away. “All I know is that this, what happens with us, it’s too strong so it must be wrong.”
“Nae, nae, lass.” Declan’s voice was gentle, beseeching. He clasped her hands in his. “It’s no’ a sin to burn for the one you’re meant to marry. And you and I are meant to marry. I believe it. I ken you believe it, too.” He smiled down on her. “You kissed me back.”
She looked down, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. He was so sure. But how could she be certain? “You really think so?”
“Aye. There’s no need to doubt.” He pulled her a little closer. “When we’re married, you’ll see.” He slapped his forehead. “Oh. Wait. I’m supposed to ask you first.” Declan cleared his throat, straightened, and braced himself. “Caya Pendarvis, will you marry me?”
The question left her speechless. She shouldn’t be surprised. He’d declared his intentions all along. Still, it was the way he proposed that gave her pause. “What did you mean by, ‘I’m supposed to ask you?’ Did someone say you must propose?”
He looked unmistakably guilty. “Nae…well…aye. Alex said I should.”
Alex? Alex made him propose? Caya withdrew her hands and backed away. Hurt feelings seared their way up the back of her neck.
“Alex told you to ask me to marry you?”
Betting the Scot (The Highlanders of Balforss) Page 18