He tried to gauge how long it might take for another man to change his pants, especially one with MacGregor’s health issues. Pulling off boots, the cleanup, the…
The hell with it.
He caught her tighter and captured her mouth. At first she protested, trying to pull away, pushing his shoulders, but even a wench with this much willpower had to give in eventually to what she wanted. She relaxed in his arms, and hers circled his neck. His mouth never left hers as he cupped the back of her head and lowered her to the floor, stretching out above her. His kiss deepened, and she opened her mouth, flooding him with warmth and sweet breath. She toyed with his hair, brushing it in smooth motions.
When he cupped her breast, she arched into his hand eagerly, and her tongue pushed between his lips. She wrapped her hand around his neck and pulled him closer. He was nearly as lost as she was when the latch rattled in the door, but it was Megan who bolted away from him, scrambling to her feet and smoothing her skirt, adjusting her bodice. She shot him a furious glare while he staggered to his feet, tugging his pants to cover his problem.
Megan clutched her face, apparently trying to remember what she was supposed to do. When her eyes swept over the mess on the chair and the wine on the floor, she darted across the room to get a rag. He thought to help her and followed, but she spun around too quickly and plowed into him. When he reached up to catch her elbows, she surprised him by spitting like an angry kitten.
“Get away from me. I can’t think.”
She shook off his hands and had the chair cleaned before Sam lowered MacGregor onto it. MacGregor give them a curious glance, then eyed the wine that stained the floor. Most of it had leaked through Alex’s pants, but some wine still puddled on the floor. He grabbed the rag from Megan’s hand and dropped to the floor. Megan knelt down beside him.
“Give it to me,” she snarled.
He paused and glanced at her. Her eyes blazed with embarrassment, anger, and something very close to lust. The little wench was angry with him because they’d been interrupted.
“I can clean as well as you.” He glanced around the keeping room, then gave her an amused glance. “Maybe even better.”
He’d thought her meticulous, but by the looks of things here, she’d been distracted lately. Nothing appeared to have been finished. Stacks of clothing leaned precariously on a trunk, folded but not put away. Dishes spread randomly across a cutting board, some of them obviously from breakfast if his nose judged correctly. An unfinished pie crust had drawn flies near the hearth. Too bad. He would have loved a piece of pie.
“It’s my responsibility,” she grumbled.
“You cannae wipe guilt away with a rag, mistress,” Alex said. “Get on your feet. If you’ll think for a moment, you’ll remember who the servant is here. Do what I say before I think to pull you into my lap again and paddle your ass. ’Twas very tempting before. I wanted to do it just for the hell of it.”
She sat back on her heels, and those tiny fists of fury balled tightly in her lap. “You wouldn’t dare.”
He leaned closer. “Oh, indeed I would, and I can guarantee you’d like it.” He tossed a nod toward the table. “Now go pour your husband some more wine like a good wife. ’Tis what you are because you keep telling me so.”
Her eyes narrowed at him again, but she flounced to her feet, her skirt sweeping into his face. He sneezed from a small cloud of dust, then smiled. He finished wiping up the mess on the floor, watching her from the corner of his eye. He liked the way her hands shook as she poured the wine, liked the blush staining her breasts far better, and the way her eyes watched him from beneath her lashes left little doubt in his mind she was heading toward a nervous breakdown.
He quickly changed his pants, and when he returned supper was on the table. Megan barely ate. She moved her food around her plate, absently listening to the conversation, trying to ignore him as best she could. When he stretched out his leg and brushed against hers, she uttered a little cry and nearly fell off the bench. Finally, she pushed her plate away and rose from the table.
“I have a headache,” she said, glaring at him. “If you’ll excuse me.”
She didn’t wait for a response from any of them. She opened a door and disappeared. Curiously it was not the room MacGregor had entered. Alex pulled a small vial from his pocket and laid it on the table. He slid it toward the older man. MacGregor looked at it curiously, then picked it up.
Alex nodded toward the vial. “Our bargain, MacGregor. Drop some of this into boiling water each day. If I’m right about your condition, this will help. I’ve seen it work before.”
Sam lurched to his feet, nearly knocking over the bench, and returned quickly with a cup filled with water and a wooden spoon. He laid them down in front of Alex and hovered over MacGregor’s shoulder.
“You made this?” MacGregor asked.
“Aye. It should slow your heart and, over time, regulate the beat. When your heart is working the way it should, I think your condition will improve.”
MacGregor twisted the bottle, peering at the bits of debris floating inside. “You’re a man of many talents, Campbell.”
“If we see good results, I can make more in the next month. After that, the potency of the Lady’s tears will be lost. We’ll want to do it as quickly as possible.”
“Can you make more now?” Sam asked. “Tomorrow?”
Alex laughed. “And face the wrath of the lady of the house when her flowers go missing for no good purpose?”
“I’ll deal with her wrath,” Sam said. “You just make him well.”
Alex stood and placed a hand on either side of MacGregor’s body, pressing tightly against both his back and chest. He felt the rapid pulse of the heart, beating in a chaotic rhythm that almost defied possibility. He thought MacGregor might be alive through willpower alone. He hoped his tincture would work. MacGregor seemed to have the same symptoms as the youth Alex had seen in Ireland, but that didn’t give him a guarantee.
He pulled the cork on the bottle, dropped several thick clots of the murky liquid into the water, and stirred it. “It willnae taste good. There’s naught to be done about that.” He slid the cup toward MacGregor.
“How long will it take?” the man asked.
“I’ve seen it work fairly quickly. Within a few days your heart should strengthen. I hope to see you breathing better and your stamina improve. If, in a few weeks, you don’t feel like a different man, I’ve been wrong about your condition.”
“You’re not,” Sam whispered, sliding back onto the bench. “This will work. I can feel it.”
“’Tis not magic,” Alex said. “I wish it were. I could have made a mistake, but either way it willnae hurt him. I chose this flower for that reason. Others would poison him.”
MacGregor lifted the cup and blew on the steamy liquid. He gave them each a glance. “We willnae tell Meg until we know.”
Sam clenched his fists on the table. “I think—”
MacGregor laid the cup down. “I don’t want to get her hopes up unnecessarily, Sam.” He gripped the big man’s hand and squeezed and quietly said, “And I don’t want you to get your hopes up yet either.”
Sam closed his eyes and nodded.
“We’re agreed then?” MacGregor asked.
Alex nodded and watched as the man lifted the cup, blew on it again, then took a sip. He knew how it tasted and thought the man handled it as well as could be expected. His body shivered as he struggled to swallow.
He smiled and held out the cup to Sam. “Want a taste?”
Sam reared back and laughed. “Oh, no, MacGregor. You’ll have to do this all yourself with no help from me. Now drink it all down”—he glanced at Alex with a smile—“so we can watch the miracle happen.”
* * * *
Alex tried the latch. For some reason he expected to find it bolted, but the door opened easily. The room was so quiet he could hear her breathing, the soft, even breaths of a tired child. She lay on her side, her hand tucked beneath
her cheek and a soft veil of hair spread across her shoulder. The white of her nightdress was stark, almost a beacon in the darkness of the room. She looked like a tired angel that had fallen asleep on the nearest cloud, not caring where she was or what her duties in heaven had been that day.
He stood, undecided, and for one moment thought of turning away, but he knew he’d never be able to do that. He had thought to wait, but he needed to push her now while she was vulnerable, before she had a chance to recuperate, reason with herself, find more excuses to keep him away.
And he wanted her. He couldn’t deny that. He had wanted her before he knew why MacGregor had chosen him, and wanted her even more now that he’d entered into the unholy alliance MacGregor had devised. His want of her was a fact. In any other situation, in any other world, he might have thought to keep her for himself, but there was no way he could keep her no matter what he wanted because he didn’t have a choice. A man in a position like his never had a choice.
She didn’t belong to him any more than he belonged in this world. He’d do anything to get back home, and he’d have to leave her to do it. There was so much more he needed to do. More battles to fight, more wounds to suffer, more people to liberate—people who lived under oppression, unable to find a shred of dignity, a measure of value.
He didn’t think he was a conceited man. He knew his strengths, but he also knew that the world on the other side of the sea continued without him. Clashes and skirmishes would rage whether or not Alexander Campbell fought on the battlefield. The people of Scotland might even prevail, and when he returned, he might find his absence had mattered naught in the turning of events. But, damn it, he wanted to be there and do his part. He wanted to make a difference, and someday he might want those who came after to consider him a hero. What he did not want was to be remembered as a man who had lost. He refused to be a rebel in a cause that held no consequence, and he sure as hell was not going to be branded a traitor.
The difference between hero and traitor was determined by the winning side, and Alex was determined to be on the winning side. The best way to do that was to get home. The only way to get home was to earn it. And the only way to earn it was…
He took a step toward the bed, and the floorboards creaked under his weight. He heard a soft murmur and paused.
The only way to earn it was to drag her through hell with him.
Her shadow stretched, and in a flash of white, she bolted upright on the bed. She tossed the tangles of her hair away from her face, and the pure, sweet scent of her flooded the room. He nearly groaned at the agony of it.
You will never betray your country, Alexander Campbell, but you’ll betray this woman. What kind of man are you? How can you think this is the answer? She’s everything you’ve ever wanted, and she’ll never be yours, but you’ll destroy her to have just a bit of heaven before you launch yourself back into hell.
Her whisper sounded like a shout in his ears, pulling him away from his thoughts. “Sam, is something wrong with Trevor?” She exhaled slowly. “Oh.”
Alex moved closer to the bed and slowly lowered himself to the mattress. He cradled her face in his hands and covered her lips with his. A soft moan filled his mouth, his thoughts, his entire world.
She’ll never be yours. Get it over with. Do what he wants. Give him what he wants. ’Tis the only way. Lie if you have to. Just make her want it.
He let his lips slide down her throat. God, he didn’t want to lie to her. He didn’t know if he could.
“Campbell, what are you doing in here?”
“I don’t know anymore, lass.”
She put her arms around his neck, pulling him down as she sank back to the bed. Stunned, he could do nothing but accept the soft arms that pulled his head against her breast. He had not expected her to accept him. He had been ready for another argument between them, the no’s that came so easily to her lips, not this sudden capitulation.
Her hands soothed his brow, cupped his cheek, and tucked his hair away from his face as though she knew the thoughts that plagued him. She sought to calm him with a gentle caress and those soft, whispery breaths that came from her lips.
“What’s wrong?” she murmured.
He shook his head. “’Tis nothing. Foolishness. Thoughts I cannae get rid of.”
“What kinds of thoughts?” she asked. “Something about you is different. You’re very quiet, and you’ve not tried to touch me. I barely know how to treat you if you’re not groping me.”
He lifted his face from her breast and swept his thumb across her mouth.
“I’ll grope you tomorrow, Megan,” he said softly. “I just want to look at you tonight.”
“Tell me what’s wrong,” she said.
“’Tis homesickness, I imagine. I’ve been thinking lately on crags and hollows, large boulders that wind through the short grass like the stepping stones of a god, the roar of the sea against a rocky cove, the rush of cool wind across my face, the dark mysteries of the lochs. I havenae been in the Highlands in nearly a year.”
“When you had your last woman.”
“You’re my last woman, Megan.”
“I know, silly. I was trying to joke with you.” She tucked his head into the curve of her arm and rolled toward him. “I can see you’re in no mood for my jokes. They’re not very good in either case. What kind of mood are you in?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“You seem melancholy. Not the Campbell I know. Mine is cocky.”
“I don’t feel cocky tonight. I feel lonely.”
“Your Highlands sound beautiful,” she said. “Perhaps you can go back some day. If…if there’s no baby, if things don’t work…seven years is not such a long time.”
He chuckled. “In seven years I may be an old man since I don’t know how old I am.”
“You won’t ever be an old man, Alexander Campbell. And even if you were…” She ran her fingertips lightly across his lips. Her eyes seemed to gleam in the darkness, capturing light that did not exist, finding luster in the darkness. “Do you want me, Campbell?”
“Aye, lass, every moment of every day.”
“And will you break my heart as you have the Highland lasses’?”
“I beat them off with sticks, Megan, so no hearts were broken.”
Her fingers toyed with the laces of his shirt. She spread the fabric, pushing it back against his shoulders, running her hand through the hairs on his chest. He’d never had a woman touch him with such quiet passion. He could barely stand it, because it almost hurt.
“I don’t believe that,” she said. “I know what you’ve done to me, Campbell, and I can’t imagine other women you’ve known have been able to resist your charms. Tell me how many.”
“Countless, lass. Hundreds.”
She laughed and plucked at the hair on his chest. “I’m being serious.”
“So am I.”
“Oh,” she whispered. “Hundreds. And you’ve never been in love?”
“I’ve been in love countless times, hundreds. Every woman deserves to be in love, Megan, even if only for an hour.”
“Did you leave anyone special in your Highlands? Is there a woman pining for you? Does she wait by one of your boulders and pray that you’ll walk the path of stones to find her again? Is there a woman yearning for your touch, your kiss, waiting for you to return to her bed?”
Her tone was light, conversational, but her hands clenched against his skin, as though she could claw honesty from his heart.
“Ah, do you really want me to answer a question like that?”
Her eyes lowered. “Aye. I can’t imagine why, but I do.”
He wrapped his arm around her and tugged her closer, cradling her cheek against his chest. “Well, then, to be honest, there might be several. I almost married twice, but I couldnae marry them knowing there might come a day when they’d be waiting for me by that boulder.” He felt her smile against him. “’Tis hard enough to live day by day in the Highlands without wor
rying over whether your husband is dead or alive. The death of a lover doesnae seem so shattering. I didnae want to ruin anyone’s life with my choices.”
“So there is no wife, but there are lovers.”
“Aye, lass, though I doubt they’re waiting very patiently. They’re all a little like you in that way. I imagine they’ve decided I’m quite dead and have gotten on with their lives.”
She snuggled closer and murmured something against his chest that sounded like…
“Say that again,” he said.
“I would wait for you, Alex,” she whispered.
“Then I would come back to you, Megan.”
“Good,” she murmured, “because I’ll be waiting for you, by a loch, among the short grass, in the shadow of a mountain. And the wind will be cool on my face, and the roar of the sea will pound at my back. I’ll be sitting on the largest boulder I can find.”
“I cannae wait to get there.”
“I’m sleepy, Alex. Stay with me.”
“Always, Megan. Go to sleep.”
“Don’t forget…” She sighed. “You promised to grope me tomorrow.”
“And I will, lass. You willnae be able to keep me away.”
Her breathing deepened, and he felt the soft kiss of her sighs ruffle the hair on his chest. It tickled, but he wouldn’t have moved her away for anything. He fell asleep, thinking of Megan’s auburn hair blowing in the Highland winds. And through the wind he heard her whisper his name.
Chapter 9
Megan reached out, and the bed beside her was empty, but the scent of him still lingered on the pillow. She pulled it against her and inhaled deeply. Campbell was the only man she’d known whose scent made her smile. Maybe not the scent of that first day, but every day after. She stretched leisurely and thought she might even lie in bed a while longer, until she noticed the distinct aroma of bacon and realized the sun seemed unusually high.
Scurrying out of bed, she stripped off her nightdress and tossed it on the floor. She scooped up her dress from the bottom of the bed, where she’d thrown it the night before, and quickly pulled it over her head. She laced up the bodice, her hair hanging wild around her face. Trying to stuff her feet into her shoes, she yanked open the bedroom door and nearly fell into the keeping room. Two pairs of eyes swung toward her.
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