by Temple Hogan
Sighing, he rose and was not surprised to find himself nude. He’d long since stopped marveling at her efficiency in getting him out of his clothes. He looked at his thin body. No wonder she’d felt no desire for him. He was wasting away, and the stitches of his wound, though dainty enough, formed a zigzagged line across his chest. Not a pretty sight.
Still, that would not have deterred some women who would be quick to ingratiate themselves with him. Lilli Hardy had stubbornly refused to use such tactics. Aye, she was a married woman and some women did honor their marriage vows, but he’d seen too many willing to throw aside fidelity when profit could be had.
Was she in love with her husband then? What sort of man could hold a woman so completely even in his absence? Was Thom Hardy her father or her husband and why had he not returned? If he were truly a farmer as she’d claimed, why was he abandoning his croft for so long? The croft seemed well enough tended, so he was not a haphazard man. Yet he’d been gone overly long.
A thought washed through him. Was Thom Hardy in that grave on the hill and was that man her father? He suspected so. Her responses to his advances were not those of a married woman. He strongly suspected she was a virgin, pretending otherwise. Clearly she was in trouble and hiding something. All the more reason for her to seek a sponsor. And he’d willingly sponsor her if she only confided in him.
He finished dressing, mulling the mysteries of his benefactress, unable to determine why she should display such animosity toward him unless—another notion had him sinking to the side of the bed as he contemplated the thought that she might belong to the very outlaw who wished him dead. Robert Lister! Impossible!
He rose and crossed to the fireplace, his hunger almost forgotten in his disquiet. Distracted, he peered into the small pot of oatmeal porridge she’d left simmering over the coals. Not his favorite but in his preoccupation he paid scant attention to what he ate.
If she were indeed Robert Lister’s woman or any one of his men, why would she have nursed him back to health? Maybe she wasn’t aware that Robert Lister wanted him dead? Nay, she knew. After all, she’d hidden him. But why did she show him so little respect? Why did she seem to hold him in such disdain? Or was it all his imagining? Was she so prickly because she was afraid to trust anyone? He thought of what might have happened to her to cause such mistrust and how he might get passed her barriers.
He sighed. One thing was certain. Lister and his men wanted him dead. That fact was evident in their attack on him and Toby. Why was she offering him sanctuary, then? Was it a ploy and for what purpose? What if she were only pretending to help him when in fact she was keeping him captive while Robert was off claiming Callum’s rightful place? Maybe she was about to poison him? He looked at the creamy porridge he’d been eating and shoved it aside.
Her face swam before him and he shook his head. He was going daft. She was no murderess. On that, he’d stake his life, had already done so. He must see her. Now! He must look into those guileless eyes and see if he’d missed some sign of her duplicity.
But she was nowhere to be found. Likely gathering water from the burn, he thought and, checking that Rose was sleeping safely, stomped off in that direction, his speculations mocking him every step of the way. What a complacent fool he’d been to trust her so.
He could hear the rush of water long before he reached the burn itself. Trees shaded the banks and birds warbled in the warm morning air. He followed the roar of the waterfall and paused when he rounded the bend. He drew in his breath sharply and would have cursed if he’d not been struck dumb for Lilli stood beneath the cascading water, her head thrown back as if in ecstasy.
Mesmerized, he could only stand and stare. She was a water sprite, sent to steal a man’s soul. Never had he seen such a beautiful creature. Her golden hair hung in a satin curtain down her arching back, her slender throat bared by her posture. Her pert full breasts were brought into relief by her raised arms, which were held wide as if in some pagan ritual to a water goddess. Nay, she was the water goddess, he thought and despite his better nature, his gaze slid over her slender hips to the gleam of wet thighs and the golden nest of curls at their juncture.
She took his breath away, and he felt himself harden. How could he judge her perfidy accurately when his body clamored for her? He turned away, troubled at the spell she’d cast over him. He mustn’t let her know he was onto her game. His life depended on his own acuity, and he couldn’t allow his judgment to be clouded by her charms. Still, he carried the image of her sleek beauty back along the path and knew she’d haunt his dreams for many a night. He settled on the bank, not far from where she’d found him before and wished he hadn’t come up on her like that. He’d never erase the sight from his mind.
Suddenly, she appeared on the path. He noted the sway of her skirt over slim rounded hips and the flash of bare heels nipping along at a brisk pace. Her damp hair swished across her narrow back, wetting the thin gown so her skin shone through, delicate and pink tinged.
“What are you doing here?” she asked impatiently. “Didn’t you learn your lesson yesterday? You mustn’t sit on cold ground when you’ve been ill. ‘Twill give you the ague every time.” Nevertheless she settled on the ground beside him.
He was too aware of her, too aware that beneath her simple gown was a lithe body with voluptuous curves to drive a man to madness, with skin like alabaster that would warm to a man’s touch. He didn’t look at her, lest she see his lust. But then, if his suspicions were correct, she was counting on that, wasn’t she?
“How are you feeling this morning?” she asked pleasantly, her gaze fixed on the silver flowing water of the burn.
“Tired and weak. I tried to walk to the waterfall but grew too tired. I fear I can’t leave here yet,” he said, turning to smile into her eyes while his next words tested her motives. “I’m still your prisoner, lass.”
Her focus wavered and he wondered what she was hiding?
“Aye, you’re too weak to go yet,” she said quietly, but she looked away, no doubt to hide her guilt, he guessed.
“I think you don’t want me gone,” he pushed. What would she do if he tried to leave?
“It makes no never mind to me,” she answered curtly and got to her feet.
He rose as well though his arousal was still plain to see. Nothing escaped Lilli. Red color suffused her face and she glared at him then glanced back up the path.
“You saw me at the waterfall!” she exclaimed.
“Aye,” he admitted, “and a beautiful sight it was.”
“You spied on me!” she cried indignantly.
“I confess my guilt. Once I came upon you, I couldn’t turn away. ‘Twas a bonnie vision of you beneath the waterfall with your head thrown back like a goddess of old.”
“You have no honor.”
“‘Tis not lack of honor that makes a man pause to enjoy such a sight,” he declared, reaching for her. “I would have to be stone, lass, not to feel something for what I saw of you.”
“Don’t touch me.” She shrugged away his hand on her arm.
“You tempt me, lass. Do you do it on purpose or don’t you know what you do to a man?”
“I did nothing to tease or invite your attention. You’ve misread,” she said. “I find you…” She paused as if searching for some word that would wound. “I find you less than manly,” she declared haughtily and his lips tightened at her gibe.
“Aye, you tend my body and look upon me as if I had no meaning to you at all,” he blazed. “I believe you’re not married as you say and have no knowledge of what a man is about.”
Before she knew his intent, he swept her toward him, his arms pressing her against his broad chest with a power that made her gasp. His black eyes blazed, searing her body and soul as he lowered his head, claiming her lips with his own. His kiss took her breath as his broad hands swept over her back, molding her to him so her soft breasts flattened against his hard chest. Her nipples ached with some deep feminine need she could not and w
ould not acknowledge.
Her head spun as he swept his tongue across her lips demanding entrance; a fire flared and became a consuming flame. She was unaware she’d opened to him until she felt his tongue thrust against hers. Her body arched against his and she felt his arousal against her belly. Her knees trembled and she feared she might faint but she wasn’t the fainting sort.
“Lilli, bonnie lass you are,” he whispered in a ragged husky voice. “You’re a temptress no man could resist.”
“You’re wrong. I am married,” she cried with little conviction, pushing against him, wondering where she’d found the strength for her lips still tingled from his kiss and her body clamored for more.
“Nay, I don’t think I am, and your kiss didn’t deny me,” he replied huskily, trying to draw her back against him. “Your lips tease and tantalize with the promise of all a man could hope to find with you.”
“‘Tis your own imaginings,” she said, trying to elude him. “I find you reprehensible. ‘Tis true, I do.”
His face darkened. “I am your laird. I could take you by force if I chose. There’s no one near to save you.” He pinned her to him.
“Aye, what you say is true, but there’d be no pleasure in the taking and such an act would make you no better than Robert Lister.”
He released her and stepped back. “Aye, there would no pleasure. I’ve no liking for an unwilling partner.”
She drew a deep breath, grateful he couldn’t see her trembling knees and wonder if she would have continued to be so unwilling if he’d persisted.
“Now that we’ve settled that, ‘tis time to remove your stitches. I’ll fetch my scissors,” she said and moved swiftly along the path, not bothering to see if he followed.
“By God, you’re a cold piece of womanhood,” he shouted after her.
“Think what you like,” she called over her shoulder without pausing in her stride. She heard laughter behind her and whirled to face him.
“Is it for removing my stitches you’re needing your scissors or for a weapon?” he taunted.
She stood, considering. “A little of both,” she answered sternly and proceeded toward the cottage.
At the cottage, she placed a stool outdoors in the warm sunlight and ordered him to sit. He removed his shirt and did as she bade. Her hands were quick and sure as she removed the stitches, though she felt clumsy under his unwavering gaze.
“There’ll be little scarring,” she said, regarding her handiwork.
She couldn’t resist stroking her hand over the smooth skin. He took her small hand in his and held it against his chest. She could feel his heart beating beneath her fingertips, strong and powerful as the man himself.
“You have blisters,” he said, observing her hands. His glance was warm. “Tell me about yourself, Lilli. I want to know everything about you.”
“Why would you?” she stammered, trying to pull her hand free.
“Because I can’t bear not to know. You’ve not always labored on a farm, lass.”
“Nay, I-I was a lady’s companion for a time.” She tugged her hand from his grasp and gathered her sewing kit. “You’ll need a few more days to regain your strength and then you’d best be gone.”
“Is that what you want?” His gaze was on her face making her breathless.
“Aye, have I not said so?” She refused to look at him. She raised a hand to shield her eyes and pretended to study the distant slope of the mountain.
“Will I be free to go when I’m well?”
“Why do you ask that?” She gave up all pretense of interest in the hillside and stared at him in consternation. “Of course you may leave when you want. Do you think I wish to hold you prisoner against your will?”
He was silent while his smoldering eyes stared into hers. She felt heat rise to her cheeks, remembering the taste and feel of him and her response to him.
“You’re not waiting for someone to come and capture me?”
“Who would come?” Remembering her lie, she flushed. “Except for my husband,” she amended weakly.
“Aye, and tell me more about your husband. Where has he gone that he hasn’t returned to his farm work and his wife and wee bairn?”
“I-I told you. He’s gone to market.”
“What market keeps a man from his croft and family for so long?”
She scrambled for an answer. “He…he and some friends took their cattle south to the borderlands in hopes of a better price.”
“Beef driven that far would lose weight and therefore not fetch enough to make up for the trouble.”
She shrugged, irritated to be caught in still another lie, but he was far sharper about such things that she’d imagined. “I don’t know why he’s taking so long,” she snapped. “Like many men, he doesn’t tell his wife what he’s about. I must wait and see. Enough questions for now. I’ve work to do.”
Her fingers went to her wet hair to twist the strands about her head.
“You’ll have to work to earn your keep just like any other man, woman or child,” she said sternly. She’d put her hair up, and now she tied her curtch over her head. By rights, she was not required to wear it for she was not married, but it was necessary to maintain the façade for a while longer. He seemed suspicious enough as it was.
“You can do small chores until you feel stronger.” She spoke as if to a servant. “There’ll be no shirking.” She glared at him as if she’d already found him wanting.
She’d stung his pride. She could see it in the depths of his black eyes. Well, good enough. Perhaps that would keep him from grabbing her at every chance and…and forcing his unwanted kisses on her. She raised her chin in defiance, refusing to admit to herself that his kisses had been exciting and that even now she wasn’t sure she could or would resist them.
He was a laird and not used to being treated like a lowly servant she reminded herself, but all the more reason to do it! He was nothing but an arrogant nobleman used to others doing for him. It was time he learned a lesson. Resolutely she turned away, once again forcing herself to ignore the fact that he had offered to do his share. She could only deny her feelings for him if she thought of him as lazy and selfish. Yet part of her heart cried out that she was wrong to do so.
“You can begin by mucking out the stalls in the byre,” she ordered. “That is, if such a task is not beneath your lairdship.”
He leaped up so quickly she was startled and took a step backward in spite of herself. His hand went out to steady her, his grasp strong and unbreakable, the touch of his hand on her flesh a searing brand that left her breathless.
“Let go of me!” Her voice shrilled. “You’ll not touch me again or you’ll be gone from here.” She saw the anger flare, dark and mysterious as the man himself.
“You’ve no reason to fear,” he growled. “I’ve no wish to touch you again, and I’ll muck your bloody byre.”
He let go of her so abruptly she slid a little on the damp grass, but he paid no heed, simply stalked away toward the byre where, from her vantage point, she could see Blarach add another dollop of waste to his task.
Chapter Seven
In the days that followed, she set him to every lowly task she could find, deliberately goading him for his failures, laughing at his poor efforts. He made no answer to her cutting remarks, merely went about performing his chores, and in their repetition, gaining some adeptness so finally she was forced to grudgingly admit to herself he was a good worker. Never would she tell him that! He gathered more eggs, cut more peat, coaxed more milk and still had energy left for laughter. Often he teased her so she turned away to hide her blushes and her giggles. And when she grew tired, he was beside her to lend a hand with her chores or to take little Rose into the sunshine.
She was grateful for those moments when she could be alone with no one making demands of her, moments when she could gather her scattered thoughts and look ahead to a future that seemed to hold little opportunities for either her or Rose.
Her position
was made even less tenable by the fear the new laird would discover her true identity and realize she had no right to this mountain top. She had no man to work the farm and she couldn’t do it alone, even if she knew how. She’d be put off the land and where would she go then? There were few places for a penniless noblewoman from a broken clan. Who would take her in with a wee bairn to tend? He would have to leave before he became suspicious of her lies, still her heart quavered at the thought of his going.
In the evening, when darkness washed away the sunlight beyond the door and the room was all aglow with candlelight—when baby Rose was fed and in her bed, and Callum sat on the stool by the hearth while she dished up their meal—then she felt moments of sweet contentment. At the same time, she felt a strange yearning that left her melancholy and edgy.
Sometimes when calmness settled around them, she sought something witty to say, but nothing came and so they sat staring into the glowing embers and she felt a flame burning bright within her. Helplessly, she felt it gather momentum and knew it might well consume her in the end.
For his part, Callum sat with his hands clasped between his knees, silent and withdrawn, his gaze fixed on the winking coals and wondered why she hated him so. He wondered about the man who had fathered wee Rose, wondered where he was and why he’d left them alone for so long. Wondered if Lilli’s husband was dead and how long she’d grieve before she turned her eyes to another man. He cursed himself.
“Is something wrong?” she asked at such times. “You look so stern. Are you feeling fit enough to travel?” she would ask softly.
“Nay, you’ll be rid of me fast enough,” he’d growl impatiently.
“Not soon enough!” she’d retort and turn away to clear the dishes.
He’d hear the swish of her skirts against the rush floor, each sound a mocking reminder to him that she was not his. Finally, when he could no longer bear the tension, he’d leave the cottage, slamming the door behind him, and go for long walks in the moonlight, where the wispy gold-edged clouds reminded him of her hair.