When he was quiet for a long time, she feared she had ruined the easy rapport that had grown between them. She was about to apologize when he finally spoke.
“I did have a wife,” he said. “She left me.”
What woman would leave him? The only reason Lily could conceive of was that he had been unfaithful. That was the usual cause.
“Why did she leave?” Lily knew she should leave it alone, but she could not seem to help herself.
“I was gone a long time,” he said. “She tired of waiting for me.”
“Where were you?” she asked, and wondered if he’d been off drinking and whoring.
“I was held captive in a Lowlander’s dungeon.”
“Your wife deserted you while you were imprisoned?” She was so outraged she could hardly get the words out.
“They had me chained to the wall in the hole, so it was some time before I was able to escape,” he said, as though he blamed himself. “I was gone all winter.”
“You’re better off without her.” Lily turned in the saddle again and rested her hand on his arm. “But, Roderick, are you not still bound to this woman?”
“Under Highland custom, either husband or wife may quit the marriage at the end of one year,” he said. “I can have no complaint against the lass. And I don’t.”
He said the last words with force, but Lily did not believe him. His wife’s departure had troubled him greatly. He must have loved her.
Did he love her still? The woman was worthless, but as a healer, Lily knew well that neither love nor desire was guided by reason.
Chapter 5
Roderick stopped for the night along the shore of the Firth of Clyde long before darkness fell. After snaring a rabbit for their dinner and gathering moss and wood for a fire, he stood at the water’s edge listening to the lap of the waves. In the fading twilight, he could see the dark shapes of the cottages of Ayr dotting the coastline to the north. He could have easily reached the town tonight.
But he was not taking Lily to Ayr.
He had a boat hidden in the brush not far from where he stood and clansmen waiting for him across the Firth. The night was cold, but unusually clear for December. He could have sailed across tonight.
But he was not crossing the Firth tonight either.
He needed one night to persuade Lily to go with him to the Isle of Islay. Whether he persuaded her or not, she was getting in that boat with him in the morning.
And if he were honest, he wanted this one night alone with Lily. Not that he expected anything from her, though a man could always hope. He could not explain what drew him to her, or why he dreaded leaving her on Islay, where she would be safe and cared for.
He wanted one night with her when he did not have to be on his guard, waiting for the Douglases to discover she was English and a lass. One night when he could sit and talk with her by the fire without another soul in sight.
One night when he did not need to pretend he did not want her.
* * *
“Cold?” Roderick asked when Lily joined him.
Without waiting for her answer, he wrapped his plaid around her shoulders. They stood side by side in comfortable silence for a long while, staring out at the water.
“’Tis so different here,” she murmured, struck by the beauty of the sea and the hills touched by the glow of the sunset. She bent down to dip her fingers in the clear water, which bore as much resemblance to the brown, smelly Thames as she did to this Highlander.
“It must seem quiet to ye, after your life in London,” he said.
“Aye.” She was so accustomed to the ceaseless noise, foul odors, and crowded streets of the city that she never noticed them. When she returned, she would miss the fresh smell of the wind in her face and this soothing silence, broken only by the occasional bird’s cry or animal scurrying through the brush.
“Is it like this where you live?” she asked.
“The mountains are higher, the grass greener, and the sea wilder,” he said.
Hard to imagine, but it must be still more beautiful there. She almost wished she could see it.
“There are more sheep than people,” he said. “At this time of year, there are no crops to tend to and the winter storms keep the men at home with their families, unless there’s fighting to be done.”
For London shopkeepers, seasons made little difference in their work, and the fighting was drunken brawls in taverns.
“’Tis no surprise,” he added with a chuckle in his voice, “that a great many babes are conceived this time of year.”
His remark made her recall waking in his arms and sent her imagination down a dangerous road.
“Ach, you’re shivering. I’ll get a fire started to warm ye up.” Roderick put an arm around her and led her to sit on a fallen log.
Lily buried her chin in his plaid and breathed in deeply as she watched him arrange the moss and wood he had gathered earlier. The plaid smelled of earth, wood smoke, and him.
“I’ll clean and cook that hare ye caught,” she said, and started to get up.
“No need.” He cocked a smile at her. “Or don’t ye like my cooking?”
“You’re a fine cook,” she said, feeling useless.
Despite everything being wet from the recent rains, he had the fire burning bright in no time. Then he skinned the hare, fashioned a spit for it from a stick, and set it to roasting over the fire, all with practiced ease and far faster than she could have. She admired such unusual self-sufficiency in a man.
And yet she began to wonder if his wife had left him because she felt unnecessary.
“You seem to be good at everything you set your hand to,” she said.
“Oh, I do try, lass,” he said, and flashed her a look that sizzled hotter than the flames of the fire.
He was clearly referring to more than his cooking skills, and her cheeks flushed. When he turned back toward the fire, her gaze lingered on the strong planes of his face in the warm glow of the firelight. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
Even while simply turning a spit over the fire, there was an untamed quality about him that sent her blood rushing through her veins. When Roderick looked up and caught her staring at him, their gazes locked and held across the fire. The flames licked at the corner of her vision and seemed to heat her from inside.
God help her, this Highlander was like a potent elixir of temptation.
* * *
After they finished eating, he and Lily sat a foot apart on the plaid staring into the fire, while the tension between them felt like a fraying rope that was pulled too tight. On Roderick’s side, it was fraying to the breaking point. He had been tortured by her soft body rubbing against his for two long days on horseback. And last night, he had slept within arm’s reach of her, yearning for her.
Unless he was badly mistaken, Lily shared his desire. She had spoken as if she’d had many lovers—I don’t need a husband for that—so there was no reason for them not to indulge in a night of pleasure. Still, Roderick resisted the temptation to pull her into his arms. Lily was dependent on him for her safety, so he needed to be certain she wished to act on the hunger flaming between them.
He ignored the desire pounding through his veins as best he could and set his mind to the subtle battle of persuading her to come with him to Islay.
“’Tis nearly the longest night of the year.” And he knew what he’d like to do with it. He took a deep breath and forced himself to focus on his plan. “It will be Yuletide soon.”
Lily looked relieved that he had raised what appeared to be a benign topic. “How do you Highlanders celebrate it?” she asked.
“The women make special foods, and we hang greenery about our homes—including mistletoe for kissing.” He gave her a sideways glance that made her breath catch. “Everyone gathers together for days of feasting.”
“That doesn’t sound so different from how we English celebrate the Advent season,” she said.
“I suspect ye mi
ght find some of our other customs barbaric,” he said. “We’re good Christians, but we remember the Old Ways.”
“Barbaric?” she asked, her eyes sparkling. “Tell me.”
“We build great bonfires,” he said, spreading his arms wide, “dance, make music, drink, and listen to long tales.”
“I can see you have fond memories of them,” she said with a soft expression.
“Ye should come with me to the Isle of Islay for the Yuletide,” he said. “The Lord of Isles, the great chieftain of the MacDonalds who rules over all the Western Isles and most of the rest of the Highlands, will be there. The celebrations will be grand, with mountains of food and the best musicians in all the Highlands.”
Lily met his suggestion with silence and pressed her lips into a stubborn line, but he thought he saw longing in her eyes. He ignored a twinge of guilt over not telling her his true purpose. Whether Lily was destined to be his clan’s next seer or no, she would be better off wintering with his clan, where he could ensure her safety.
“I know how ye like long tales,” he said, giving her a wink. “There’s sure to be plenty of those.”
“In Gaelic,” she said.
“All the better for learning it.”
“What about those winter storms ye said would keep me here?” she asked, cocking her head.
“Sailing through the islands isn’t nearly as dangerous as on the open sea,” he explained. “There are plenty of places for a boat to shelter during a storm.”
“Going there would take me even farther away from London,” she said. “How would I ever get back to where I belong?”
Where did Lily belong? If she were truly the next seer, shouldn’t she have an inkling she belonged with his clan? His grandmother never seemed surprised by anything, but she’d had many years to hone her gift.
“Merchant ships visit from time to time,” he said. “Once the winter storms are past, it will not be difficult to find a ship to take ye to London.”
Lily was quiet for a long moment. He wondered why she was so torn, when going with him was clearly the safer choice. But she was a stubborn lass who wanted to believe she could take care of herself. And perhaps she could in London. But not here.
“This place—this island—where you want to take me,” she finally said, “is that where you live?”
“Nay, but I’ll stay through Yuletide to see that you’re settled,” he said. “Then I must return to my duties on the Isle of Skye.”
Ach, the lass looked relieved to hear it. That was a blow to his pride. And yet he did not believe the fire between them was kindled all on his side. If all Lily wanted was a night of passion with no further entanglement, he ought to be relieved.
The fact that he was not annoyed the hell out of him.
* * *
“Come to Islay,” Roderick said. “Ye don’t want to spend Yuletide alone.”
“I usually do,” she said. “I prefer it that way.”
“Ye don’t spend it with your family?” He sounded startled.
“I avoid them as much as I can—especially on feast days,” she said. “My brothers, father, and uncles use any occasion as an excuse to get drunk and into fights, and they’re always asking to borrow money.”
Lily did not know why she was telling him about her family. She never spoke of them with anyone else.
“After I was apprenticed to the old healer, she and I enjoyed a quiet Christmas, lighting an extra candle and hanging greens in the shop,” she said, smiling at the memory. “We sold bits of mistletoe and holly all through Advent.”
Lily still sold mistletoe and hung greens during Advent, but she missed the old woman.
“Have ye no mother?” Roderick asked in a quiet voice.
“She died when I was a babe.”
“My parents’ boat was lost in a winter storm when I was a wee bairn, so I know something of your loss.” He enfolded her hand in his. “But I’ve always had my grandmother and my clan.”
Most of the time, Lily did not mind having no one to share feast days with. But on Christmas, she would take out all the old letters from her sister, who lived with her husband in France, and from her friend Linnet in Northumberland.
“Lily,” Roderick said, drawing her attention back to the present. “I don’t believe I can leave ye in Ayr.”
“Why not?” Her heart beat fast at the thought, unlikely as it was, that he wanted to be with her a little longer.
“’Tis not safe for ye to be on your own in Ayr,” he said. “I’d worry about ye there.”
She was so unaccustomed to being worried about that his words made her eyes sting. When she was only a young child, her family had even moved to a different house without noticing they had left her behind until someone told them hours later.
“I may not do well in the wilderness,” Lily told him, “but I can manage the dangers of a town.”
“Nay, I’ll not take ye there and leave ye,” he said, shaking his head. “’Tis no use arguing. I’ve made up my mind.”
Now he was being high-handed. “That’s a shame, because I’ve made up my mind to go. I can walk the rest of the way.”
“Ye must trust me on this, lass,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Ye don’t know this country, and ye can’t speak our language.”
She hated letting someone else make decisions for her. But, truth be told, Roderick had held her fate in his hands from the moment he rescued her on that barren hillside.
“With your sense of direction,” he added, “you’d never get to Ayr anyway.”
She laughed in spite of herself. “I’d wager all that talk about your grand Yuletide celebrations was just to persuade me to come with you.”
“Aye,” he said, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “But what I said about the mountains of food, great bonfires, and long tales is all true.”
Lily could not muster any anger over his attempt to control her, since his only purpose was to keep her safe.
“My grandmother will be on Islay all winter,” he said. “Ye can stay with her, and she’ll teach ye those new cures you’re wanting to learn.”
She remembered hearing rumors that old magic, long forgotten in England, was still practiced in the wildest parts of Scotland. The prospect of learning these ancient skills sent a thrill through her.
“You’d do that for me?” she said. “Ask your grandmother to take me in?”
“It would be a favor to me,” he said, resting his hand over his heart. “She’s an old woman, and I don’t like her to be alone. And there’s bound to be more folk in need of healing at the Yuletide gathering than my old grandmother can manage on her own.”
A kind man was as rare as a flea-less dog. Roderick’s concern for both her and his grandmother touched Lily deeply, and it only added to his already formidable appeal.
She should get on her feet and start walking to Ayr before it was too late for a cure. But the night was dark and cold.
And Lily did not want to be cured just yet.
Chapter 6
Roderick stopped breathing as she reached out to him. When her fingertip touched his chest, he felt it all the way to the soles of his feet.
“Is that dried blood?” she said in an accusing tone as she stepped closer and narrowed her eyes at the tear in his tunic.
This was not what he was hoping for.
“I didn’t notice it before against your dark tunic,” she said. “Why did you not tell me you were hurt?”
“’Tis nothing,” he said. “Harold grazed me as I knocked him to the ground.”
“Take that off,” she said.
From the determined way Lily was pushing up her sleeves, she was not suggesting they roll around on the grass naked.
“I’ve herbs in my bag to make a salve for it.” She marched off into the darkness to retrieve her bag, which was a few yards away with the saddle.
Roderick sighed and pulled his tunic and shirt over his head. When she reappeared in the firelight a few moments la
ter, he had the small satisfaction of watching her come to an abrupt halt and flush pink as she took a long look at his bare chest. She recovered quickly, however.
She sat down in front of him and poured some of his good whisky onto a cloth. “This will sting.”
“You’re making a lot of fuss over a wee scratch.” He winced as she began cleaning his wound with the cloth.
“’Tis no wee scratch.” She paused to fix him with a hard look. “An untended wound can turn feverish.”
He leaned back on his elbow and watched as she mixed some powder from a vial into his eating bowl with a few more drops of his whisky to create a paste.
When she turned her attention back to him, he swallowed as her gaze drifted across his chest and arms, seeming to take in every inch of bared skin. Did she have any notion what that did to him?
“I see this is not the first time you’ve gotten yourself injured,” she said, sounding irritated. “I suppose battle scars are a badge of honor for you Highlanders.”
He shrugged. “Every scar provides a tale to share around the hearth.”
“You should be more careful,” she scolded.
“I am careful,” he said with a laugh. “That’s why I lived to tell the tales.”
She blew out an exasperated breath, but a smile tugged at the corners of her pretty mouth.
Roderick tried to keep his thoughts from straying when she edged closer, but he utterly failed when her thigh rested against his and she leaned across him to apply the salve along the narrow line of the wound. His cock was already throbbing when her hair fell over her shoulder and brushed his belly just above his breeks.
Despite the chill in the air, he was beginning to sweat, but Lily was so focused on her task that she did not appear to notice his state. It was a small cut—would she never finish?
Jesu. With every stroke of her finger, the ends of her hair brushed his skin like a tantalizing invitation.
At last, she finished applying the salve. He expected her to move away from him at once. When she remained where she was, he dared to hope.
Highlanders for the Holidays: 4 Hot Scots Page 21