Harlequin Historical May 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Unwed and UnrepentantReturn of the Prodigal GilvryA Traitor's Touch

by Marguerite Kaye

  Before it reached the ground, a deafening crack of thunder seemed to shake the land around them. The mare shivered in terror, letting out an anguished shriek, and heaved herself forward.

  Astounded by how closely the youth had come to being permanently singed black by the lightning, Simon’s breath left him in a rush as he came quickly to his aid, concerned by the blood trickling down the side of his face. He was trembling uncontrollably, soaked to the very depth of his clothes, straining desperately to bring his mount under control. Reaching out, Simon snatched the bridle. ‘Easy, girl,’ he murmured in an attempt to sooth the horse. ‘Easy.’ The mare calmed a trifle, but stood shivering beneath the dripping trees. ‘Henry, are you all right?’ he shouted to his companion above the noise of the storm.

  Though the words seemed no more than a whisper in the pelting torrent, Henrietta’s head snapped around. Now fully alert to Simon’s presence, which was hardly more than an ominous grey shadow in the rain-shrouded gloom, she lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the downpour. Even so, the moisture dribbling down from her sodden hair forced her repeatedly to blink in an effort to clear her vision. She opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her. Frozen through and deeply affected by what had just happened, her body was all a-tremble.

  Shifting his hat forward over his brow, Simon pulled the collar of his cape up close around his neck and swung down to the ground. Wasting no time, he reached up and dragged Henrietta from the saddle. Her strength had vanished, her senses dulled, her wits long fled. Unable to stand, she crumpled to her knees upon the sodden ground. She could no longer force her shaking limbs to perform. All she wanted to do was curl up somewhere, close her eyes and sleep. Drawing herself into a small, disconcerted knot, she hunched her shoulders against the deluge.

  Without more ado, Simon’s arm slipped beneath her shoulders and a hoarse voice murmured words that failed to penetrate her confusion as his strong, sinewed arms lifted her and held her close against a broad chest. Her head lolled limply against his shoulder and even the fear that another bough would descend on her could not rouse her from her darkening world.

  Simon lifted her onto the back of his stallion. Taking the long rein of the mare, he tied it to a metal ring behind the cantle of his saddle. Swinging up behind the trembling form, he clamped a protective arm around her and reined the stallion back out into the open as the mare dutifully followed at the end of her tether.

  * * *

  They rode on for what seemed to be an eternity. Night crept in with its stealthy cloak of darkness. Suddenly a large house seemed to appear from nowhere in the dusk. Through a haze, Henrietta watched the welcome sight of the dark shape of the building come nearer. But at the moment she couldn’t be awed by anything. The rain had seemingly spent its furore and dwindled to drizzling mist. Only Simon’s arms holding her body stopped her from falling off the horse. She could hear him urging her to stay awake, but his voice sounded hollow and distant. He opened his cloak and pulled her snugly against him. Henrietta found no energy to resist, but rested her head against the solid bulwark. Vaguely she was aware of her body tilting back and her head bumped gently against his broad chest, but a dull ache began to throb there. In the next moments the heavy mists seemed to swirl around her, closing in upon her like a dank tomb, choking off her breath and pulling her down into a dark abyss as a numbing, uncaring oblivion claimed her.

  Riding into the stable yard, Simon barked orders to the groom staggering out of the stable to see who it was that commanded attention. On seeing the master he hurried to do his bidding, taking the reins of the two exhausted mounts and holding them steady while his lordship came to ground with a single bound and dragged the inert form of a youth after him. Carrying him into the house, Simon strode through the hall as Annie Atwood, the housekeeper at Barradine, came hurrying from the kitchen to see what all the commotion was about. On seeing the master she gasped her delight on having him home again, but she looked worriedly at the figure in his arms.

  ‘Oh, my goodness!’ she gasped, gazing at the pale face resting against his shoulder. ‘Is she badly hurt?’

  ‘Nothing more serious than exhaustion and a cut to his head, Annie. The lad’s also drenched to the skin. I’ll take him straight upstairs. Have a bath prepared and some food.’

  Annie watched him cross the hall and bound up the stairs, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. Lad? Why, ’twas obvious to any who had two eyes and a wit in his head that that was no lad.

  * * *

  Emerging out of the darkness, Henrietta realised with some relief that she was no longer plagued by a feeling of discomfort. She was still wet, but indeed she was warmer than she had been, her body stretched out on a bed, a soft pillow beneath her head. She struggled to find a shadowed place from the radiance that shone on her eyes. The light was bright and intrusive in its boldness. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she tried to banish the glare, but unable to do so she finally yielded a cautious peek through silken lashes and found the culprit to be a brightly burning lamp on a table beside the bed. An indistinct shape loomed over her, a shape that took Simon’s form, his expression darkly aloof and pensively silent. Having removed her jacket, he was intent on the task of unbuttoning her shirt.

  His hand hovered over the flesh at her throat, close enough that she felt the warmth of his skin. In an instant, her awakening awareness of what he was about to do rose to the fore and she felt the first tentative fingers of fear trail along her spine. As her thoughts became fraught with growing anxiety, a sobbing cry surged upwards from the pit of her being and she could not contain it.

  ‘No!’ she cried, and with a slash of her hand knocked his hand away.

  ‘I’m glad to see that you’re still alive,’ he said, his voice deep and imbued with relief. ‘You were sleeping so soundly, I was beginning to wonder if you would ever wake. Lie still and let me get you out of these sodden clothes lest you take a chill.’

  Bent on removing her wet clothes, not to be deterred, his fingers swept hurriedly up the ties at the neck. He glanced up when Annie came scuttling in, her eyes wide with shock when she realised what he was about.

  ‘Stop, sir. There is something I must say to you.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I—I find it difficult to form the proper words,’ the housekeeper stammered.

  ‘Fling convention away, Annie, and simply speak your mind.’

  She plunged in. ‘It—it concerns her sex... ’Tis a well-worn disguise that your young friend has adopted, and it has obviously fooled you...but...’ As if embarrassed by her own verbosity, her words trailed off.

  Henrietta’s heart began to hammer as the shirt fell away. Knowing that she would soon be devoid of clothing, her secret no longer a secret, her panic was too great. Twisting around, she attempted to pull herself upright, but she was still weak.

  His sculpted face grim, Simon ignored the hands that slapped him and jerked the shirt open. There was a glimpse of a pale rounded breast. His stare homed in on it—sharp, piercing, alarming, his mind rebelling in disbelief. No longer able to suppress the horror and the hideous suspicion that now assailed him, he retreated. For a moment he seemed frozen, then the windows of his understanding were suddenly blown wide open.

  He stared in amazement at his young companion as the truth struck him deeply. The boy—his riding companion, whom he had believed was a boy, was not a boy. ‘He’ was a girl—a woman. How could he have been so foolish, so blind as not to see it? he chided himself. And yet, how could he? She had kept her hat pulled low most of the time and had pitched her voice low, hiding her shapely figure in ill-fitting clothes.

  And he had not expected ‘him’ to be a ‘her’.

  No, there had been no way to perceive the identity of his companion.

  In two short strides he was in front of her, his face contorted with dark fury as he glared down at her. When she made to cover
her exposed breast his fingers clamped down on her slim wrist, wringing a gasp of pain from her. She fought him, wildly twisting and writhing in an attempt to gain her freedom.

  ‘Let go of me,’ she cried. ‘Please, Simon—let me go!’

  Rage boiled inside Simon like fiery acid, destroying his tender feelings for the youth who had just revealed herself as a young woman. ‘Damn your conniving little heart. Will you be still?’ he rasped through gritted teeth, and when she would not, he increased the pressure of his grip on her delicately boned wrist. Stubbornly she resisted the pain until finally he gave up the tactic, not wishing to hurt her.

  Henrietta stared at him, her mind in a complete turmoil. ‘Release my wrist,’ she begged, feeling the little strength she had draining out of her. ‘You’re hurting me.’

  ‘Be still then,’ he commanded.

  Towering over her, his lean, hard face bore no hint of humour. Something had shattered inside him, splintering his emotions from all rational control. Slowly she quieted and Simon loosened his hold, but his eyes were relentless. This boy—girl—deserved to be taught a lesson. Frustrated that he’d been duped by a mere lass, the rage enveloping him knew no bounds.

  ‘That’s better. Now, I think we should talk. What the hell do you think you’re playing at? What do you have to say to this deception?’

  Biting despair seized Henrietta and she slumped against the pillows. ‘I—I can explain,’ she said, trying to draw her sodden shirt together, but failing to do so. ‘But I’m really a fairly honest person. It—it’s just that—there are times when it becomes expedient to hold back the truth.’

  ‘What you’re trying to say is that you’re a liar when it meets your mood.’

  ‘That’s not what I’m saying at all,’ she murmured dismally and heaved a sigh. She was thoroughly exhausted and her head was hurting where the falling branch had glanced off her flesh. She couldn’t even manage a discomfited blush as Simon considered her taut breasts outlined beneath her shirt.

  ‘Then kindly explain what you mean, Miss Whoever-you-are,’ he urged, eyeing her coldly. ‘I am all ears. I thought you trusted me. Why did you not tell me you were in disguise?’

  ‘My name is Henrietta. I knew you would have no tolerance for a girl in boy’s clothing. It would simply amuse you to discover this and to set it against me.’

  His anger beginning to abate, Simon, much against his will, felt his heart warm to the words of the plaintive girl. She was right. Had he known the truth of the matter, he would not have tolerated the situation and ordered her to return home. He stared at her, suddenly on his guard. ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Eighteen.’

  He heaved a sigh of relief. ‘I feared you were much younger. Well, young lady, I don’t know who you are, but you’re no common sort. I’m not so much of an idiot to know a respectable young woman doesn’t set foot outside her home without the protection of servants.’ Henrietta glanced away awkwardly. ‘I can only conclude that either you are not respectable—which I doubt—your manner is too fine, your speech refined—or you have fallen on hard times. I do not know the particulars that made you leave home and adopt such a mode of attire. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling me exactly what you were doing on the heath that night?’

  ‘For your information, I was turned out of my home. My guardians were dead and I had nowhere else to go. I’ve already told you that my only living relative that I know of is my paternal uncle, who lives near Inverness.’ Granted, she was thoroughly exhausted and greatly in need of sleep, all of which hindered her ability to think straight, but even if she had been fully alert, she preferred not to tell him what had driven her from her home.

  Wanting to know who it was that had forced her to flee her home and masquerade as a lad, yet sensing her reluctance to explain, Simon made every effort to smother the gallantry that seemed eager to escape when he considered her thoroughly exhausted condition. She was vulnerable, traumatised. He knew from experience that what she needed right now was someone she could trust, not someone who was bent on interrogating her. The thought that this naive young woman might have been alone on the journey to Scotland filled him with genuine alarm. She’d had no idea what she was getting into.

  Shedding his wet cloak, he slung it over the back of a chair, from where Annie, tutting disapproval, retrieved it. By the time he faced Henrietta again without responding to her plight, she had risen from the bed and was swaying on her feet in a dazed stupor. He cursed softly under his breath, knowing the battle lost. At the moment she seemed ready to collapse in a crumpled heap.

  Going to her, he shoved her back on to the bed and was immediately struck by how slender and delicate she seemed. Her features were drawn and, beneath her eyes, there were dark lavender shadows that made her cheeks appear sunken. In all, she was a rather pathetic sight, too pitiful for him to hold on to his anger.

  ‘Now you know I am no youth, I beg you not to cast me out. I cannot go back.’ Her voice was low, but Simon could hear it tremble with fear.

  He knew she feared he would turn her out. Her hands were clasped in her lap and he could see her slight form shaking. How could he turn his back on her?

  ‘Fear not,’ he said at last and her head jerked as though he had somehow branded her.

  ‘Fear?’ She laughed now, an uneasy sound. ‘You do not know fear, sir.’

  ‘There you are wrong, lad...Miss Whoever-you-are. I know fear. I have ridden with it day after day and its shadow has leaned over my shoulder for too long. No. I do know fear. And I know that you fear.’ He paused. ‘I know not the reason why you do, but you have no reason to fear me.’

  She met his gaze direct and Simon thought he saw a softening in her eyes.

  ‘Thank you. Now please, Simon, I just want to go to sleep,’ she pleaded.

  ‘You’ll feel better after a bath and something to eat. Hurry it up, will you, Annie—and a hot toddy would not go amiss.’ Taking her chin, he looked closely at the slight wound on the side of her forehead, rubbing at the caked blood with his thumb. ‘Nothing to worry about there. It’s only a scratch and will soon heal, but you’ll be left with a bruise. I have to get out of my sodden clothes and then I’ll be back. Until then, don’t move. Do you understand?’

  Her smooth forehead creased slightly as if he had asked a difficult task of her. She nodded, taking the quilt and drawing it round her shaking shoulders.

  * * *

  Simon’s pledge was confirmed by his swift return to the room. When he entered with a mug of brandy laced with lemon and hot water, a wave of perfumed air hit him in the face. A roaring fire had been built up in the hearth and she was already ensconced in the bath behind a screen, having managed to remove her clothes with the help of Annie and climb in without falling over. Stepping round the obstruction that hid her view from prying eyes, he stopped short, unable to believe the sight of the naked young woman that met his eyes.

  Her eyes were closed and at first he was sorely tempted to wake her, but it would have deprived him of the pleasure of watching her from his vantage point by the screen. He was transfixed—not merely by the sight of so much loveliness, but the lack of inhibition that was only possible in one who was bathing unobserved—and watching her thrilled and moved him to the core of his being. Until that moment he had never thought so much pleasure could be derived in simply watching a woman who was oblivious to being watched. Such a sensation was so rare. It was like an electric current passing through him. The mere sight of her, with the soapy water lapping those small twin orbs of femininity with infuriating, tantalising familiarity, was, for Simon, such a pleasurable experience that it made him ache.

  Earlier, with a deep sigh of appreciation Henrietta had lowered herself into the bath and relaxed into the absolute luxury of the hot water enveloping her body before scrubbing her flesh hard with the scented soap and working it into the snarled thatch on he
r head. She felt as though she was washing away the hardships of the journey. Washed clean, she slid beneath the foam and rested her head against the high end of the bath. The tub was long enough to let her straighten her legs. Exhausted, she lay still and watched the snapping, crackling fire until her eyelids fluttered closed and her resistance gave way to sleep.

  The sound of the door opening and closing caught her attention, but thinking it was Annie returning to assist her out of the bath, she sighed, too tired to respond. She was jolted awake by the intruding suspicion that she was being watched and a mild panic grew when she failed to recognise her surroundings. Candles bathed the area around her in a soft, golden light and she felt the warmth of the fire on her face.

  Everything came back to her in a rush. With a gasp her head whipped round and like a flame the powerful awareness of Simon’s physical presence scorched through her. His unheralded appearance startled her to a sitting position and Simon watched the soapy water sluicing off her satiny skin. The heat of his appreciative gaze ranged with deliberate slowness over her hair and face and down to her slender shoulders, pausing at length on the exposed swell of her breasts, leaving the frothy water to provide modest cover for the rest of her.

  He was far too close for Henrietta’s peace of mind, for in relaxed mode he stood with his shoulder braced against the screen, his arms folded across his broad chest, looking for all the world as if he had been watching her for some time. Having changed out of his wet clothes, he looked dapper in a dark green coat and grey breeches and waistcoat. He was close and Henrietta had no difficulty discerning his face’s every detail. The soft, lazy smile it bore stirred feelings that, while thrilling, were also most disturbing. The shivery warmth that ran through her completely disrupted her composure.