by Amy Quinton
Yet strangely enough, MacLeod’s first thought was: Is everyone in this town known by their occupation?
MacLeod turned, shaking his head, and jogged down the front steps.
The blacksmith, Amelia?
Five. Hours. Later. MacLeod had visited the blacksmith, a carpenter, a shepherd, the local priest, a mum of five, the post office, and six—count them, six—different women of questionable reputation. He suspected that covered the entire population of the small town.
Now, he was back to where he started: The Noisy Bird Pub & Inn, and he was equally furious and anxious, both at Amelia Chase and at the unavoidable flair of suspicion he harbored over her unexpected and lengthy absence.
Not once did he suspect she might actually be in trouble.
MacLeod walked inside and was practically assaulted by Amelia the minute he stepped through the doorway.
“There you are, you big wayward, tardy-gaited, oaf! Where have you been, MacLeod?”
Chapter Seventeen
MacLeod glared at her, anger apparent in every line of his face. He stepped forward, she stepped back. “MacLeod…” She held her hand up in warning. To stay him.
Of course, he ignored it.
He continued walking toward her, staring her down, while she continued retreating, unsure of the fury that burned in his gaze. She could have sworn she’d seen relief cross his face when he’d spotted her across the room. Now? Not so much.
The back of her legs hit a chair, so she sat and looked up—and up—at MacLeod and all his towering and vibrant ferocity.
But he said nothing. And without any sort of warning whatsoever, he bent over and picked up her chair.
With her in it.
“MacLeod, you oversized, rough-hewn ox. Put me down? What did I do this time?” Oh, she could think of any number of replies to that question, but still, “What could I possibly have done to make you angry? I haven’t seen you since this morning…”
He didn’t respond. Not a single, solitary word. He simply marched up the stairs carrying her via chair as if he weren’t burdened with the weight of it all.
“MacLeod, I mean it. If I kick you…”
“…you will fall doon the stairs.” He finished for her.
She crossed her arms, uninterested in confirming the truth of that.
Still, MacLeod reached the second-floor landing and set her down, before he whirled on her, leaning over her and bracing his arms on the back of her chair, effectively trapping her in her seat. “Mrs. Chase. Do ye have to talk to everyone ye meet?”
Well, that was unexpected. And completely unfair. “Don’t be silly, MacLeod. There are quite a few people I didn’t talk to today.”
“Name one.”
She folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot. How to answer? She couldn’t possibly tell him the truth.
She decided to see how he liked audacious defiance with his dose of preposterousness. She smiled. “Now how could I possibly know who I didn’t speak to, when I didn’t speak to them? I cannot be expected to know everyone’s name. I’ve never been here before in my life.”
MacLeod practically threw his hands up in the air and spun on his heel. Of course, he didn’t actually toss up his hands. That would be far too much animation for a man like MacLeod, but she read the desire to do so in his actions just the same. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair and down his face before he spun back around, a blazing inferno in his eyes and perhaps a touch of frustration…and maybe, just maybe, a wee tinge of fear.
She spoke first. “Look, I had to do something. I cannot possibly sit around doing nothing all day but wait for you to return. You were gone for half an hour.” That sounded like a reasonable enough excuse.
It was close enough to the truth. Somewhat.
“I wasna gone for more than ten minutes.” He argued.
“Well, it felt like half an hour.”
“I’m sure it did…to you.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Now what is that supposed to mean? Are you making a joke or being mean?”
“Take your pick, woman.” He turned and began marching up the hall, clearly expecting her to follow.
Amelia wanted to stick her tongue out at his back like a child, but she didn’t, more’s the pity. Instead, she stood and followed him, “All right. I choose...” She paused as if giving the matter serious consideration. He stopped and turned his head part way to the side as if listening for her answer. She suppressed the involuntary smile of sweet success. But she did poke him in the back as she said, “I choose to take it as a joke. Your fierce demeanor is all a façade. I know it. You were worried about me, and it has made you cross.”
“Believe whatever ye want,” he muttered.
“Thanks, MacLeod, I will. Now, where have you been, you didn’t say?”
He whirled on her again, which was unexpected and caught her off guard. She couldn’t help but take a step back. He backed her into the wall, his face inches from hers. “Where have I been? Where have I been? Where haven’t I been? I’ve been tracking you doon, following in the wake of yer glorious and very openly vocal generosity All. Damn. Day.”
“So?” Really, he was put out by her being kind? For endeavoring to not be alone? For looking out for herself, just in case. Which was far closer to the actual truth. She thought of it as one of Amelia Chase’s Rules of Survival: Always have a backup plan.
Of course, he couldn’t know that.
“So? So?!...” He stepped back and rubbed at his head again. “Do you no’ recall our conversation this morning? About your safety and the men chasing you?” He faced her again and pointed a finger her way as if to emphasize his point. “In fact, when I left you here, I made it plainly clear that you were to remain inconspicuous, in the corner, head doon, arse in the chair….”
“I wasn’t born in the woods to be scared by an owl, MacLeod.”
He looked at her strangely for a moment, probably trying to piece together what she’d said. Or perhaps suppressing a laugh. She could have sworn his lips twitched.
“MacLeod. I know Kelly is, on the surface, up to no good.”
“On the surface?”
“Yes, but honestly, I’ve met some truly malevolent, wicked, kick a baby or a dog before they helped someone men before, and Kelly is not that kind of man.”
“How do you know? How do you know what a truly evil man looks like?”
She lifted her chin. This conversation was headed down a path she would not travel. He couldn’t know; he didn’t need to know her sense of self-preservation was a fixed part of her personality. She couldn’t not act on it. “It’s none of your business.”
“None of my—! You practically told the entire town your life story, but when I speak to you it’s ‘none of my business’?”
She remained stubbornly mute at that. Now was not the time to open up about her past.
He evidently gave up. “Did you even stay seated for more than a minute after I left? Never mind, Mrs. Chase, never mind.” MacLeod sighed as if exasperated by a child and pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes, frustration screaming from every inch of his form. “Look. Ye donna have to help the entire town, ye ken?”
He threw his hand down with an irritated sigh and turned to continue their march down the narrow hall toward their rented rooms.
She smiled at his retreating back, relieved for the change of subject, though somewhat guilty for playing the fool to his concern. She knew he worried about her. She knew he was only trying to help.
Unfortunately for him, he didn’t know her. Not really. “Oh, MacLeod, you really were worried about me, weren’t you? That’s what all this is really about, isn’t it?” Possibly he just didn’t like that she’d disobeyed him, but she wasn’t about to suggest so.
She could have sworn she heard him growl in response before he spun around and confronted her once again. “Aren’t you being a bit ridiculous?”
She smiled. “Why yes! Yes, I am!”
His
frown deepened, if it could be believed. “Why?”
“Because you don’t react the way you’re supposed to.” Which wasn’t precisely the truth. Oh, she’d made a living off of charming men, bending them to her will. It was how she survived. And she was admittedly somewhat flummoxed by the fact that her charms did not affect MacLeod as they did other men.
He smirked. “You mean I don’t fall at your feet at the first sight of your witty charm and coy looks.” Then he spun around again before she could respond.
She smiled, and it was a genuine one. Was it possible he was not as immune as he seemed? “You think me witty?” She touched a finger to her chin. “Hmmm…I can work with witty.”
Right away, Amelia realized it was in her best interest not to take this—game? thing?—any further; he was at the end of his patience. She didn’t need to see his face to know it; she could see it in the way his shoulders tensed and his fists clenched. He suddenly seemed to grow an extra foot taller and three feet wider.
Yet she couldn’t help herself. This man made her want to poke at him until he exploded. Maybe if he did, she would figure him out.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you needed a lover, MacLeod.”
MacLeod laughed, a sarcastic sound with no pretense at mirth. “And how would you know?”
“Ha! Asks the man with a perpetual scowl. You, a man so full of passion and physicality, crave an outlet, a safe place to unburden your soul.
He stopped and spun on her. “I see.” He stepped close, crowding her once more. He looked her over once, then asked, “And are you offering yourself up for the position?”
Amelia lifted her head. She shrugged, but said, “N-Not, precisely, but it doesn’t change the fact that you do.”
Yes, stuttering, a fine example of her not allowing him to see how he disturbed her. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, Exhibit A… Amelia snorted to herself.
MacLeod reached around her, his hands braced against the wall, caging her in. He leaned in close and whispered. “Och, lass. I’m a cold-hearted bastard, or hadn’t you heard? The last time I took a lover, I looked her in the eye as she was hanged for her crimes and didn’t feel a single moment’s remorse for her demise.”
Amelia swallowed the sudden lump in her throat, but maintained her bravado. She hadn’t known. My God, MacLeod. To him, she said, “Well, then, I suggest you haven’t found the right kind of lover.”
He stared at her lips then. For a moment, maybe ten. Then he abruptly turned and stormed off once again.
Amelia sucked in a deep breath, her thoughts flying in a thousand different directions. No remorse for his ex-lover’s demise? Like hell, she saw the depths of despair beneath his cloak of anger and disinterest. The man might fool himself, but he did not fool her. Not about that.
He felt with an intensity she’d never seen in a man before.
And yea, she knew she was being deliberately provoking, but she was determined that if she remained perpetually cheerful, charming, and appeared somewhat naïve—besides steering him away from her own uncomfortable truths—some of her good optimism would eventually, hopefully, rub off on this man. He needed it.
“Are you coming?” he called out from some ways down the hall.
“Coming,” she called back and pushed away from the wall to follow him.
Dash it all, they both needed it.
MacLeod pulled a key out of his sporran and opened the last door on the left, then stepped aside to allow her to enter ahead of him.
She lifted her chin and marched around his over-sized, over-muscled bulk, unintentionally brushing his chest with her shoulder in the process. Blast! The doorway was far narrower than was average, she was quite convinced of that fact.
To her delight, she heard him suck in a swift breath of air in response.
Ha!
After practically burying himself into the wall behind him to prevent such an occurrence, she felt a peculiar joy in knowing he was still affected by her touch, innocent though it were.
Unwanted attraction often proved quite useful, when necessary.
Though after the bath…and that kiss…all those months ago, it was somewhat ridiculous to even question his attraction to her.
Still, she was relieved to see evidence the fire was still there. She didn’t want to be the only one to find her gaze wandering where it oughtn’t.
Did that make her a naughty woman? A touch impish, perhaps?
Amelia shook off her musings and stepped fully inside the room, taking time to note her surroundings. The room was surprisingly light, bright, and clean. The walls were whitewashed and the bed linens similarly blanched—surprisingly bright, in fact—for such a small, remote inn. What little furniture the room boasted was absent any sign of dust, and the floors and hearth were swept clean.
There was no fire burning in the hearth yet, but the room scarcely needed it for the south facing window allowed in an overabundance of light. That, coupled with the white linens and walls, made the room feel bright, warm, and cheerful.
It suited her well.
The room even smelled clean, the subtle hint of fresh oranges, pine, cinnamon, and cloves infused the very air, as if she might find a bowl of said plants hiding amidst the furnishings. To her, the space smelled of the outdoors, without the threat of bugs. She took in a deep breath and closed her eyes, committing the scent to memory. When she opened them again, she discovered MacLeod standing before her, watching her and wearing the strangest expression upon his face. But it was his eyes that made her breath catch, for his eyes were all but burning with emotion.
Amelia threw him a quick smile and looked away, oddly discomfited by his countenance, for his expression suggested a depth of emotion that was fearsome, dark, and complex…and barely contained.
Physical attraction was one thing. What she saw now was something else entirely.
She could never forget the glimpse of that physical hunger that lurked beneath his surface. His kiss was still burned in her memory, like a brand. She had relived that kiss in significant detail every damn day since it happened.
She touched her fingers to her lips as they tingled with the memory of it. She shrugged off the remembrance with some difficulty and asked, “S-so you managed to procure a room. Is, erm, is this one mine…” She nearly gulped. “…or yours?” Her voice was falsely cheerful, tension pulled at the edges of her smile.
And she swore her heart held its next beat while she awaited his answer.
“Ours.”
Amelia’s heart skipped its next two beats at the raw sound of his voice as he choked out that single word. Such a small word, but in this context, it carried considerable import.
Ours.
And in that moment, she was relieved her back was toward him, for her face burned hotter than any noon day sun shining down upon rosy, upturned cheeks. She felt overheated and hypersensitive everywhere—behind her neck, beneath her arms.
Between her legs.
She swallowed and hoped it was as silent as she had intended. She fanned her face quickly, then looked back over her shoulder at him and suspected it wasn’t. Heat seemed to arc between them, suddenly changing the very makeup of the air they breathed.
Once more, they were back to that night. The bath. The kiss.
She took in another deep breath, pasted an overly large smile across her face, and sat on the bed. She bounced a couple of times, testing the quality of the mattress. Like a coward, she no longer found it possible to look him in the eye. She felt abnormally—for her, anyway—shy of a sudden.
Amelia Chase: Slayer of Men, indeed.
Over the course of the last few months, she’d vowed to forget that kiss. The hunger. The uncontrollable need that flared to life between them. To see it rekindle so easily was upsetting, despite all her bold pronouncements of him requiring a lover.
He’d left her behind, dash it all. She wanted to hold on to her bitterness over that fact with both hands, to shut out the desire that knocked
around inside her, desperately trying to make itself known. To take control.
Amelia tried to refocus on the here and now.
Oh, yes. The bed was surprisingly comfortable. The mattress was firm, its ropes pulled taut.
Realistically, however, it was not nearly big enough for them both. She might be reasonably short, but MacLeod was a huge man. She suspected he was longer than the bed and nearly as wide in the shoulders. She peeked up at him, and had to fight the urge to swallow, again, lest he hear it with his overly acute hearing or note the telltale flexing of her throat.
Her eyes caught on his lips, firm and full. She knew from experience they were soft, incongruent for a man so hard.
“Nae.” He denied in a growling, brusque voice.
She jumped and her eyes leapt to find his.
She hadn’t asked him anything, yet she knew precisely what he meant: they couldn’t share the bed. Which was right. Proper. Exactly what she wanted him to say, or at least, what she was supposed to want him to say. It was to be expected, but frighteningly enough, she didn’t quite know how she felt about that gruff nae; her emotions were confused and completely contrary to what she should be feeling: relief. Instead, she wanted to beg him to stay, to take her in his arms and kiss her until her toes curled and she melted in a puddle on the bedding, which he was thoroughly capable of doing and doing well.
She looked away, no longer able to bear his scrutiny, for it affected her in so many unexpected ways. She wasn’t ready. Despite all her preparations for their reunion, she couldn’t do this.
Between her own observations and private conversations with Lady Beatryce and Aunt Harriett, she suspected MacLeod was a complex man, though possibly broken beneath the surface. He’d been hurt, deeply, by people he should have been able to trust, and she suspected it was the reason for his, sometimes callous, demeanor, and yet he had unfathomable depths. She was desperate to search those depths, but afraid to do so all the same. What would she discover about herself in his all-knowing eyes?