A Highlander's Second Chance: Highland Temptations Page 14

  He decided to proceed with caution which she had not used that day and kept his questions to himself as he dismounted, hobbling the horse before removing the saddle and the bags. The poor, overworked beast drank deep before turning to graze on grass which grew in abundance along the banks.

  “I…suppose I should go downstream a bit?” She pointed to a bend in the stream, a few dozen paces from where they stood. There was a cluster of bushes there, enough to hide her from him.

  He found himself going warm all over and wondered why. “Aye, I suppose. Dinna take very long, for I would not wish to come looking for ye.”

  She rolled her eyes, a familiar gesture which he had come to enjoy in a strange way. He did not take offense when she rolled her eyes at him. In fact, it amused him somewhat. She picked up her skirts, bending to remove her shoes and stockings, before dipping her toes into the water.

  Her head fell back, a smile spreading from ear to ear. “My, but that is nice.” Something about watching her so thoroughly enjoy herself, even in the simplest way, made him warmer than ever. He almost wished she would never stop enjoying the feel of the water running over her feet, just so he might watch her.

  Which was why he made a point of turning his face away, busying himself with nothing in particular. Anything so long as he did not look at her.

  “You had best be on with it, for night falls quickly.” He waited until the sounds of her splashing through the water faded before he dared turn to find that she had, indeed, disappeared behind the brush.

  It was then that he released a long, slow breath. What was he on about? What could he possibly have in mind? This was Ailsa, more of a partner to him than anything else, and if she ever heard him calling her a partner, she would like as not take great offense. For she did not see herself as his partner, but rather his superior.

  Yet the image of her smile, the way she had relaxed and enjoyed a simple pleasure in his presence, would not leave him alone. He bent by the water, splashing his face a good many times before deciding that he, too, ought to wash. Perhaps he might cool his entire body and turn his thoughts to safer, less confusing subjects.

  He did so quickly, with one eye always on the brush behind which Ailsa was doing the same. “Are ye well?” he asked at one point, when there was less splashing than there had been.

  “Yes, I am waiting for my garments to dry on a flat rock where I laid them out.”

  In spite of the cold water, his skin went hot again. She was wearing nothing, and just on the other side of the brush which he now nearly wished did not grow so thick and full.

  Truly, he had lost leave of his senses. There was no other explanation for this sudden change in the way he saw her, the way he thought of her. Never once in all their months at the convent had he ever imagined her bedchamber, for instance. He had never imagined her washtub, or the way her body moved beneath her shift as she climbed into bed.

  Now he could think of nothing else, and this was highly unusual for him. Not only because it was Ailsa he was thinking of, but because he was thinking of another woman at all.

  A woman who was not his Janet.

  And just like that, his skin cold again. Janet could very well be watching him now, and disapproving greatly of the sinful bent his thoughts had taken. Not that Janet was ever over fond of religion on the whole, but he supposed she had gone to heaven if such a place existed and as such would care very greatly about the nature of his thoughts.

  After all, he hoped to be with her when the time came and as such needed to control himself.

  Once he’d finished washing and then dunked his own clothing in the stream and wrung it dry, he went about the business of shaving. He cursed himself now for not having done so that morning, where there had been a perfectly good looking glass in the room.

  A cramped room, one in which he had hardly gotten a moment’s sleep. The fact was, by the time morning came he had been in a terrible hurry to get out of there.

  Now, however, crouched beside a stream which would not cease in its running, he could hardly make sense of his reflection as he began to draw the blade across the top of his head.

  “You are making a terrible mess of that.”

  He jumped, then cursed her under his breath. “Do ye not know it is ill-advised to surprise a man when he is holding a blade to his skin?”

  She winced. “I did not think. Forgive me. But you are, truly, making a terrible sight of yourself.”

  “Thank ye kindly.” The fact was, all he need do was look at his reflection to know she was right. “I suppose ye could do no better, however, so ye had best leave your opinions to yourself.”

  She clicked her tongue, and the sound of her footsteps grew louder as she approached. “I can do better, and I will. If you will allow me.”

  He went still, uncertain now. He had not expected her to take him up on his challenge.

  “Give me the knife, man. Unless you believe I will use it against you.”

  He scowled up at her, but held the knife out just the same. “Dinna forget how easy it was for me to disarm ye before.”

  “How could I ever forget?” she asked with a roll of her eyes. “Now, hold your head this way.” She took it in her hands and tilted it this way and that until his right ear was nearly pointed at the sky.

  He realized he was holding his breath as the blade touched his skin, then dragged along it in a slow, even motion. She continued, taking one smooth stroke after another.

  And all the while, he reminded himself not to think of how near she was. She had braided her long, wet hair. It sometimes brushed against his arm, his back while she worked. She hummed softly, tunelessly, the sound pleasant to his ears.

  Just as pleasant as her warmth. Her presence. The touch of her hand on his neck.

  He closed his eyes and prayed for strength. How disloyal this was. How unfair to Janet.

  “There. That is finished. Now your face.” She stood before him, taking his chin between her thumb and forefinger and tilting his head upward.

  And for a moment, no longer than the time it took his heart to beat, they looked at each other. She was still touching his chin, standing just in front of him. Only inches away.

  “I…I am not certain how to…” She blinked rapidly, letting go of his chin in favor of running a finger down the side of her face.

  Naturally. She would not look at him the way he now looked at her, the way in which he had never imagined looking at her before. How could he ever have predicted something as unthinkable as this?

  He wanted her. He had not wanted a woman in so long, but he wanted this woman.

  And all she saw was his scar. He would do well to remember that.

  He realized she was waiting for his response. “Dinna worry. Truly, simply draw the blade over it.”

  “I do not need to take special care?”

  He shook his head. “No more than I would hope ye would take with man’s face and throat.”

  She chuckled, taking his jaw in her hand and turning his face to the right. “I will see what I can do.”

  “Ye have shaved a man before.”

  “I have. Many times. My Thomas broke his arm once, and could not manage many things on his own.”

  “I see.” She still spoke of him in a way that told Clyde how she loved him. The way he still loved his Janet. And he needed to remember that now, more than ever.

  “Is it true you got this scar the day you saved Douglas McTavish’s life?”

  He snorted, but was careful not to move his face. “Who told ye that?”

  “Who do you think?” She chuckled.

  “Aye, ’tis true. McTavish fell from his saddle was nearly crushed. An English soldier was mere moments from running him through. I stopped him, and this scar was payment.”

  “Very brave of you.”

  He shrugged. “Bravery and foolishness often look the same.”

  “You find it foolish, then, that you saved a man’s life?”

  “I ran headlong into dang
er. I learned to change my ways before long. Once I met my wife and had a family.”

  That seemed to put a stop to their talking, and he could not say he was not glad of it. For it seemed that no matter what they spoke of, there was no ridding themselves of a strange, new feeling between them. He told himself it was his fault, that he should not have looked upon her as he did.

  Yet that did not account for the way her fingers lingered on his cheek when she touched it to test its smoothness, or the way she held his gaze when she smiled and announced the job was done.

  19

  Ailsa chewed her lip, staring across the bridge which spanned the River Tweed.

  It marked the border, that river. England was on the other side of the bridge.

  England and possible death for her.

  Clyde sat beside her, waiting. “I tell ye, there is nothing to fear.”

  “I never said I was afraid.”

  “Dinna take offense, but ye dinna need to tell me you are afraid. I can sense it.”

  She stopped short of congratulating him, knowing her short temper should not be taken out on him. In this, she had come a long way, for she normally would have treated him to the sharp side of her tongue and been done with it before she could think to be sorry for behaving so.

  “If only the bridge were not so busy,” she fretted. Indeed, at least a dozen riders had passed, along with several carts laden with goods. She had not considered the number of people they would pass on their way into the country. “Was there not another way we could have come?”

  It was clear he tried to keep his temper under control, but the muscles jumped in his jaw just the same. “Aye, but that would mean another day’s ride, and I believed you to be in a great hurry to get to the castle. Besides, the castle described in the letter is only another few hours’ ride from here. This was the closest place to cross.”

  She knew he made good sense, but that did not matter just then.

  Just then, all she could think about was the danger she was so brazenly walking into.

  He reached across the space between them to take hold of her hand, which she realized then was shaking as it held one of the reins. “I am with ye. Dinna forget that. I would not allow harm to come to ye. Ye must believe that.”

  She turned to him, her mouth open in preparation to disagree. She knew his heart was in the right place and that he meant what he said, but all of the good intentions in the world meant little when compared to the brutality of the English army.

  Yet something in his face stopped her before she had the chance to speak. Something in his eyes, in the way he looked at her.

  Something had changed. Something in the way her heart skipped a beat when their eyes met, in the way his hand around hers felt much nicer than it should have.

  In the way her insides had turned to molten metal when she’d touched his face the evening before, after shaving him clean. The fire that had sparked to life deep in her belly when she’d looked down at him and he up at her.

  There was no disagreeing with him now. He meant what he said. He would walk through the fires of hell for her if that was what came to. He was simply that sort of man, possessed of that sort of dedication.

  It did not mean there was anything special between them, however. And she would do well to remember that.

  She nodded, firm and resolute. “Yes, I believe you. We had better be on our way.” After they crossed the bridge, they would not ride the established road, but instead, walk the horses through the woods. No sense in taking further chances.

  She sat straight and tall in the saddle, shoulders back and chin lifted in a gesture of defiance. She was Ailsa Dunne, wife of Thomas Dunne, and she was afraid of no one and nothing.

  Just the same, it did her heart good to know Clyde was beside her. Woe to the man who believed he ought to take the chance of challenging him.

  It occurred to her then that she had never thought to ask just how Drew had managed to get the better of him. It was likely she would not have gotten a straight story from him. A delightful man, but prone to boasting. She thought Thomas might have liked him, as he had always enjoyed the company of people who told a fine tale and were able to laugh at themselves.

  She lowered her gaze when another rider drew up beside them, hoping her hood was enough to cover her face. Just like that, her confidence vanished, leaving cold, hard terror in its place.

  Yet what were the chances of anyone knowing who she was, especially since so much time had passed since she had last step foot in her country of birth? She was only frightening herself, nothing more.

  Just the same, she would not take chances. It was better to avoid notice if possible.

  “A fine morning to you both.” The man was English, which came as no surprise, and dressed carefully enough that she assumed him to be of the gentry. His knee breeches and stockings were fine, his shoes practically new and not caked in mud as so many others were.

  Ailsa merely nodded, barely glancing his way once she had taken the measure of him. It would be better not to say a word.

  “What brings you over the border today?” the man asked in a friendly tone. Ailsa found herself wishing she were riding closer, that she might bury her hidden dagger in his kidney before riding away. Perhaps he believed he was being friendly, but not many things could have distressed her more greatly.

  She had to say something, but what? She searched about for something that might explain their presence, but to her surprise, Clyde beat her to it. “My sister made the mistake of wedding a Scotsman. A Highlander, no less.”

  She could hardly breathe, and had to turn her face away so her shock would not be evident. Why, he spoke just as an Englishman would! He sounded nothing like himself!

  The Englishman snorted. “And you found it in your heart to attend the wedding? How noble of you.”

  “Yes, as I am all she has in the world, it seemed fitting. Now my duty is done, I might forget I ever saw her face.” The two of them laughed together, while Ailsa’s head spun.

  They parted ways at the other side of the bridge, now truly in England, and the man touched his fingers to the brim of his cocked hat before trotting away.

  When they were alone, Ailsa gaped at Clyde. “What was that?” she whispered, caught between laughter and utter shock.

  He could not help but appear pleased with himself, it was evident. “What? Do ye believe me so hardheaded that I have not learned anything from the lessons you have given the lasses?”

  She covered her mouth with both hands to stifle the laughter she could no longer hold back. He was a wonder. “You did so well!”

  “Thank ye kindly. I thought I did well, myself.” He laughed along with her, before leading the way into the woods where they would continue their journey.

  * * *

  “So that is it.” The two of them sat astride, both gazing into the distance where a castle surrounded by four tall moss-covered stone walls towered high above the treetops.

  “My goodness,” she whispered, a lump forming in her throat. It was rather impressive, no doubt about it. Yet it hardly escaped notice. “I’m certain it can be seen from miles around.”

  “Aye, but if it was abandoned long ago, no one will expect to find a group of young women there. I suppose it is a clever notion. Hiding in plain sight.”

  She nodded. “I suppose.” With that, she tapped her heels to the mare’s flanks, and they continued on, the castle growing larger with each step they took. It was a monster, truly, one which she understood had originally been built as a fort to protect the northern border from those who wished to invade from Scotland.

  There was a delicious sort of irony in the situation, for it would now house a great threat to England. So long as the girls were successful, at least.

  “We shall have to find another place for them to cross,” he mused aloud. “I am certain they would attract a great deal of attention, a group of bonny lasses crossing the bridge all at once.”

  “Is that still all
you think of them? As a group of bonny lasses?”

  He sighed heavily. “Nay, I was thinking as a stranger would think. An Englishman, ye ken.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “Do ye still think so poorly of me that you would imagine me thinking of them that way after everything I have seen them do?”

  She shook her head. “No, naturally.”

  “Then why did ye say it? Be truthful with me, now. I believe I deserve that.”

  She snorted before understanding it was a mistake. There was no taking it back. “Oh, you do?”

  “Aye, I do. I did not have to come along with ye.”

  “No, you certainly did not.” She sounded cold, and she knew it, but perhaps that was for the best. She had become entirely too comfortable with him, and that needed to change. There needed to be a remembrance of who led this mission and who led her girls.

  To say nothing of who led her, since he seemed to have grown fond of her as of late. She did not wish for him to let his imagination run away with him, thinking himself more important to her than he was.

  “And if I had not, ye would have spent a night out-of-doors, in the rain. Alone.”

  She kept her gaze pointed straight ahead, unwilling to give in. This was for the best. She had grown entirely too fond of him, as well. There was no blaming the situation entirely on him. She had let her guard down and allowed closeness to develop on both sides.

  And there was no room for any such foolishness in her life. It was better they remember who they were to each other now. “I am certain I would have managed.” She sniffed as if it meant nothing.

  “Aye, I’m certain ye would have, as well. Perhaps I ought to go now so ye can finish this journey on your own.”

  “Perhaps you should.” Her insides tossed and turned like she was aboard a ship sailing through a squall. It pained her so to do this, which was why she knew it needed to be done. She had to rid herself of him before it was too late.

  He let out a growl that made the hair on her arms stand up. “What did I do to offend ye now? I have already explained what I meant—”