Stuart, Elizabeth (20 page)

Bewildered
and strangely disappointed by his abrupt ending of their play, Anne watched as
Francis walked to the water's edge and began stripping off his breeches.
Blushing at her own unmaidenly curiosity, she studied the picture he made,
muscles rippling along his hard body, poised against the backdrop of sand and
sea. The vision of his naked maleness branded itself across her memory. He was
beautiful—like some exquisite god about to command the sea to give up its
treasures. She blinked and he was gone, diving into the crest of a wave while
she watched anxiously for the reappearance of his dark head.

The
cold surge of water took his breath away, but it succeeded in cooling the hot
throbbing of Francis's blood. He swam hard against the current, working his
tense muscles, finally finding some relief from the tension within him in hard
physical exercise.

He
swam twenty minutes before leaving the icy water. The sea had refreshed him,
and he was once more in command of himself. Shaking the shining droplets from
his streaming body, he stepped back into his clothing and rejoined Anne beside
the shadowy jumble of rock.

"Ah...
that was good, lass," he said, a shake of his head making the water fly in
all directions. He dropped to his knees, pulling her roughly against him and
kissing her warm lips.

"Francis,
you taste of sea water!"

"And
so would you had you just been for a swim," he returned. "Wouldn't
you care for a dip? I promise it's most refreshing." Placing one arm under
her knees and the other behind her back, he swung her up into his arms and made
as if to carry her to the water.

"No,
Francis. No!" she protested laughingly. Placing a hand upon his chest, she
pushed against him. "I find your method of swimming too bold for me. Put
me down."

He
dropped the arm from about her knees, letting her body slide against the damp
length of his. His mouth caught hers in a smoldering kiss, reminding her how
quickly he could rouse that trembling excitement in her blood. Lifting his
head, he gazed down with a rakish grin. "Did I shock you, lass?"

The
vision of his nakedness bloomed in her mind, but there was nothing shameful in
it. "No," she whispered, made suddenly bold by the laughter in his
voice and the night shadows that hid her face from his. She grinned and ran a
teasing finger through the intriguing mat of hair on his chest. "To be
honest, I was admiring your figure."

He
raised an eyebrow at her answer, then smiled with a look that quickened her
pulses. "As I'd like to admire yours, lass, but I suppose it'll have to
wait."

With
a sigh, Francis picked up his shirt, slipping it over his head and lacing it
tightly as they walked the beach in search of their shoes. Fully clothed at
last, they left the beach reluctantly and climbed the path back to Camereigh.

Once
indoors again, Anne felt the cold slap of sanity with the closing of the door.
Head lowered in embarrassment, she hurried along the hallway ahead of Francis,
aghast at what had occurred upon the beach.

She
had offered herself to him—God forbid, she had even begged him to take her! She
had spoken her feelings aloud, yet no word of love or commitment had passed his
lips. She writhed inwardly. What must he think of her now!

Reaching
her chamber, Francis opened the door and ushered her inside. Unable to face him
in the light, Anne made a great task of removing her cloak and placing it in
the press. Seconds ticked by while she fiddled with her wrap. She felt his eyes
upon her, warm and curious. His hand caught her elbow. He turned her about, a
look of tender amusement warming his face. At his knowing expression, she
turned miserably away, a hot blush staining her cheeks.

"'Twas
a most interesting walk, lass. Mayhap we'll go for another soon," he
teased.

Keeping
her eyes downcast, she attempted to shift out of his grasp.

"Come,
Anne, don't get missish on me," he continued with a grin. "There's
naught to be ashamed of when a man and woman want each other. Tis the most
natural thing in the world."

"But
it's wrong, Francis," she murmured, still unable to meet his gaze. "I
don't know what madness overcame me that I didn't... didn't even stop to
think... about anything." She could not add that three simple words from
him would have made all right in her eyes.

"It's
a madness that happens to men and women sometimes if they're lucky," he
said with a chuckle. He placed a finger under her chin, forcing her head up to
study better her unhappy look. At her shamed expression the laughter drained
from his face and his voice sharpened. "You've not yet experienced the full
extent of that madness, sweet, but I tell you this: I'll not always be bound by
my word. I'm no gawking lad to be led about by a smile and the promise of a
kiss. I've more on my mind than that, and I'll make no pretense to the
contrary."

His
harsh tone reminded her of the ruthlessness she had glimpsed the day of
Charles's visit. Would he be that relentless in taking her? He wanted her, but
he had never said he loved her. Could she trust a man who changed so radically
in the blink of an eye? She pulled away from him, vowing silently that she'd
not blunder again so foolishly.

"Do
you think this feeling between us is wrong?" Francis questioned, visibly
angered by her withdrawal. "Is it because no words have been spoken over
us? No vows exchanged before the Kirk?" He snorted derisively. "Such
things are worthless in my eyes. If a man and woman care for each other, the
vows between them are the only ones that matter. Not a hundred churchmen can
bless the union of two who've not pledged themselves from their own hearts."

He
caught her arm, drawing her roughly against him. "You belong to me, Anne
Randall, and you have from the first. You feel that now, though you'll not yet
admit it for the truth."

Her
lips opened in angry protest, but his mouth swooped down, silencing her with a
kiss that burned away all reasonable thought. Despite her resolve to remain
cool to his touch, her arms slipped around his neck, drawing him closer, while
her body molded itself willingly to his. A million pleasurable sensations shot
through her at the taste and smell and feel of the man. She could no more deny
him than she could her need for breath.

Releasing
her reluctantly, Francis smiled. He traced her full lips with a gentle finger,
his face softening with a tender, unguarded look she had seldom seen. "I'm
the luckiest fool in all Scotland," he said huskily. "Some men search
a lifetime and never find the right woman—and I wasn't even looking when you
happened along."

She
pressed her cheek against his shirt. The faint odor of sea and sand clung to
it, reminding her of the pleasurable hour they had spent. Francis loved her;
she was sure of it. A contented sigh escaped her and she snuggled closer in his
arms. There was no shame in loving him. She was only sorry their time together
had been so short.

"I
think you have your answer, sweetheart," Francis said softly. "Here,
give me one last kiss and send me on my way, else neither of us will be fit to
match wits with Glenkennon on the morrow."

He
pressed a quick kiss upon her brow before striding purposefully toward the
hall. Turning in the doorway, he gave her a reassuring smile. "Don't fret,
Anne. I promise you'll have no cause to regret what's happened."

***

Francis
closed the door and hurried along the hallway, feeling as if his feet scarcely
touched the cold stones. He wanted to whistle and sing and shout out his
happiness to the world. Anne was his, and nothing would change it!

A
golden shaft of light spilling beneath his door brought him back to earth
abruptly. He had left no candle burning that evening. Pulling the familiar dirk
a few inches from its sheath, he placed his hand on the door, thrusting it
open. Three men sat at a table on the far side of the room. They looked up in
surprise as he paused, braced for action, on the threshold.

"It's
about time you brought yerself home, lad," one of the men said gruffly.
"We've searched the castle high and low fer ye, and now you saunter in as
if you'd just been ta take tea with Jamie Stuart hisself."

Francis
smiled at the impatience in the voice of Colen MacKenzie, an old ally and close
friend from the wilder reaches of land farther north. It was this uncouth laird
of Clan MacKenzie he had fostered with several years as a boy in the exchange
so common among the clans. With the MacKenzies he had learned the all-important
skills of raiding and fighting necessary to survival in the Highlands.

He
slipped his blade back into its sheath, surveying his rough visitor with a
grin. "I've been for a swim along the beach, man. 'Twas too pleasant an
evening to remain indoors." Francis held out his hand to Colen, then
nodded toward James MacKenzie beside him.

"'Tis
bad news we bear, Francis lad, and sorry it is I be the one ta tell it,"
Colen stated bluntly.

Francis
caught a chair and flipped it backward to straddle before the table.
"Well, out with it, man. I've been concerned since that cursed moon rose,
giving enough light to pick a man from a horse at a hundred paces."

"Glenkennon
outfoxed us, MacLean," James stated simply. "He never went near
Ginahea Castle. He swung northwest instead and is resting the night on Dunolly
Moor. He has enough men-at-arms about to garrison a large stronghold. 'Tis
impossible to get in to James Cameron, much less get out again."

"Are
Conall and the others safe at Ginahea?" Francis asked sharply.

"As
far as we know."

"It
seems you must abide by Glenkennon's terms after all," Colen put in,
"though it's loath I am to see you give up that ring in his nose you hold
in keeping the girl."

"I
don't plan to give her up."

James
MacKenzie leaned across the table. "MacLean, there's no way we could wrest
the Camerons from Glenkennon by force. He'd kill them in a minute if he sensed
a trick. You'll have to trade the girl if you want them back safely."

Francis
lifted his dirk, toying with it absently while his quick mind raced ahead,
formulating a new plan. "I don't mean we won't trade," he said with a
grim smile, "we'll just snatch her back later along the trail."

Colen
and Donald exchanged glances. "I've not told you the worst of the news,
laddie," Colen said wearily. He put a large paw on Francis's shoulder in
rough sympathy. "Glenkennon has petitioned the king for a writ of treason
against you using a tangle of lies and half-truths. And God knows Jamie sees a
traitor under every bed and basket since this cursed union took place." He
scowled darkly. "Chances are good that unnatural son will have you put to
the horn. It won't help yer cause if the earl can complain of another raid, and
he'd scream to high heaven if his daughter was involved again."

Stunned
by the unexpected news, Francis made no answer. He had been a fool not to
foresee Glenkennon's action. Still, the writ was seldom granted except against
the most dangerous of traitors. If passed, it would brand him a hopeless
outlaw, giving any man the right to kill him with impunity. His lands would be
forfeit to the king and put under the administration of the king's
representative in Scotland—Glenkennon himself in this instance. Camereigh would
be put to the torch, and no man would utter Francis's name on pain of death.

He
shook his head stubbornly. "Jamie Stuart won't do it. But if he does...
Randall can try and take me. I'll not give her up!"

"Christ's
blood, man, are ye daft?" Colen exploded. "I dinna believe Donald
when he warned us you were caught in the girl's net. 'Not Francis MacLean, of
all men,' I said. I've seen good men ruined by the lure of a pretty face, but
never did I think ta find you caught in that trap! Ach, man, there be plenty of
other winsome faces and willing bodies to warm yer bed at night. Forget her!
You'll find another soon enough."

In
a flash the gleaming blade that had lain so innocently between Francis's
fingers quivered upright, buried an inch deep in the center of the oak table.
He turned toward Colen, his eyes narrowed and cold. "I'll not allow such
talk from any man, Colen MacKenzie... not even yourself." He pushed his
chair back from the table and surveyed the surprised man coldly. "I plan
to make the girl my wife."

Colen's
eyes opened wide in obvious dismay. His mouth snapped shut, and the muscles of
his throat tightened visibly as he swallowed his surprise. "Now, Francis,
lad, you know I mean no harm," he said hurriedly. "I dinna know that
was the way of it. I apologize for my witless outburst, but by God, man, think
on what you're about! I look upon you as one of my own, lad. I'd never forgive
myself an I made no move to prevent yer seeking out disaster!"

Francis
took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. "Ah, Colen, forgive me...
I know you're concerned." He grinned. "I am, too, but I must do as I
think best."

James
MacKenzie leaned forward. "Francis, listen to me. You may not care for
your safety or even the danger to your clan, but have you thought of the effect
this may have on the girl? If you marry her in Glenkennon's teeth, do you
really think he'll ever let you be? He'll hound you to all the corners of hell
until he brings you to ground and has your blood. Is that the kind of life you
want for her and for your sons? You'll have to drag them with you as you run,
or else leave them to fall back to Glenkennon... and then, what in God's name
did you accomplish in the first place? Think on it, man!"