Stuart, Elizabeth (45 page)

Anne
shoved back her sleeves and scooped the cold water onto her face again, hoping
it would revive her. She needed to keep her wits about her. Francis would be
wondering at the change in her behavior, and she had to come up with a
plausible tale.

Wiping
her wet arms against her shirt, she drew her sleeves down and moved toward the
table. She seated herself in the empty chair, ignoring his frowning scrutiny.
"What will we do for food once this is gone?" she asked.

"I've
snares in the chest there," he said heavily. "After the meal I'll see
what can be caught by the burn."

They
split the food between them, washing it down with the remainder of the water he
had brought in. An awkward silence settled between them, and she sent him a
furtive glance. What would he do if she just blurted the truth? Francis knew
Campbell; hadn't he warned her about him that day at the loch? He would realize
she was not to blame. Perhaps he would even understand.

She
stared miserably at her hands. He would understand all right, but no man could
ever forgive or forget such an insult. Every time he looked at her, every time
he touched her, he would remember what Campbell had done—and he'd never rest until
the man was dead.

No,
she could not tell him the truth, but she had to tell him something. He
deserved to know that she could no longer wed him, that she would not be
returning to Camereigh.

She
cleared her throat and raised her eyes to his. "I've something to say to
you, Francis."

Relief
relaxed the taut muscles of his face. "Thank God, lass. You've had me half
out of my wits wondering at the change in you."

She
took a deep breath and plunged in. "I've decided to go to my uncle at
Brise Hall. I've no desire to return to Camereigh with you." She dropped
her eyes, toying nervously with the frayed cord about her waist. "I've
decided I don't want to marry you after all. You may well be angry, but I've
changed my mind."

His
eyes narrowed in surprise, but he only folded his arms across his chest and
leaned back in his chair. "I see. Then why did you run from Ranleigh if
you planned to be Campbell's bride, lass?"

Her
eyes flew to his. "What?"

"Do
you think you can talk Glenkennon out of the plan when he comes for you?"

"He...
he won't discover my whereabouts for months," she stammered. "By that
time I'll be on my way to England—or maybe France. I hate Scotland," she
finished miserably. "I want to go home!"

"Glenkennon
will know your position within a fortnight at most. Would you have Ian and his
family punished for harboring you?"

She
stared at him in consternation. She'd not considered the consequences to the
MacDonnells; she had been too busy trying to keep Francis out of the tangle.

He
put his elbows on the table and leaned toward her. "You'll return to
Camereigh with me as we planned," he said firmly. "I'd not serve Ian
such a trick as to drop you at his gates now. Camereigh's a well-fortified
stronghold that can hold out indefinitely, but Glenkennon could destroy Brise
Hall in an afternoon."

He
rose and moved around the table. Catching her arms, he dragged her to her feet.
"What is it, Anne? Do you trust me so little you can't tell me the
truth?"

His
eyes were filled with warmth and understanding; his powerful hands lay gently
on her shoulders. Why did he have to look so tender now, she thought
unsteadily, now when he was lost to her forever?

He
bent his head slowly toward hers, and a sudden longing for the warm comfort of
his embrace surged inside her. just once more, she thought desperately, closing
her eyes and lifting her face shyly to his. Just once more to feel his arms
about her...

His
lips brushed hers, then returned for a long, pleasurable, undemanding kiss. His
hands slid along her spine to the small of her back, caressing her weary
muscles and drawing her comfortingly against him.

Forgetting
all the throbbing pain and worry of the last two days, she melted against him.
Her arms crept about his neck, her fingers tangling in his thickly curling
hair.

Francis
shifted his hold to mold Anne closer against him, all his senses reeling with
the feel of her in his arms. He drank in the wild, hot sweetness of her kiss,
his body throbbing with a desire he would soon quench. He fumbled with her
shirt, his fingers finally rewarded by the feel of the silken flesh of her
waist. One hand slid up to cup the outer swell of her breast, but as he touched
her, she cried out and jerked away.

"Don't!"
she gasped. "Don't touch me!"

"What
in God's name!" He stared down at her in mingled surprise and confusion.
One minute she was the sensual, willing temptress he longed to possess, and the
next she was gazing at him as if she were terrified. "Anne, what is
it?"

"I
told you, I changed my mind. I don't want to marry you!"

"Damn
it, lass!" he exploded. "You're the most changeable woman I've met in
my lifetime. Is that the way you kiss a man you've no wish to wed? God's blood,
I've put up with this foolishness long enough!"

"I'm
not going to Camereigh with you," she choked. "You can't make me
marry you."

Her
words cut him to the quick. Resting his hands on his hips, he surveyed her
coldly. "You'll ride to Camereigh, Anne, for you've no other choice. But
as for a wedding, I won't force you if you're dead set against it. I'll not
have a reluctant wife."

His
eyes narrowed and he took a step toward her. "But I'll have you, Anne.
It's a thing that's been between us from the first, and you want it as much as
I, despite your words just now. I'll have you with a wedding or without, lass.
The choice is up to you."

Her
eyes were large as saucers in the pale oval of her face. As he glared at her,
they clouded with frightened tears.

"Sweet
Jesus!" he swore, goaded almost beyond bearing. "Anne, for God's
sake, you know me better than this!" He caught her trembling form and
crushed her against him. "You know I'd not force you, sweetheart," he
whispered. "Hush, hush, love. You've nothing to fear."

He
held her quivering body, staring over her shoulder in perplexity. "I'll be
damned if I know what you want of me, Anne. You blow hot and cold a dozen times
a week, but you lie when you say you want no part of me."

Taking
her arm gently, he pushed her sleeve back, exposing the ugly bruises that
exactly fitted the span of a man's hand. His troubled eyes searched her face.
"What of this, Anne? I saw it when you were washing. Does this have
anything to do with your change of heart?"

She
returned his stare bleakly. "Let me be, Francis," she whispered.
"For God's sake, just let me be!"

He
drew a deep breath and dropped her arm. "Very well, lass. I'll not press
you further about anything. When you're ready to tell me what's troubling you,
I'll be here."

Turning
wearily, he crossed the floor to the rickety chest, kneeling to search its
contents. "I'm going to the burn to see what can be had for dinner. We're
like to get hungry if luck's not with me this afternoon."

He
drew out two musty blankets and tossed them to her. "Hang these outside to
air. We'll have need of them once the evening chill comes on."

She
nodded, still struggling desperately to hold back the choking tears.

"I'll
be back before dark, lass. Don't fret," he said softly.

Hugging
the blankets miserably to her chest, Anne watched his broad shoulders disappear
through the low doorway. What she had done was unforgivable. She had encouraged
him to kiss her after declaring she'd no wish to wed him. Small wonder he was
angry. Francis must think her the most fickle creature alive!

She
sighed heavily and shook her head. She had never been able to control her
response to his touch. For a few wonderful moments, he had even made her forget
Percy Campbell.

Anne
walked out of the hut and flung the blankets over a low-growing birch limb,
staring longingly in the direction Francis had taken. He loved her, wanted her.
Would it be the same with him as it had been with Campbell?

But
Francis would no longer want her if he knew the truth, she reminded herself
grimly. No man would. And he must never, never know! She closed her eyes,
wondering how she would endure these next few days... and nights.

Francis
moved slowly along the rushing burn, studying the bracken-choked banks for any
sign of game. Hoping to catch one of the large marsh hares so plentiful in the
area, he carefully set two snares. Despite his attempt to concentrate on the
job at hand, his thoughts turned back to Anne, as he searched his mind for an
explanation for her behavior. Not for a minute did he believe her excuse of a
change of heart.

He
smiled to himself. She had kissed him like the old Anne. He could still feel
the warmth of her soft lips, of her arms clinging tightly about his neck. But
she had torn herself from his arms when he touched her. His forehead creased in
a puzzled frown. There had been genuine fear in her eyes. But what had he done?

He
wandered down the stream, finally sinking his net at the foot of a narrow rapid
where the clear water eddied into a quiet pool. There would be trout for dinner
tonight if his luck there were as good as usual.

With
the snares laid and the net carefully placed, there was little to do but wait.
Francis leaned back against the rough trunk of a stunted oak, reviewing
everything Anne had said, everything she had done since he had stumbled across
her last night.

She
had been frightened—frightened enough to flee Ranleigh alone after dark. And
she was afraid of him. He saw it in her eyes, in the way she shied away from
his touch. And those marks on her face and arm...

The
realization hit him like a powerful fist ramming into his belly and robbing him
of the power of breath. Closing his eyes, he sank to his knees in the grass.
"Campbell," he whispered between clenched teeth. "Mother of God,
it's Campbell!"

Balling
his hands into fists, he pressed them tightly against his closed lids, trying
to block out the image of Anne in Campbell's arms. The bitter taste of hatred
choked him, and his insides churned with disgust. Anne—his Anne—in that
bastard's hands.

It
was the only explanation that made sense. He drew a deep breath, fighting the
unreasoning rage that consumed him. Campbell had beaten her. That would account
for the ugly bruises she carried. And after raping her, he would have been
assured a quick wedding. Glenkennon would have raised little outcry, he would
have been delighted at the chance to demand more gold in reparation. Between
the two of them Anne would have been helpless —reason enough for her foolhardy
flight. And it would account for her fear—for her surprising aversion to his
touch.

He
struck the hard ground with his clenched fist, blaming himself for not
murdering Campbell long before. He would kill the bastard now, he promised
himself, enjoying the thought of driving his sword through Campbell's stiff
body. Never had he felt such a consuming hatred. It sang through his veins and
conjured thoughts of various slow methods by which to exact retribution before
granting Campbell the deliverance of death.

But
what now? Francis rocked back on his heels and stared blindly into the laughing
waters of the burn. What could he do for Anne now? His heart ached for her, for
the misery and fear she must have been feeling.

She
had told him she could not marry him. He groaned aloud. She must have been
frightened half to death, especially after his outburst that afternoon. He was
going to have to go back and... and what? He had no idea how to comfort her,
how to erase the shame and hurt.

He
stared helplessly at his fists, still clenched in his lap. He slowly uncurled
his fingers and drew a steady breath. Nothing in his past wide experience had
prepared him to deal with such a thing. He could not rout Anne's fear with
strength or bravery. Oh, he would take care of Campbell; he would silence that
sneering mouth forever. But that would not help Anne.

Dragging
himself to his feet, Francis noticed for the first time how low the sun had
dropped. He checked his net, taking up a large wriggling trout with little
satisfaction. Despite his earlier hunger, he could not even think of trying to
eat. Moving quickly up the bank, he checked his snares in the fading light.
Luck had been with him, for one of the traps held a large brown hare.

He
reset the trap, then walked slowly back to the hut, pausing to compose his
features before ducking into the sturdy structure. He would not ask Anne any
questions, would not push her in any way. She had to tell him the truth in her
own time.

Anne
glanced up in relief as Francis's broad-shouldered frame blocked the fading
light from the narrow doorway. He tossed his catch onto the floor in the
corner. "I was lucky," he said lightly. "We can cook enough meat
tonight to last into tomorrow. I'll not risk lighting a fire by day. The smoke
might be seen for miles."