Betrayed (21 page)

Feeling feminine to her toes, Sarah darted away. “To the most important part. And I thought you were going to call me Lady Sarah.”

The look in his eyes turned absolutely sinful. “I've changed my mind. I do not wish for you to behave as a lady.”

Striving to appear aloof, Sarah presented him her profile. “Oh? How should I behave?”

“With complete abandon.”

Her face grew hot, and her heart pounded.

“Without inhibition.”

She gulped back apprehension.

“Lacking a speck of scruples.”

Anticipation buzzed in her ears.

“I'd have you naked in my bed, Sarah, and acting the wanton.”

“No.” The word lodged in her throat.

“Yes, well . . .” He turned her around and pulled her into his arms. When his mouth was a whisper away, he stopped. The invitation in his eyes held her captive.

“You watched me holding Sally today. The look in your eyes made me want to kiss you. Do you recall what you were thinking then?”

Every facet of his rugged good looks moved sharply into focus. On a breathless sigh, the truth spilled from her lips. “Yes.”

“Good.”

With the gentleness and confidence she'd come to know, he drew her to him and pressed his mouth to hers. She felt engulfed by his powerful form, sheltered and enlivened at once. Manliness, which he possessed
in abundance, called up the wanton he thought her to be. His hands explored, his mouth devoured, and as the last thread of her resistance stretched tightly between them, she could not summon a single argument to deny the blossoming love in her heart.

When he drew back, his face revealed an intensity of feeling and purpose that frightened her to her soul. Wishing other clever words were at her disposal, she chose a cowardly retreat. “What were we talking about?”

“As I recall, we were discussing the extent of your wantonness.”

The earthy comment triggered the stalwart in her, and she faced him squarely. “I haven't any of that, and you were speaking of hating the MacKenzies and speculating about loving me.”

In a lazy perusal, he studied her face and flushed neck. “Only to confuse you.”

“Why?”

“Because my dear womanly scholar, when you are befuddled, you forsake your promise to hate me.”

Her strength of will roared to life. She knotted her fists. “I have good cause.”

“You named the Elliots cave dwellers.”

“I do not deny it.”

“I heard you, but where is all of that reason and experience you've spent years delving into books to find? Where is the brave Sarah MacKenzie who trots out her brilliance and wit and wears them like badges of honor?”

“I meant the comment in the feudalistic sense. You speak of my misfortune as if it were a sport.”

“Sport?
Sport!”
He flung his arms into the air. “It's a damned bloody war you wage.”

His anger ignited her own. “It's my damned bloody freedom at stake. I must defend myself.”

He flung open the door. “Then I hope you and your freedom live happily ever after.”

“Where are you going?”

“To Fife. After bickering with you, I feel like mining coal with my bare hands.”

Caught off guard by the heartfelt admission, she followed him into the hall. “When will you return?”

“When you promise to sing hosannahs to my name.”

He was shouting, but she knew his anger had waned, for his shoulders were not so rigid and his stiff gait had settled into a familiar swagger.

“You'll be an old man by that time,” she shot back.

Without breaking stride, he continued down the hall. On a fake chuckle, he said, “Then I pray you find it in your heart to welcome a doddering graybeard.”

Much as she hated herself for it, she knew she'd miss him. “Then you
are
coming back?”

He turned, his body framed by sunlight and his features thrown into shadow. “Aye. And when I do, I expect you to arrange a meeting between me and your father.”

The authority in his voice drew her like flame to oil. “Why?”

“A tiresome question, Sarah, and one I've already addressed. I'll demand the dowry—for myself.
One
of the Elliots must make peace with
one
of the MacKenzies.”

Stillness settled over her, and she had difficulty speaking. “Shouldn't you first make peace with me?”

His devilish chuckle echoed in the narrow passageway. “Oh, we'll come to more than that, you and me,
if we don't break each other's spirits—or necks—in the process.”

“I will not write to my father.”

“Then I'll try to find him,” Michael said, far too amiably. “And as a reward for the delay, I'll receive a very interesting painting of you.”

The nude of Eve. Mary's ultimatum. “If my sister is so wicked, I insist that you bring that painting to me.”

“I'll be certain to do that.” He doffed his cockaded hat and swept a bow. “Someday.” Pivoting sharply, he walked into the sunshine, mounted her gelding, and rode away.

10

A
fter a fortnight in Fife, Michael entered Edinburgh with a passel of problems and a dearth of solutions. As the carriage passed through Queensgate, the busy sounds and ugly smells of the city welcomed him. When a procession of matching sedanchairs halted progress in High Street, he admitted that he'd missed this place. He'd missed the smartly attired gentry walking five paces ahead of practically dressed servants. He missed the church bells pealing the time of day. He missed the bickering between surly shop owners and slow carters.

And he missed Sarah. Thoughts of her greeted his mornings and bid farewell to his days.

A pair of overburdened coal wagons lumbered onto the crossroads. Michael viewed the cargo in a wholly different light. The sojourn in Fife had been more than a survey of the family holdings; it had been a return to the past. In the span of a day, the language of his youth had become as clear as English to his ears.

Only the problems had been foreign. The early
decline he'd seen as a lad had settled into a steady plunge toward destruction. Ancient moving machines wasted more coal than they harvested. Rusted barrows worked as sieves in hauling the coal to the surface. Leaky buckets brought scant water to higher ground. Colliers forced to stand to their ankles in frigid water had little heart for the job at hand.

Unhappy miners made for unhappier miners' wives. A bankrupt clergy dispensed sparse blessings for so many who were poor. But there were no orphans among the mining community, and no Sarah MacKenzie. Their last meeting flashed vividly in his mind, and the harmony of their laughter lingered with him.

To his surprise the next time he gazed at her face, her eyes glowed with banked passion, and she languished in the Garden of Eden.

*  *  *

In the newly renovated library of the customs house, Sarah slid the ladder to the center of the wall of bookshelves. The new mechanism squealed.

“I'll tell the carpenter,” Rose said, holding out a stack of leatherbound texts.

Sarah took the last of the 24 volumes of John Rushford's
Old Parliament History
and placed them beside Lord Edward Napier's
Introduction to Basic Science.

A mix-match of tables and chairs were spaced evenly down the center of the high-ceilinged room. The old world globe occupied a spot by the windows, which stood open to take advantage of the fine spring day. A new globe, naming all of the oceans as well as the continent of New Holland with its infamous
Botany Bay, held a place of honor in the upstairs schoolroom. The duchess of Ross had sent the new globe and enough money to buy braziers for every room.

Sarah had sent her stepmother a note of thanks for the gifts, but appreciation was not what Juliet MacKenzie wanted. She had entreated Sarah to send a word of forgiveness to Lachlan MacKenzie.

Sarah could not. Not yet.

“Lady Sarah!” Sally's head and shoulders popped into the window opening. “The general's come home.” The girl held up two fingers. “He's got five peoples with him.”

“Three people,” a male voice below her said.

“Three peoples.” She made fists of her tiny hands with only her index fingers showing. “Three peoples coming with the general.”

Henry? Sarah ground her teeth. She'd face him eventually, but she first had to come to terms with her feelings for his brother. Just the thought of seeing Michael again put a skip in her step and a smile in her heart.

“Whom has he brought?”

Boyishly dirty hands gripped the sill and Right Odd hoisted Sally higher. When his forehead and nose moved into view, he said, “They're strangers. Country folks, by the look of 'em. And Turnbull.”

“Wonder who the other two are?” Rose picked up the empty book box. “Shall I go see?”

“We'll both go. I'm sure Lord Michael has some questions.”

Sally and the Odd brother disappeared from view.

Rose rolled her eyes. “When he sees what you've
done 'round here, it'll be more than questions. He'll be praising you till hogmanay next.”

They had made great progress. The boys' dormitory had cots enough for all, with fresh mattresses and old but clean linen. Every room had a lamp and flintbox, and the barrel of oil in the cellar was hardly tapped.

Peg's heavy footfalls sounded in the hall. She called out, “They're steppin' out o' the carriage, my lady.”

After dusting off her hands and fluffing out the skirt of her dress, Sarah hurried outside.

Michael spoke to the driver. Turnbull stood beside a man who was handing a woman down from the carriage.

“Lady Sarah,” Michael said as he approached. “Please welcome John and Helen Lindsay. They're old friends from Fife.”

Past 40, but slender and fit, the couple stood shoulder to shoulder. Both were dressed in well-tailored garments, her dress of blue wool, his suit of parson's brown. Her thick straight hair had turned snowy white too early, giving the appearance that she was the eldest of the couple, but that was deceptive. Her husband was her senior in every way, and she looked very proud to be his wife. She carried an armload of heather.

“How nice to meet you, Lady Sarah. These are for you. The first of the year.” She slid her husband a wary glance. “ 'Twas kept in a pail of water all the way.”

John Lindsay frowned.

Michael said, “John believed it troublesome.”

“Thank you.” Sarah took the fragrant bundle and buried her nose in it. She thought of home and the
Highlands and the family that wasn't really hers. Biting back melancholy, she looked at Michael. His easy manner made her say the first thing that popped into her mind. “Did you think it troublesome?”

“Not in the least. As I told John, to put a smile on a woman's face is worth the bother.”

His smile was far too engaging. “Bother?” she said.

“ 'Twas no bother,” Helen insisted. “And if any man here has a speck remaining of his mother's good teachings, there'll be no more said of bothersome women.”

John's attention moved from the high window sills to the cleanly swept paving stones, but his mouth twitched with the urge to laugh.

Michael did laugh. “Come along, friends, and see your new home.”

Their home?
That was news to Sarah. Catching Michael's gaze, she said, “The Lindsays are orphans?”

Turnbull guffawed. John chuckled. Helen sneezed to cover her mirth. An unsmiling Michael yanked off his gloves and tossed them to Turnbull, who caught them against his chest. Rubbing his bare hands together, he moved close to Sarah and said, “Embarrassing moments will be repaid in kind.”

Completely disarmed of a meaningful comment, Sarah spun around and marched straight into Rose, who jumped back.

The air teemed with the fragrance of crushed heather. The smell inspired Sarah to silently vow to keep up her guard.

She handed the flowers to Rose, then changed her mind. “No. Wait. I'll put them in water. Michael will introduce you to the Lindsays.”