Choosing the Highlander (21 page)

He touched her hair, stroked it behind her ear and ran his fingers through it. The rush of adrenaline from the attack followed by history’s best make-out session had left her feeling wrung out. They might be set upon by wolves at any moment, but as she rested her cheek on Wilhelm’s chest, she longed to stay like this just a bit longer.

She’d never been within nuzzling distance of a chest like Wilhelm’s before. With skin the color of Ivory soap and muscles to put any buff beefcake to shame, his chest was simply irresistible. A light dusting of blond hair fanned over his pecs and tickled at her cheek. A little searching with her tongue and she could probably find his nipple. It would be hard in this cold weather.

Don’t do it, Connie girl. You’d be starting something you can’t finish.
 

She couldn’t act on it, but the lust was there, and it was powerful. Add to their physical attraction the qualities of the man himself—his mind, his passion for justice and truth—and it was like he’d been engineered for her and her alone.

His voice close and quiet, he said, “A berserker is a warrior possessed with purpose. Some say he is gifted by the gods or imbued with magic. Fate favors him and propels him toward victory.”

“Magic, huh?” She closed her eyes and relaxed into Wilhelm’s petting. Her mind was only half on the conversation. The other half was reeling at the realization that she was becoming dangerously attached to him. Every hour she spent in this time would make their eventual parting more painful.

But she wasn’t leaving yet. She’d be a fool not to enjoy him while she could, come what may.

“You strike me as far too practical to believe in magic,” she slurred, body and mind reveling in the moment.

“You are correct. I do not abide such nonsense. I fight well because I train hard. I train hard so I may defend those I love.” He tilted up her chin to give her a significant look.

He was telling her he loved her.

She’d known that already, but the words gave her a thrill. Then the rest of what he’d said sank in. “You don’t believe in magic?”

“No,” he stated with the finality of a door closing.

Her heart dropped. The wintry air seeped through her clothes and chilled her to the bone. If Wilhelm didn’t believe in magic, she could never tell him the truth about where she’d come from. He would think her insane.

Suddenly feeling very alone, she stepped away from him. “Better get dressed,” she said, turning to Justice. “You’ll catch a cold with all that skin exposed.” After pulling on her backpack, she placed her foot in the stirrup and mounted, refusing to watch the play of muscles under his skin as he slipped his arms into his shirt and pourpoint.

Leaving Wilhelm to dress himself, she aimed her temporary mount toward the beach. Intimacy with Wilhelm was out of the question, which meant she had better keep her distance from him. And she’d better keep her old-fashioned undergarments on around him. She only hoped they weren’t too badly torn.

Chapter 18

Somat about the sight of Constance on the back of his warhorse stirred Wilhelm’s pride and lust in equal measure. Never had he allowed another to ride the gelding he’d trained with since he was a lad, not even Terran. Yet somehow it seemed right she should share his trusted mount. It seemed right she should share everything he owned.

Normally, he would loathe a wintertime journey; the cold, ever his nemesis, would occupy his attention the entire way. But not this time. Having Constance with him filled him with warmth and appreciation for these rugged lands. He saw them as if for the first time, wondering how similar or different Scotia was from her homeland.

Red willow bushes, black firs, and white birches lined the southern branch of the River Spey, which they would follow all the way to the MacPherson lands. There, they would turn due north and ride straight to Inverness.

During the afternoon, the gray-white clouds rolled back to reveal a sky as blue as the silks his father liked to buy for his mother on special occasions. Yellow moss and green and purple plants splashed color along the sides of the muddied trail, but the best hues of all were those winking at him from Constance’s hair as she rode several paces ahead. He had never seen her in sunshine before. It was like seeing
her
for the first time.

In sunlight, her hair shone with copper and gold, lending a blonde caste to her auburn locks, where as in darkness, it teased the eye with the same burgundy as his clan’s tartan. Yet again, in the mist, it appeared a dun as soft and sleek as the coat of a doe. Just like her eyes, her hair didn’t ken which color to be, but every shade intrigued him.

What would her eyes look like in golden daylight? When the trail widened, he urged Honesty alongside Justice so he could look his fill.

She didn’t protest his presence as he came within knee-bumping distance of her, but nor did she acknowledge him, except by a straightening of her posture and a lifting of her chin. This was not a surprise, merely a challenge he intended to overcome.

His lady had withdrawn again. Back at the loch, she’d reveled in his petting and soft words, his tame kitten. Then she’d becoming the elusive tigress, almost without warning.

’Twas the mention of magic that put a swift end to her affections, or more specifically, his admitting that he did not believe in such nonsense. Interesting, since he’d sensed the truth of her denial when Ruthven had accused her of being a witch.

Not that it mattered much to him. Witch or no, she was his now, and he kent in his heart of hearts she wouldn’t hurt a fly, unless mayhap that fly was pestering a person she loved. Then,
och,
that fly would be better off facing a horde of rabid ants than the wrath of his intrepid lady.

This was not the first time she had withdrawn from him after accepting some affection. Yesterday, declaring his intent to wed her had caused a similar reaction. Through her silences, he learned more about her than she revealed with her words. Soon, he would have the puzzle of her solved.

Unfortunately, he had the feeling he was running out of time. Each time she withdrew, he felt the unmistakable truth of it. She was not playing coy, his lady. For reasons she would not confide in him, she honestly believed they could not make a life together.

This would not do.

Not only because he wanted her with a ferocity he’d never before experienced, but also because she wanted him just as badly. That too was a truth that shivered all around her every time she turned her gaze his way.

“Let us rehearse what we will say once Kenrick finds us a magistrate,” he said, kenning she would talk with him if the topic was somat other than the barriers to their love.

She looked at him then, and her eyes caught the sun like raw gold in a blue-green pool. Truly, she had eyes of every color. Never had he seen beauty like her eyes, not in any living or manmade thing.

“I thought we were going to give testimony to clear your name. I was planning on telling the truth: That bastard Ruthven ordered me burned at the stake without justification and without giving me a chance to speak for myself. Worse, he ordered Aifric’s execution claiming she had fornicated.” She scoffed. “We both know Ruthven is Anice’s biological father.”

His heart skipped a beat at the victory of luring her into conversation, but anger welled in his chest at her confirmation of what he and Terran had feared. “She confided this to you?”

“No.” Her voice softened, and her shoulders relaxed. The lass adored the pair of them, Aifric and Anice. “But I gathered as much from some of the things she did tell me. Did you know Ruthven himself came to take her away from her parents when her pregnancy began showing and the gossip started? He came alone at night and threatened her parents with harm if they breathed a word of it to anyone.”

He grunted. This did not surprise him.

“He put her in his dungeon, and she remained there until that night. No daylight, no bed. Only bread and water to eat for months. Makes me sick. I want that man to suffer everything he put her through and then some.”

Wilhelm sighed, his heart heavy. He wanted that as well. But… “The truth is always a good place to begin. However, we must remember that Ruthven’s influence spreads far and wide. ’Tis not certain we’ll find a magistrate who isna in the baron’s pocket. We would be wise to take this into consideration and adjust our testimony to bring minimum offense. The goal is, as you said, to clear my name and Terran’s of the specific charges Ruthven named: interfering with a necessary spirit purging and attacking a member of the clergy. Our testimony must speak to those issues while avoiding openly opposition to Ruthven himself.”

Constance’s tongue poked at the inside of her cheek while her eyes bored into the space in front of her. The woman was stewing.

“You doona agree, I surmise.”

“No. I
doona,
” she said. “I thought you cared about justice. If anyone deserves to meet the business end of the law, it’s that…that…”

“Wretch, toad boil, pig’s arse?”

A flicker of a smile curved her lips, but they remained pursed.

Quietly, he admitted, “I would relish the chance to skewer that fiend on the very law he manipulates for his own advantage. But I canna bring justice against men like Ruthven and incite the kind of change I wish, the kind that shall make Scotia a more just place for all.”

“Why can’t you? For that matter, why can’t you skewer him on your sword? If anyone deserves it, that man does.”

“Respectable men of parliament meet their enemies pen for pen instead of sword for sword. They battle within the bounds of the law, as proscribed by the crown. As in warfare where one man might have an advantage of size or strength, certain political foes have influential allies. Ruthven happens to have many. It would take an outlaw to put him in his place, and I am not an outlaw.” He winced. “At least, I shan’t be much longer if all goes well in Inverness.”

She was quiet for a while. At last, she said, “I think you’re more of an outlaw than you give yourself credit for.” Her eyes twinkled when she looked his way. “You went outside of the law to recue me and Aifric, and you did it in front of a whole gaggle of powerful men. You were very courageous and honorable to do that.”

She eviscerated him with her praise.

“Mayhap. I have no regrets, lass, but by opposing Ruthven so publicly, I forfeited the right to bring my father’s judicial act before parliament. I may very well have forfeited my inheritance as well. Morally, Ruthven was in the wrong, but the crown is on his side because of the pockets he has lined and the alliances he has struck.”

Constance’s jaw tightened. “That’s not justice. You shouldn’t stand for it.”

“I have no choice.”

“I disagree.” Her voice trembled with conviction. His truth sense flared. Her bravery and thirst for justice knew no end. How he wanted this woman!

“You are a disagreeable woman, my Constant Rose.”

She would not look at him again, even though his teasing had been meant to bring out another of her rare smiles. Instead, she looked straight ahead, her attention focused inward.

What manner of trouble follows you, lass? Why will you not trust me with it?
He wanted to ask. He wanted to learn everything about her. He wanted to
know
her intimately, not just her mind but her body as well. His reasons for waiting to bed her fell away with every step toward Inverness.

Uncertainty awaited them. He would do all in his power to reclaim his freedom, but should he fail, he faced separation from his beloved lady, either due to imprisonment or death.

Should the accusations against him stand, he had wished to spare her the dishonor of being wed to a criminal, but he’d failed to ask himself what would become of her then. If he did not take her as his bride, another man would, either a man from Scotia or from her homeland, to which she was so eager to return. This knowledge would destroy him, unless he could be sure her husband would be a good and decent man and one who was worthy of her.

The only way to ensure that to his satisfaction would be to claim her now. Decisively. Permanently, in the way of his ancestors in the absence of an officiator or chieftain. Then, if a magistrate’s judgment went against him, he could rest in the knowledge his mother and father would care for her.

If he lost his life as a result of rescuing her and Aifric, he would go kenning his parents would look after her as their own daughter. They would see her wed to an honorable member of their clan, mayhap even a man she could someday trust with her secrets and would take her to her clan so she could slay whatever demons chased her if need be. If he could not be that man, he wanted her to have every opportunity to find him.

Wilhelm refused to trust her safety to chance. If he failed to bind her to him on this journey, he would possibly be doing just that.

Yesterday, it had seemed chivalrous to wait to claim her. Today, it seemed like foolishness to let another night pass without showing her the full measure of what he felt for her.

#

Sometimes in winter, the wind would scrape across Lake Michigan and come up against the city like a shotgun blast of numbing air. Though there wouldn’t be any precipitation, Connie would feel the frozen moisture in the atmosphere like needles stabbing every inch of her exposed skin.

The trick to staying warm in the wind tunnels formed by Chicago’s downtown was not to leave any skin exposed. This was her strategy tonight since the sun had taken with it what little warmth she’d enjoyed that day when it dipped below the horizon.

The cloak Anselm had given her wasn’t very thick, but it was made of wool. This made it surprisingly good at trapping in her body heat. It was also large enough she could wrap it around herself and her backpack and still have enough left over to tuck it securely beneath one arm. Thanks to the thinness of the fabric, she could hold the reins through the cloak, keeping her hands from freezing. Between the cloak, her dress, which was also made of wool, and the undergarments that had survived the wolf attack with only a minimal tear, she found the cold more than manageable.