Her Outlaw (9 page)

He’d wager a guess that her family didn’t have a clue about the real Emma, either.

The two men stood scowling after the McBride sisters until finally, Jake said, “I need a drink.”

“Excellent idea.”

Inside the house, Jake led the way up to the second floor heading for his study. The route took the men past some of Chatham Park’s collection rooms, and as they walked by the Scottish-theme drawing room, Dair sensed a pull. “Whiskey, I think, Jake.”

“Yeah. Good choice.”

The selection of Highland malts from which to choose was enough to make a whiskey afficionado swoon before he even opened a bottle. With his headache beginning to strengthen, Dair poured the most accessible—a twenty-year-old blend from Skye. While the liquor wouldn’t make his headache go away, it did serve to numb the pain somewhat. While he refused to utilize such a crutch on a regular basis, sometimes he hadn’t the will to resist. Now was one of those times. Between the ache in his head and the one in his groin, he was in desperate straits.

Dair’s gaze drifted over the contents of the room. Framed battle maps. Tartans and clan maps. The nameplate beside an ivory compass claimed the item once belonged to Charles Edward Stuart. He focused on a collection of Highland brooches, upon one enameled silver piece in particular, and a memory stirred. A glowing ruby between two perfect breasts. “Like Gaelic, but different.”

Still in the process of choosing his whiskey, Jake glanced over his shoulder. “What?”

Dair hesitated, strangely reluctant to talk about Emma’s engraved ruby. Yet at the same time, he sensed he needed to know every possible detail about the McBride sisters’ necklaces. “That emerald you carry around…where did you get it?”

Jake winced.

“It’s Kat McBride’s, isn’t it?”

“No!”

After Dair arched a challenging brow, Jake sighed. “All right, it used to be Kat’s. Now it’s mine.”

He relayed a wild story about hiding beneath the woman’s bed while she gave birth. But it was the reason he’d gone to so much trouble that intrigued Dair the most. “You dreamed about that necklace?”

“I did. On that mountain in Tibet when Daniel disappeared. I know it’s crazy, but I think…maybe…hell.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the emerald necklace. “What if this necklace can help me find my brother?”

Dair scowled at the pendant. “Emma has one just like it. A ruby necklace.”

“I know. Their sister Mari’s is sapphire.”

Dair held out his hand, wordlessly asking to hold the jewel. He’d noted on more than one occasion the particular care Jake took with his talisman, so he wasn’t overly surprised when his friend took a moment to hand the piece over.

It was the same sort of feeling he’d had when he let Emma’s ruby go.

Wishing he had his jeweler’s loupe with him, Dair studied the emerald closely. He’d never seen engraving on an emerald, but there was a first time for everything. The stone’s surface appeared smooth, however, even after he closed his fist around the pendant and warmed the stone for a minute or two.

“What are you looking for?” Jake asked.

“I’m not sure.” He handed the emerald back to Jake. “Do you know where the sisters got their necklaces?”

“A fortune-teller.”

Dair’s pulse accelerated. “A gypsy?”

“Actually, no. I investigated the incident when I was in Fort Worth. The McBrides claimed a Scotswoman gave them the pendants. Roslin of Strathardle.”

Dair damned near dropped his whiskey. “Roslin? From Strathardle?”

“You know the woman?”

“It’s a coincidence,” he murmured, his mind spinning. “My mother…”

Jake pinned him with an intense look. “I thought she died when you were a child.”

“I was six.” Dair’s mind raced. A man in his line of work knew better than to trust coincidence, but how else to explain this? “Her name was Roslin, but it’s even more strange, Jake. My mother grew up in Strathardle Glen.”

Jake took a moment to digest that, his thoughts mirrored in his expression. Amazement. Wariness. Confusion. Speculation. “My dream. Now this. There is something peculiar about those necklaces.”

Dair nodded and took a long sip of his drink. How did this necklace development affect his plans for Emma and the orphanage? “Emma’s ruby is carved with words and a symbol. They’re familiar to me, but I can’t place from where.”

Jake rubbed the back of his neck. “If I can’t convince Kat to marry me, she and Emma will leave tomorrow.”

“You need to convince her.”

“I don’t know. If you’d have seen her…being around little ones rips her to pieces. She might not be good for the children because of it.”

“Emma thinks Kat would be fine if she faced her fears and dealt with this aversion she has to children.”

“That may be, but I don’t know that I can risk it. The last thing I want is for the children to get attached to Kat, then her to leave them. They’ve had enough loss in their lives.”

Dair recognized that Jake was ignoring his own place in the equation, at least for now. He knew the man well enough to feel secure that he’d work his way around to putting the children before his brother’s ghost eventually. In the end, Jake always did the right thing. Sometimes it simply took him awhile.

In this instance, time worked against Dair. “I can’t let Emma leave, not until I settle my questions about her necklace.”

“How do you intend to do that?”

Dair considered the question. He needed to do more than simply sit around waiting for his brain to make the connection, but what? What would help? Who would help?

Angus Fraser? The Highland Riever’s man in London might be able to shed some light on the mystery, but he’d left the city and Dair didn’t know when he planned to return. Maybe he should travel to Strathardle himself and snoop around some, see what he could discover. Except, he wouldn’t know what he was looking for. He needed a little history as background.

History. That’s it. “Robbie Potter.”

“Who’s Robbie Potter?” Jake asked.

“He owns a bookshop in Edinburgh.” Occasionally, he did some trading for the Riever, but Jake didn’t need to know that. “The man is a historian, an expert on clan history. Knows something of ancient languages, too. If he doesn’t have the answers I need, he’ll be able to tell me where to look.”

“So you’ll return to Scotland?”

A little earlier than he’d planned, but…yes. “I think I should.”

“With the necklace?”

Dair considered the question. A description might not be enough for Robbie, and besides, his gut was telling him not to let the jewel out of his sight. “Yes.”

“Hmm…” Jake twirled the chain of Kat McBride’s emerald necklace and asked in a casual tone, “So, how do you intend to do that? You gonna take Emma with you?”

Dair considered the question. He couldn’t know what he’d find or where any information he learned might lead him. Having a woman tagging along would complicate matters considerably. Travel accommodations were but one example. Since the headaches sometimes left him incapacitated, he preferred to travel in private. He’d take a coach to Scotland rather than the train, and if he took Emma with him, how could he explain traveling in separate coaches?

However, leaving Chatham Park with her prized possession in his pocket meant abandoning his plan to gain her agreement to become the director of the orphanage. He hated to do that.

He visualized the stone, the carvings. Every instinct he possessed told him there was something special about them. Something important.

Something that, in the long run, might prove more useful to the orphanage than having Emma Tate as its director.

“It would be simpler just to steal it,” Dair decided.

Jake nodded sagely. “Stealing worked for me, although I’ll caution you against hiding under her bed during the process. Those ended up being some of the most uncomfortable hours of my life. Made me happy I was born a man. That’s as close to childbirth as I ever want to get.”

Dair considered his interlude with Emma in the maze, then grinned wryly. “I have no intention of hiding beneath the woman’s bed. I trust I can get the job done while on top of it.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“H
ELLO
, C
INDERELLA
,” E
MMA SAID
to her reflection in the mirror in the ladies’ retiring room at Chatham Park. Her eyes sparkled, her cheeks glowed, and her lips simply couldn’t quit smiling. She was having the time of her life.

The most dashing, handsome, exciting man in England had danced attendance on her all evening and now as the clock approached midnight, she halfway expected to find the leather slippers on her feet had turned to glass.

But no, her shoes weren’t glass and she wasn’t Cinderella. Tonight, she was Emma. Emma the adventuress. Be hanged if she’d run away from the ball when the clock bells tolled.

Kat could just whinny and whine all she wanted, but Emma wasn’t listening. Not tonight. Tonight was
her
turn. For once, she intended to put herself first. Kat could like it or lump it.

Emma needn’t feel guilty about it either. Hadn’t Mari told her to quit catering to Kat so much? Hadn’t she advised her to put herself first for a change, to pay attention to her own needs? Her own life? Well, tonight was her own night.

For this one night, Kat could hold her own hand, complain about Kimball to her reflection in the mirror. Emma refused to play the wallflower tonight. A handsome rake of a man was paying her attention, and she intended to bask in the glory of it.

Dair MacRae waited for her. With his dangerous air and his daring smile, he called to everything wicked and wanton that had been buried inside Emma for a decade. For a single night here at Chatham Park, far away from her family—most of them, anyway—Emma could be free. Free of her past. Free of present obligations. Free of future expectations. For one little moment in time, Emma could be free to be herself.

Dair waited for her in the hallway. He leaned with one shoulder propped against a curio cabinet, his arms crossed, the intensity in his gaze belying his casual stance. Emma glanced around. The sound of music drifted from the ballroom. Candlelight cast flickering shadows on the wall. They were alone. “Are you tired of dancing?”

He straightened away from the cabinet, those mesmerizing eyes focused totally on her, his face all angles and planes in the soft light. His gaze slowly swept over her, then fastened on her mouth. “I want to be alone with you, Emma. Will you come to my rooms with me?”

There it was, the proposition she’d been expecting ever since he’d told her in the maze that their interlude was only interrupted and not finished. Emma’s stomach fluttered. Could she do this? Did she dare?

“I’ll warn you that I intend to lock the door,” he continued. “We shall not respond to any knocks nor heed any demands to show ourselves until we’re good and ready. In other words, Emma, if your sister has need of you tonight, she’ll have to wait in line behind me.”

He needed her. When was the last time she’d been needed by a man? “I doubt Kat will come knocking. She only searched for me earlier to tell me about our grandmother’s latest marital escapade.”

Dair took her hand and brought it to his lips. The man certainly had a fondness for hand kissing. “Jake tells me your grandmother is somewhat of a scandal.”

“Yes. Monique ran off with a man. Again. She’s done it periodically for years. She calls it remarrying, but there’s never a clergyman involved.”

“You admire her. I hear it in your tone.”

Emma considered it. “I do. My grandmother loves life. She
lives
life. She squeezes every bit of happiness and joy she can manage from every single minute she has. I didn’t understand just how important that is when I was younger, but now I do. That’s what I want—to live my life in a big way.”

“Then come upstairs with me.” His lips quirked as he added, “I’ll give you
big
, Texas.”

Oh my oh my oh my.
Emma licked her lips, drew a deep breath, then tossed all caution to the wind. “Yes, Dair, I’ll go upstairs with you.”

His large suite was furnished in colors of green and gold with heavy, masculine furniture. Models of sailing ships graced the tables, mantels and windowsills while paintings of famous sailors decorated the walls. “Admiral Nelson,” Emma observed, trying to sound casual. “Sir Francis Drake. Captain Cook. Jake’s father put together the most interesting collections, didn’t he? What do you collect, Dair?”

She’d have sworn he mumbled “children.” “What?”

“Nothing. I’m not a collector.”

“Really? Hmm…all right. If you were a collector, what sort of things would attract you? Weapons? Bird houses? Cooking utensils?”

“Why do you ask?”

Emma shrugged, uncertain herself. Now that the moment was upon her, part of her wanted to rush right into the bedroom, onto the bed. Another part of her—a larger, more wary part—wanted to slow things down. “I’d like to know more about you. It’s like with you and the snow globes, I think. The things a person collects says a lot about him.”

Dair took her into his arms. “Are you having second thoughts, Emma?”

“No!” she quickly declared.

“You’re teasing me, then?”

“No.” Well, maybe a little. The man was awfully sure of himself. She couldn’t help but give him a little trouble.

Dair pulled the pins from her hair, freeing it to tumble down her back. His fingers combed her curls, stroked across her shoulder, bare above the minimal sleeve of her evening gown. “Never mind Bernard Kimball,” he said, his voice a throaty growl. “He’s dead and I may well follow if I don’t get you into bed soon.”

There was that need again, in his touch, his voice, the look in his eyes. Emma smiled.

“Dancing with you tonight, holding you.” He tightened his hand around her waist. “I’m a desperate man, Emma.”

Now she laughed and pulled away from him. His frank talk, intense look, and almost grim determination sent her senses soaring. To know that she, the Widow Tate, dull, boring, and bordering-on-old, could make a man the likes of Dair MacRae desperate gave her a heady sense of power. A more effective aphrodisiac she simply couldn’t imagine.