Highland Rogue (18 page)

Claire crossed her arms and looked at him with narrowed eyes.

For a moment Ewan feared she might guess … guess what?

“Are you doing this just to shock poor Mrs. Arbuthnot?” she asked.

“Of course not. That would just be a lucky by-blow.”

“Very well, then.” Claire circled the table to join him. “But you’ll find no honor in besting a poor novice.”

He opened one of the billiard room doors and held it for her to enter. “I don’t reckon ye’re going to stay a novice very long.”

“I don’t intend to.” She gave a defiant little toss of her head and Ewan found his fingers itching to nestle in the fine, silken strands of her hair.

For days, he’d been plagued by these feelings for her, as intense as they were baffling. First he had tried to dismiss them. Then he had tried to explain them. Both to no avail.

Now Ewan wondered if he ought to explore them to find out how deep they ran.

Before Tessa arrived.

“That’s one of the things I love about the Highlands,” said Ewan the next morning, as he and Claire led a well-laden pony up into the hills. “If ye don’t like the weather, ye haven’t got to wait long for it to change!”

“It works in reverse, too.” Claire cast a dubious glance at the serene blue sky. “Do you suppose the fine weather will last until we get back?”

“I reckon it might.” Ewan sucked in a deep breath of fresh Argyll air. “There’s not much of a wind to blow clouds our way. Like my old Gran Cameron used to say, God rest her soul, ‘we might as well enjoy the sunshine, for we won’t keep the rain away by fretting about it.’ ”

“A wise woman, your grandmother.” Claire resolved to take her advice … though not about the weather. She must soak up the sparkling warmth of her stolen time with Ewan and not spoil it by fretting about the future. “She used to keep house at Strathandrew, didn’t she?”

Ewan nodded. “That was how I got into service here.”

“I don’t remember her all that well.” Claire vaguely recalled a pair of wide-set gray eyes, much like Ewan’s. “Just being very sorry when I heard she’d passed away and that we would be getting a new housekeeper.”

“I remember Gran telling me yer ma hired her and Rosie.” Ewan patted the pony’s neck.

Perhaps that was why old Mrs. Cameron had paid special attention to her when all the other servants made such a fuss over Tessa.

Ewan caught her gaze with his. “So what did ye think of our billiards game last night? It’s not that hard once ye catch on, is it?”

“Most diverting,” said Claire. “With enough practice, I might give you some real competition one of these days.”

What she had enjoyed, more than the game itself, was the instruction she’d received from Ewan. When he’d wrapped his arms around her to demonstrate the proper way to hold a cue, she had savored his touch to the very marrow of her bones. Only by biting on her lip had she been able to stifle a sigh of delight.

Now she glanced away, so he would not see that delight reflected in her present gaze.

He must not have noticed, for he sounded casually cheerful when he asked, “Does that mean ye’ll play me again tonight?”

“Why not?” Claire strove to sound equally casual. “With only the two of us here, it doesn’t make much sense to part company after dinner.”

How much longer would the two of them remain alone? Claire pushed that foreboding thought to the back of her mind and locked it in a dark cupboard, along with her fear of the heartache she would suffer once Tessa reclaimed her beau.

“I have a piece of advice,” said Ewan, “that should help yer game.”

Something in his tone warned Claire it was likely to be an impudent suggestion.

“Indeed?” She rallied, welcoming the distraction from her locked-up worries. “And what might that be?”

“Don’t wear a corset.” Suppressed laughter bubbled beneath his audacious suggestion. “It makes it too hard for ye to bend over the table to make yer shot.”

Perhaps thinking she was too shocked to reply, he rattled on. “It’s only me to see ye, anyway, and I think ye’ve got a fine figure without squeezing it all out of shape. Ye’re not wearing a corset now, are ye?”

“Ewan!” A furious blush tingled in Claire’s cheeks. “That is
not
a proper question for a gentleman to ask a lady!”

“Aye, well, I’m no gentleman, am I? So confess, lass. Yer secret’s safe with me.”

“As it happens, I am quite unencumbered at the moment.” It was hard enough to catch her breath while tramping through the hills without being stifled by a corset!

“There, ye see?” Ewan looked her over with obvious admiration. “No corset and ye look as bonny as I’ve ever seen ye.”

“In this?” Claire glanced down at her sturdy tweed skirt and waistcoat and the billowing sleeves of her old-fashioned blouse. “You must be daft!”

“I am not! Now I’ll admit I’m no authority on ladies’ fashion. I only know what I like. Tweed suits ye better than all that fussy silk and lace some lasses get themselves up in.”

Claire wasn’t certain that reflected well on her femininity, but she had to admit she enjoyed the ease of movement this outfit afforded her. “Very well, then. I promise to dispense with my corsets …
if
you will wear your kilt to dinner.”

He looked vastly attractive in the one he was wearing now, with the black leather gillie vest over a loose shirt. The sight of him, as much as the steep slope they were climbing, made Claire gasp for breath.

Ewan laughed. “Ye’ve got yerself a bargain.”

For a while they saved their breath for walking, until they were out of sight of the house and high on a ridge with a magnificent view of the loch.

“Let’s rest here awhile.” Ewan lifted a brown jug from the pony’s pack. He pulled out the wooden stopper and passed the jug to Claire.

She gave it a suspicious sniff. “Whiskey?”

That was the last thing she needed.

Ewan shook his head. “Cider. Some of Rosie’s best.”

He spread their picnic rug upon the heath. When Claire had settled herself on it, he sat down beside her.

She took a deep drink from the cider jug, then handed it back to him. “This place
is
beautiful. No wonder you’ve longed for it.”

A familiar but intriguing sight caught her eye. She pointed toward the ruin of an ancient castle on a small island at the far end of the lake. “Do you know anything about that place? Father always forbade Tessa and I to go near it when we went rowing in the loch.”

“Eilean Tioran? Aye.” Ewan set the cider jug down after he’d had a drink. “They say it was the stronghold of a branch of the Cameron clan. No enemy ever successfully attacked the castle by water. According to one old song, a sea serpent kept guard out in the loch, smashing the boats of any foe who tried to sail against the Camerons.”

The earnest tone in which he recounted this preposterous tale warned Claire not to laugh.

“Red Kenneth Cameron fought at Stirling Bridge and again under Robert the Bruce at Bannockburn.” Ewan gazed toward the island castle, his eyes shining with pride. “Murdo Cameron fell at Flodden Field, and Alec the Martyr was executed after Kilcrankie. They were bold warriors.”

And he, the descendent of bold warriors, lairds of a serpent-guarded castle, had been reduced to a servant of foreign masters on the land they’d once ruled. Little wonder he’d had a chip on his shoulder.

“What became of the Camerons and their castle?” she whispered.

“Treachery.” Ewan’s hand balled into a fist and his chiseled jaw tensed. “We were betrayed by the McCrimons. The daughter of their chief was betrothed to Angus the Fair. All her family came to the wedding feast at Eilean Tioran, and while they were making merry, one of the McCrimons threw open the sea gate and let in English soldiers.”

“You must hate the English.”

“When I was a lad, I wanted an easy target to pin all my troubles on. But once I got to America, I started reading some history whenever I had a spare minute. I found out it wasn’t as cut-and-dried as all that. There were plenty of times through the centuries when we Scots were worse enemies to ourselves than anyone else could have been.”

Could that be said of her, too? Claire wondered, as she gazed out at the ancient Cameron stronghold, rising from the mist.

“Highlander against Lowlander,” Ewan mused, shaking his head. “Clan against clan. The kirk all splintered into groups killing each other in the name of God. The few times we’ve truly come together as a nation, no one could stand against us.”

“Is Eilean Tioran what you brought me to see?” Claire asked.

“Eh?” Ewan stalled, as if he had temporarily forgotten her. “The castle? No. It was you who pointed that out. The place I’m taking ye is still a ways ahead. I reckon we’d better be off if we’re going to get there and back before dinnertime.”

He got to his feet, then held out his hand to hoist her up. The strength and warmth of his grip sent a bittersweet rush of longing through her—for more intimate touches from him. How she wished she could go back to that night on the deck of the
Marlet
and fold herself into his embrace once more.

“Are ye all right, Claire?” His voice held a tender note of concern. “Ye look sort of dreamy-eyed.”

“I was just thinking about that romantic old castle and all the history it’s seen.”

Her excuse was true in part. Mixed up with all her thoughts about Ewan had been one about the abandoned castle. Like this stolen time with him, Eilean Tioran was a romantic dream from the past that could never be anything but a fantasy.

“Are ye sure that’s all?” Ewan did not sound convinced.

“Of course.” Claire strove to look and sound like the “sensible sort of person” her stepmother had commended her for being. “What else could it be?”

She hoped he would never guess.

What else
could
have made Claire Talbot look like that?

For one delirious moment, Ewan had thought she’d fixed him with the soft, brooding gaze a woman reserved for her
muirneach
… her beloved. And in that instant, a strange thing had happened to his own vision.

Sometimes, if a stag was shot away up in the hills, it would be flung across the pony’s back to be brought home. Then it was the gillie’s job to throw his coat over the pony’s head, to keep it from taking a fright. Now, Ewan thought he knew how a pony must feel when that blinding coat fell away at last, and he could see again.

What he saw, after being blind to it for too long, was that he had begun to fall in love with his old adversary.

How could it be, though? What kind of fickle creature was he, to transfer the allegiance of his heart in a matter of days from the one who had held it for over a dozen years? And how could he be so daft as to vest his love in the one woman who could never return it?

Claire’s voice, breathless and a trifle sharp, penetrated his bemusement. “I hope whatever you have to show me will be worth the exertion.”

He glanced over to see her clinging to one of the straps that secured the pony’s pack. Her face was flushed and shiny, and several strands of her hair had fallen loose around her face. She looked almost as if she had been caught in the prelude of lovemaking.

Images of the two of them enjoying a lusty tumble in the heather sent a rush of heat through his loins and stirred the pleats of his kilt.

It took all his will to keep his voice from breaking when he answered her. “It will be, I promise ye. And all the better for the challenge of getting to it. I reckon I don’t have to tell you that nothing worthwhile ever came easy.”

His words seemed to stir something in her, for her blue-gray eyes flashed with determination that Ewan found altogether provocative. “You’re right, of course. Striving makes the eventual reward all the sweeter.”

“Aye.” She understood, in a way he’d never expected a woman to do. “Venison always tastes best after a long stalk over rugged country. The most delicious salmon is the one that puts up the toughest fight.”

From beyond the next rise, he caught the wild, nimble music of hill water. “It’s only a wee bit farther now.”

“Good!” Claire pushed a fallen wisp of hair off her brow. “I have had all the pleasure of a challenge I can stand for one day.”

As he shared a winded chuckle with her, Ewan circled around behind the plodding pony until they were both on the same side of the beast. He wanted to be close to Claire, with an unobstructed view of her face when she first glimpsed Linn Riada.

He hoped it would not be like Strathandrew, diminished from the glory of his cherished memories.

“Oh, Ewan!” She groped for his hand, squeezing it with such force he almost cried out.

The glow of wonder in her eyes assured him it was as spectacular as it had ever been. He turned his gaze upon the ribbon of water, plunging and tumbling over the high rocks into a wee hidden glen. The sight squeezed his heart and made him catch his breath.

The angle of the sun’s bright rays hit the fine mist thrown up by water glancing off the rocks. The golden light splintered into dozens of tiny rainbows.

Ewan had been here many times and long thought it the rarest place in the world. But he had never seen it like this. The shimmering colors accounted for only part of the magic. The rest he found in the misty glow of Claire’s eyes and the rapt tremble of her lower lip.

Might it have made a difference if he’d brought her here a dozen years ago? Before all her interest and energy had been committed to the family empire? Before her dauntless heart had been poisoned by a succession of men too selfish and stupid to realize she was worth more than any amount of gold?

It might. But what of it? If
might have been
and
if only
were rocks, his countrymen could build a cairn as high as heaven to lament their broken dreams and lost opportunities. Why should he be any different?

“So,” he asked once he’d mastered his voice, “was it worth the climb?”

She turned toward him, her eyes still shining with wonder. “If you don’t know the answer to that question, Ewan Geddes, you aren’t nearly as clever as I thought you were. It would have made a climb halfway to the moon worthwhile. I cannot believe I have been coming to this part of the world for so many years, without ever guessing a place of such beauty was nearby.”