Highlander Mine (21 page)

Christie led me through the gathering, stopping to greet several people along the way.

And there he was.

He was standing in the corner of the room, talking with another man who was copper-haired and handsome and almost as tall as Knox Mackenzie himself. Ailie stood next to the man with the unusual dark, flame-hued hair, and he was holding her hand. Magnus Munro, I guessed. His mien was that of a Highlands poet, although I’m not sure what gave that impression. A romantic broodiness. Or a windswept, observant sophistication, as though he was composing études or stanzas as he took in the details of the crowd and the setting. And now he spoke to Knox, but it was Ailie who was the focus of his thoughts; his gaze kept returning to her face. And Ailie’s eyes were round and glimmering with happiness as she watched the men shake hands.

I slowed my pace as I watched them. This had been a mistake. Just the sight of Knox Mackenzie, dressed in his full regalia, his black hair shining with fire-flicked shards, was enough to unfurl every tendril of longing I’d hoped I’d conquered. I had admitted to myself that I was besotted with him, some time ago. Our searingly romantic interlude by the loch had only further ignited a roaring bonfire of desire for him within me. Days of smoldering avoidance had dampened the memory only slightly, yet the embers had continued to glow. And seeing him now in all his majestic glory, the flames of my lust leaped back to life again, hotter and more voracious than ever before.

It wasn’t just the heat of desire that burned me. My peripheral desperation played a part, as well. My imminent departure. My perilous destination. This could very well be the last night I ever spent in Knox Mackenzie’s company. Tomorrow, I would sneak away, borrow one of the Mackenzie boats and sail silently southward, to return to my former life, which was full of downtrodden debauchery and real, dreadful danger. It was this conflagration of every hardship and unfulfilled yearning of my past that fueled my emotion, which shone through my lust as a white-hot flare. Not only was Laird Mackenzie handsome and regal, but it was that element of sanctuary in him that drew me to him most of all. He embodied decency. Safety. And the combination was beyond irresistible.

I knew now that I could, at least by degrees, get past his stern facade. I could touch his inner sanctum, that part of him that had murmured sweet words against my bare skin.
You’re driving me to the brink of madness.
You’re so lovely. Too lovely. I want you more than I can bear... Perhaps I could show you....

The realization flamed in a stunned, revelatory moment:
I loved him.
I loved what he represented. I loved how he looked. I loved who he was. God, how I wanted him, all of him, for my very own.

At that moment, his head turned, and he saw me. I could hardly breathe. My heart might have stopped completely for a moment or two before recommencing at a rapid, uptempo beat that I felt everywhere. His eyes widened, and his gaze dragged down my body, taking in every nuance of my fitted, pearl-colored gown. It was as though he could see right through it, burning me, stoking my fire ever higher. I remembered then that, in my haste, I wore nothing underneath the dress. All that separated us was the sultry air and the thin silk of my clothing. I thought of his hands, his touch. And I drifted closer, pulled gently by Christie’s guiding arm.

I didn’t know if he could read my thoughts across the crowded expanse of the hall. All I
did
know was that his eyes were locked upon me and the tenuous bond felt so real and so connective I felt almost faint with the intensity. I couldn’t seem to breathe in enough air.

And then we were there, next to them. Magnus Munro was speaking to Knox, but Knox didn’t seem to hear him; he was too focused on me.

There was laughter then, amused banter. I realized, just as Knox did, that our small assembly was commenting on the rapt obliviousness of our shared link.

Two more men stepped into our circle. Both had red hair and were wearing the now-familiar Munro tartan. “Who’s this that holds Laird Mackenzie’s spellbound attention?” asked one of them, clear delight in his voice.

“This is Amelia Taylor,” said Christie. “She’s a guest. Amelia, meet Tadgh Munro, Tosh Munro, and
this
is the admired Laird Magnus Munro.”

“Where is Amelia Taylor visiting from?” said the one named Tadgh. He was a tease. The good-natured lilt in his tone was mischievous and laced with dark, playful intention. “And how is it that you Mackenzies have the good fortune of hosting all these ravishing young lasses you just happen to come across? Do they wander across the Highlands in search of Mackenzie blood? Or does Kinloch have some sort of beacon for lost maidens?” To Laird Munro, he said, “Why do
we
not possess one of these beacons?”

Magnus ignored him completely. “A pleasure to meet you,” he said politely, to me. But he seemed distracted, almost annoyed at the interruption. To Knox, he said, “Will
you
make the announcement, Knox, or shall
I?
”

Knox appeared to snap out of a lingering pensiveness. “Of course,” he said. “I’ll do it now. We have much to celebrate. ’Tis time to get started.”

In the sort of gatherings I was accustomed to, those who wished to gain the attention of a wider audience might have clanged a chunky spoon against a mottled glass goblet, hooting for silence. Knox Mackenzie had no need for such banal tools. As soon as he began to speak, not loudly but with all that ingrained authority slicing through the crowd with soft-spoken command, the clanspeople immediately quieted.

“I bid a heartfelt welcome to all our guests. It is always a pleasure to host our allies from near and far. Munros, Buchanans, Macintoshes, Macallisters—we value, as always, your loyalty and your friendship and we are honored that you will share in our auspicious news this evening. Without further ado, I believe my soon-to-be brother has a few words he would like to say.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Christie clutched my hand and whispered, “This is it. He’s going to do it.”

Ailie looked on the verge of either crying or smiling, her face pale and perfect. Laird Munro still held her hand. He turned to face her and bent down on one knee. People gasped with excitement.

“Ailie Mackenzie,” Magnus Munro said. “I cannot imagine a more graceful, elegant, beautiful woman exists in all the Highlands. I have admired you from afar for as long as I can remember. I beg you to do me the honor of becoming my wife so that I may cherish you as long as we both shall live.” His pause was filled with dramatic, adoring flair and sincere emotion. “Ailie, will you marry me?”

The grand hall was entirely silent, awaiting her answer.

Ailie’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Aye,” she said. “I will.”

Magnus slipped a ring on her finger; then he stood. He took her face carefully between his hands before kissing her. Cheers broke out, the musicians began to play and the festivities began in earnest. When the newly betrothed couple finally broke their kiss, Ailie’s cheeks were flagged with bright splashes of pink.

Knox kissed Ailie’s cheek and Christie embraced her sister in an ecstatic hug. Magnus’s kin slapped him amiably on the back.

The happiness surrounded Knox Mackenzie and me, fringing the edges of our invisible almost-delicious tension. I wasn’t sure why I savored the spark. He was deeply incensed about something and I felt drawn to his ire as much as anything else about him. I knew that it was this ire that would unhinge his control, perhaps. And I, for better or for worse, held the key.

The focus was all about the wedding-to-be, and we took our opportunity. Knox leaned against the stone wall. Behind him, the lively torchlight granted him a vibrant outline, shadowing his face. I stood near him, making no attempt at conversation. A server approached us, carrying a tray of clinking goblets filled with ale. I took one and Knox took another, placing his empty cup on the tray before the server moved on.

We were removed enough so that our voices would not be overheard.

“You are well?” he said. A prosaic pleasantry that was unnecessary. Yet he sounded sincere, as though he was actually curious about my well-being.

“Aye. You?”

To this he smiled faintly. “Not entirely, if I were being truthful.”

I wasn’t sure how I might have replied to this, so I chose not to.

“Your teaching appears to be progressing nicely,” he commented. I looked at his face, attempting to read his meaning. Aye, it had been going well. Until the slipup with the playing cards. Did he know of this? His expression was carefully masked, but then I saw the flicker of irony. Of course he knew of it. And everything else. Very softly, without breaking his penetrative appraisal, he said, “Or at least it
was
progressing nicely.”

Why hadn’t I stood my ground and insisted on hiding away in my chambers? I should have known this was coming. I
did
know this was coming. Yet a part of me was too enchanted by the broad expanse of his shoulders, and the way the beautifully made white cotton of his shirt tightened over his muscled arms as he folded them against his chest. He could scold me, but he was equally mesmerized. He was having difficulty keeping his rebuke focused. His gaze kept sliding. To the wrap of my dress and the revealing cut of my neckline.

He realized his own captivation. He caught himself, mildly annoyed, and his comment was tinged with a lash of spite, as though to make amends for his uncontrolled drift of attraction.

“I have spoken with Magnus,” Knox began, taking a swig of his ale.

I had a feeling I knew what this was leading up to but I feigned innocence. “Oh?”

Knox Mackenzie did not mince words, but leaped into the topic at hand with straightforward candor. “He, his brothers, his cousins and his officers—all of whom are exceptionally widely traveled and well connected—have looked into the mystery of your kin, at my request. They have extensive knowledge of the settlers, farmers and clans not only throughout the Highlands but across the lowlands, as well. There’s one family named Taylor in the southern hills, but they have no apparent links to Edinburgh, nor do they have a family member named Michael who recently died in Edinburgh.”

I paused, taken aback by his direct bluntness. “I’m sorry you had to trouble your neighbors on my behalf. I—”

“Are you sure his name is Taylor?”

“I— Of course. I mean, unless—”

“Are you sure
your
name is Taylor?” he added laconically. “Is your name even Amelia? Are you
actually
from Edinburgh?”

So this was how it was going to be. Our last night together would be spent exchanging cutting remarks and prickly suspicions.

When I didn’t indulge him with a response, he said, “I consider myself to be somewhat gifted in the art of reading people. ’Tis a skill I’ve had need to hone over the years, and my intuition serves me well on most occasions.” Knox Mackenzie might have been mesmerized, driven to the brink of madness and suffering from loss of sleep over his attraction to me. But he was also upset and mildly disappointed. He had not only guessed but confirmed that I was not being honest with him, and his patience, by this point, had been sorely tested. It was understandable, I supposed, considering his position and the trouble he had gone through not only to help me but to harbor me.

A scurrying flush had already begun to creep across my skin, and my blood felt as if it had turned to lochwater: cold and swimming with silver-edged minnows.

“I want the truth from you,” he said, his voice steely. “You owe me that.”

I don’t owe you anything,
I wanted to shout at him, childishly. I could feel my face forming a huffy glower, which I made a concerted effort to smooth.

Of course I owed him that. He had taken us in, fed us, sheltered us, armed us, protected us and clothed us. Furthermore, unbeknownst to him, I was intending to leave my heart and soul in the form of my small nephew in his everlasting care. I felt a light sting prickling behind my eyes. But I took a drink of ale and held myself steady. He was waiting for an answer and I gave him one. A pleasingly noncommittal one. “I have given you the truth, Laird Mackenzie.”

His head tilted and he surveyed me, a volatile flash lurking behind his expression. I watched him as he took another sip of his ale, sipping his drink as though searching for calm somewhere in its malty depths. He was wise to my avoidance techniques and he countered them with a gentle but very direct ultimatum.

“Amelia. If you refuse to give the truth of your history, I’ll be forced to use the extensive resources at my disposal to uncover it. I would prefer not to do this, for two reasons. First, I would like to spare all of us the trouble. And second, I would hope that you might see me, in light of certain revelations, as someone to be trusted.”

I might have told him that, already, I trusted him more than anyone I had ever known, save the closest members of my own family. I could have said that, aye, I not only trusted him, but loved him, desired him and wished that he would take me to bed immediately and ravage me beyond all limits until I’d all but forgotten my past, my duty and my name.

“Might you have mistaken the information you gave me, perhaps in a fit of grief?” he continued, relentless. “Or maybe as a result of your recent trials, which we all know have been significant.”

Oh, but he was arrogant! And the uprooted sadness in me seemed to inspire more of a ruffling effect than a quieting one. I met his gaze defiantly. Why did he have to meddle in my business? Why did he have to be so maddeningly pedantic?

And he was undeterred. “We have scheduled messenger parties who travel regularly to Edinburgh for—”

“All right.”

His eyes narrowed. “All right?”

“Aye. All right. I’ll tell you everything.”

My plan was crumbling ruinously around me with every stab of his painful insistence. If his soldiers asked questions throughout the streets of Edinburgh, one man in particular would hear of it. He would figure out where we had fled to. The information would reach him, and inform him.
Highlands warriors on horseback, you say? Clan Mackenzie tartan? Aye, Mr. Fawkes. They picked up a lass and a boy whose descriptions leave little doubt as to their identity. We have discovered where they are hiding.