In the Highlander's Bed (21 page)

Constance kissed the end of his nose to keep him quiet. “Whatever the price, it’s worth it.”

A fierce pride filled his face. “Aye, it’s worth it,” he agreed, and made love to her again.

Constance’s legs could barely hold her by the time he’d finished loving her. So Gordon carried her back to the tent, where Tad waited, his tail wagging.

Gordon helped Constance undress, hanging her wet petticoats on the chair. She put on her dancing gown as a night dress and helped him pull off his boots…which led to his breeches…and his shirt…then her dancing gown—and they were making love again.

It seemed they couldn’t leave each other alone. And each experience was better than the last.

Drifting asleep in his arms, their naked bodies entwined, Constance murmured, “I don’t know how we can ever stop doing this.”

He laughed, the sound throaty and masculine. “I don’t want to stop,” he assured her, and she sighed her agreement.

But just before she drifted to sleep, she whispered the words of her heart, “I love you.”

Was it her imagination, or did he hesitate and then quietly answer, “I love you, too?”

Gordon held the sleeping Constance in his arms. He told himself he should consider the problems this night’s work had created.

He couldn’t.

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It was all too precious to him right now. Tomorrow, he’d worry.

Tonight, he just wanted to hold her, to pretend they had no fears.

What had she said earlier—about their making love being like a miracle?

It was. The anger that had driven him for so long, that had been renewed by Laird MacKenna’s betrayal, that led him to kidnap her was evaporating. Slowly, steadily, Constance Cameron was changing him. Her courage, her willingness to make the best of her circumstances, to embrace love, chipped away at the hardness surrounding his heart.

He didn’t want to die the author of a rebellion. He longed for peace in his life, for a wife and children.

That was the reason he’d avoided Constance. He’d feared exactly what had happened this evening.

But now he didn’t regret it.

Gordon pressed a kiss against her temple. “I love you,” he said again, the words stronger than before.

They were dangerous words. They could bind her to him, and he’d not do that. He had to protect her.

Love demanded no less.

The next morning, Constance woke to Gordon making love to her. He’d entered her with her sleepy consent and once again took her to the very peak of pleasure.

Lying together afterward, Constance caught the scent of the cook fires. Everyone would be up and about by this hour—and wondering where they were.

She pulled the tartan up to her nose and slid down next to him. Laughing, he drew her back up. “You’re afraid to face them,” he accused.

Constance nodded. “I don’t know what they’ll think.”

“They believe we already are lovers,” Gordon told her.

“Not everyone. Fiona asked yesterday.” She told him of the conversation she’d had with his sister.

“Now I shall have to confess differently.”

Gordon kissed her shoulder. “Let’s not say anything. It’s none of their affair.”

For a second she was tempted to ask the questions crowding her mind, then decided against it. What was between them was too new for close examination. It needed time to settle. She believed all would work out as it should. He loved her. She loved him.

Was anything else important?

They dressed quickly. Constance’s petticoats had dried. They smelled of the night air and the crystal clear lake.

Before leaving the tent, Constance shyly held back. Gordon reached for her hand. He lifted the flap to
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allow her to go first.

Most of the clan appeared to be gathered around the cook fires. At the first sight of Constance and Gordon, conversations died down. Heads turned. Necks craned.

Constance had taken great care with her hair, but for the first time she wondered if she looked as lovingly used as she felt. Her body ached in places she’d not known it could ache before. Could they tell by looking at her?

Tad came trotting over to greet them, as eager to please as always. He’d been at Fiona’s side. Gordon scratched the dog’s head, taking the opportunity to place his possessive arm around Constance’s waist.

“Courage,” he whispered, and she realized he was as self-conscious as she herself.

And then someone started clapping, and another person joined in, and then another and another until the clearing rang with applause.

Even Fiona clapped. She came to her brother’s side, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and offered Constance a hug.

“’Tis a good thing,” Emma Reivers said. She wiped her hands on her apron. “’Tis time you handfasted a woman, Gordon. A strong, strapping man like you has needs, and as you can see, we all like Constance.

She’s a good one. You don’t want her to escape. Many a lad here would take her in a wink.”

At the word “escape,” several people burst out laughing. One who didn’t was Thomas. From the corner of her eye, Constance saw him standing apart from the others in much the same way Fiona once had.

He caught her glance and turned away with a scowl.

She didn’t care. Right now she didn’t think she’d ever been happier. These people included her as one of their own. She felt more a part of them than she’d felt anywhere, including her life in the Ohio Valley.

“Handfast?” she asked Gordon.

“It’s the old ways,” he explained. “If there is no man of the church available, a couple can pledge their troth in front of the clan and then their hands would be tied together. They had one year to either marry or part.”

“And we have the rope for you,” Old Rae Reivers shouted, holding up a lead rope like the one Gordon had used to tie them together days ago. Everyone laughed.

But Gordon didn’t take it further.

He kept her by his side. He touched her shoulder, her waist, her cheek. He deferred to her in conversation and, when their eyes met, smiled with such affection her heart made a funny skip.

She remembered him whispering “I love you” the night before. Sheknew he’d said it, although in the light of day her practical nature warned her to be cautious, but she wanted to heed it.

And in the end the truth was that she didn’t want to be cautious. She was in love. Her heart sang with it.

She would not let doubt rob her of this happiness.

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If any of the other women noticed that Gordon had not picked up the idea of handfasting, they were kind enough to not say anything.

Besides, work waited. Gordon went off to drill his men; Constance continued with the challenges of seeing to the needs of so many people.

By the time dinner was over, she was exhausted. Nor did she see Gordon. Her last glimpse of him had been almost an hour earlier. She’d caught sight of him with Jamie, Peter, and some of the other children.

Doubts teased Constance as she walked back to the tent. Perhaps nothing had changed between her and Gordon? Perhaps he was reconsidering what had happened last night?

She’d thought he had been as pleased with the clan’s approval as she, but what if he hadn’t been?

Constance stopped in mid-step. Gordon’s tent was no more than ten feet ahead. Tad wasn’t waiting, and she didn’t know if the dog’s absence was a sign that Gordon wasn’t there. Was she brave enough to go forward? Because if he wasn’t in there, if he wasn’t waiting for her, she feared her spirit would shatter.

How much better would it be to turn away? To not test this fragile love she’d just discovered. Certainly the Reivers would take her in, or Fiona.

In the end it was pride that made her enter the tent—and what she discovered inside sent her heart soaring.

Gordon was there, waiting forher .

He sat in the chair, leaning forward, resting his arms on his legs. His gaze was on the tent flap, and at her entrance the smile on his face erased all her doubts. She ran to his arms.

Pulling her down in his lap, he asked, “Are you surprised?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“I had my hands full planning this behind your back,” he said.

Constance frowned. “Planning what?”

“The bath,” he said, as if it were obvious.

She glanced around and only then noticed the washtub full of steaming water.

“I thought it would please you,” he said. “You said you liked to bathe. This way, you won’t be jumping in the loch for your bath.”

Constance was so touched by his thoughtfulness, she could barely speak. “I didn’t take a dip last night to bathe,” she answered.

His teeth flashed in a heart-rending smile. “I believe we are both tired of ever stepping foot in frigid
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water again.”

She laughed and heartily agreed by kissing him.

He picked up a bar of soap. “There isn’t enough room for us to take a bath together. What do you say that you use the tub first and I’ll do the scrubbing?”

It was an excellent idea.

Of course, this “bath” took hours.

Constance hadn’t ever thought of laughter in connection with lovemaking, but Gordon taught her differently. He teased her and tickled her and loved her.

Then, when they were both “scrubbed” clean and relaxed, he made love to her on the pallet. Afterward, he pulled his tartan over their satisfied bodies and held her close.

She smiled drowsily. “I never want to leave this tent.”

His hold on her tightened.

She opened her eyes. “What is it?” she asked, sensing his tension.

He reached for her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. He kissed her where her thumb met her wrist, his teeth skimming the skin.

She waited, refusing to let him ignore her.

“Don’t want to think of the future,” he said. “Right now, you give me peace, and that is enough.”

Peace.Constance rolled on her side toward him. Placing her hand along his jaw, she asked, “Could there not be another way?”

“Not for me,” he answered. “Too much has gone on.”

“You could leave Scotland,” she suggested.

“You know I can’t,” he said. “I won’t leave them the way MacKenna did.”

Of course not. And yet, she couldn’t help but say wistfully, “I wish we could take everyone here to the Ohio Valley. A man can be what he is there. He makes his own rules.”

“It would still be running away,” Gordon answered.

He nuzzled her neck. He was hard and ready, again. She shook her head. “Gordon, there must be a way.”

His gaze met hers. He reached out and ran a finger over her lower lip. “I won’t desert them, Constance.”

“Would you desertme, then?”

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His hand fell away.

She reached for it, placing his palm over her heart. “I had no right to ask.”

“You had every right, lass,” he whispered. “But I’m afraid of the answer.”

“Love me,” she begged.

“Ah, Constance, I do.”

She buried her face in his neck, breathing in the scent of him, never wanting to let him go.

He pulled her up to sit on top of him—and Constance pushed her fears away.

Tomorrow would take care of itself. Right now her only desire, her only purpose, was to love this man.

Tad’s barking woke them.

Then they heard Thomas outside the tent, “Gordon, wake up. Brian has returned.”

Constance rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. They couldn’t have been sleeping more than a few hours.

Gordon had come immediately awake and was already dressing. “Stay here,” he ordered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She wasn’t about to do any such thing, not when the messenger who held her fate in his hands had returned. She scrambled into her clothes, yanked on her moccasins, and, throwing the tartan over her shoulders, went outside.

The sun was just rising. Someone had built up the cooking fires. The men were gathered there.

Constance went over and had to work her way to the center of the group. Thomas held a lantern to provide more light while Gordon leaned over an exhausted Brian. As she drew closer, she saw that Brian’s shirt was covered with blood.

Fifteen

The bleeding was coming from the side of Brian’s head. Constance was almost afraid to move closer.

“I’ll fetch bandages,” she said.

“Fiona and Grace have already gone for them,” Gordon said, recognizing her presence although he didn’t look at her.

“I’ve bad news, Gordon,” Brian said, his voice frighteningly quiet. “The Duke of Colster and his men have been tracking me. They caught up with me just an hour ago.”

“Did Colster do this to you?” Gordon asked. “Did they cut your ear?”

“One of them did, the one tracking me. He had long black hair and wore a metal collar around his neck.

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I saw him at Colster’s house in London several days ago. He jumped out of the woods at me, said he had followed me the whole way. He called Constance his sister by marriage.”

“Alex?” Constance said, surprised.

Everyone turned to look at her. She crossed her arms, sensing that her position in the camp had changed. “Alex Haddon is married to my sister Miranda. He’s half Shawnee. His father was an English officer. He owns sailing ships. He and Miranda left London months ago on a trading voyage. They must have returned.”

“Would he have done such a heathen thing as to cut Brian’s ear?” Sarah Kimball asked. She and most of the other women had come to join them. Their expressions were angry and worried. Several held their children close.

“Slicing the ear would be a Shawnee warning,” Constance said. “He would do it to create fear and make you wonder what could happen next. And, yes, Alex is a good tracker. He could follow Brian for days without him being aware of it.”