Lost in Your Arms (19 page)

About that she didn’t worry. “I suppose this lets out the blood in my veins and marrow in my bones avowal.”

“Damn it, woman, you are not my wife!”

She raised her voice, too. “I didn’t know that until after the fire!”

The waves lapped at the shore, a cricket sang in the night, and MacLean said nothing.

She hoped that meant he was thinking.

“When you were standing next to me?” he asked with considerably more calm.

“Yes!” He
was
thinking.

“That night, you looked at me, wide-eyed and horrified, as if you’d been slapped by reality.”

“As I had. I couldn’t tell you then. I was confused. I didn’t know what to think.” She looked up to the place where she thought he must be. “I only knew Mr. Throckmorton asked that I let you recover without imposing my memories on you. I thought perhaps if I gave you a hint, you would remember, but when I told you I wasn’t your wife, you thought I was being . . . I don’t know . . .”

“I thought you were afraid of what we had together. ‘Tis a powerful thing, this craving between us. But . . . when men want to be insulting about women and how they’re all the same in bed, they say that all cats are gray in the dark. Am I a gray cat indistinguishable from my cousin?”

She twisted her fingers together. “No. But it had
been . . . nine years, and I thought you . . . he . . . had had much practice and learned well from other women.”

“Am I supposed to be flattered?” he roared.

Indignant, she shouted back. “I don’t care if you’re flattered!”

She heard the crunch of his footsteps as he paced away, then returned. In something less than a mutter, he said, “Humph.”

Apparently he listened when
she
yelled at
him
. She should remember that . . . except that they would not be together. In a lower voice, she admitted, “Physically you were much different, but I expected that. I was . . . was
fooking
a man who’d suffered through an explosion and almost died. I would have been surprised if your body had been the same!”

“Why didn’t you tell me that night? That night you realized I wasn’t Stephen.”

“Someone had just tried to kill you in a fire, after doing a good job of almost killing you in an explosion.” Just as MacLean had predicted, the light was growing. She could see his outline, tall and grim, against the sky. “I didn’t know if I would put you in more danger by telling them what I knew. I didn’t know if Mr. Throckmorton himself realized the truth.”

“He knew.” No doubt existed in MacLean’s voice.

“I suppose.” Bitterness rose in her. “In the large scheme of things, one woman’s heart and body don’t count for much.”

“Not when weighed against the good of Britain. Men like Throckmorton do everything to advance En-gland’s cause.”

“And you?” She tied the blanket around her like a cape. “What were you doing in Crimea?”

“Looking for my reprobate cousin Stephen. How did they get you to come and care for me?”

“They told me Stephen had been horribly injured and dying, so I—”

“Came in hopes of a legacy?” MacLean mocked.

Between gritted teeth, Enid said, “I grow weary of being called mercenary.”

“Mercenary? You? The orphan girl who married my cousin? Answer me this, Enid—did they pay you to care for me?”

She saw the trap, but by now she was so weary she didn’t care. He’d already made up his mind. “Yes. Lots.”

“Did they pay you well enough to seduce me when I thought of leaving?”

She caught her breath. She
did
care, or his disdain would not have stabbed so deeply. “Bastard,” she whispered.

“If I remember correctly,
you
are the bastard.”

She swallowed the lump of splintering pain. She’d been called a bastard before; she could survive that. And surely she would survive him calling her a whore. She’d even half expected to hear it.

She hadn’t expected to bleed and die. Not from the insults of a man she refused to love. With only a small catch in her voice, she asked, “Shall I stay on the beach and make my way to the harbor in the morning? I’m sure I can catch a fishing boat back to the coast.”

He wrapped his arm around her so quickly that she
might have been the snake’s first meal. “You’re not getting out of this so easily, lass. You’ve come this far. You can face the MacLeans with your sins writ fresh on your face.”

Chapter 20

“So you came racing to my side—or rather, Stephen’s side—not because you wanted the money, but because you truly loved me . . . him?” As they marched through the dark wood and damp meadow toward Castle MacLean, Kiernan kept his arm around Enid.

She struck with her elbow into his ribs.

He winced but kept moving as he struggled to master his disappointment. But to discover the woman he had depended upon, cherished, laid claim to, was not his wife! He had his old memories back, yes. But he had new ones, too. He remembered living with Enid, talking with her, having her nurse him, help him, jest with him and fight with him. He knew of her sharp tongue, her golden laughter, the way she yawned just before she fell asleep.

He knew how she looked naked.

She had been his wife, and he wanted her still to be his wife.

She strode along beside him, matching his great
strides, and matching his anger, too. “I came to nurse my husband because of duty. Mr. Kinman acted shocked that I didn’t care. Lady Halifax insisted I rush to your side . . . Stephen’s side . . . and behave like a proper, caring wife. And I did. I brought you back from the brink of death, you ungrateful swine, and don’t you forget it.”

“For payment!”

“I could have let you die and still received payment, and saved myself heartache and sore feet in the bargain.”

Damn the woman. Didn’t she realize she had cut him to the quick? She had mistaken him for Stephen! For his worthless, reprobate cousin, Stephen. She hadn’t been able to tell them apart. “I’m honored that you didn’t kill me for a legacy.”

“A legacy? Stephen never had a pot to wizzle in or a window to throw it out of, and when he abandoned me, he left me only his debts. I had no reason to believe this time would be any different. And I certainly knew I wouldn’t receive a legacy from you, almighty laird of the castle. You made that clear enough in the letter you sent on the happy occasion of my marriage.”

He remembered that letter. He had been livid with Stephen for marrying beneath him. When his aunt Catriona had wailed about her poor gullible son, MacLean had remembered Stephen’s susceptibility to flattery, and so a portrait of Enid the seducer and opportunist had built in his mind. “Stephen didn’t abandon you. You abandoned him when he couldn’t provide the pleasant living you were expecting from a lord’s nephew.”

“I’ll wager Stephen told you that.”

“He did.” Honesty compelled him to add, “I suppose he was lying to save face.”

“I suppose he was,” she said sarcastically. “I’ve had one MacLean husband. I don’t want another. So please don’t worry that, after our intimacy, I have designs on
you.
”

She didn’t have to deny her interest quite so emphatically.

In a quieter tone, she asked, “So I’m right. Stephen was killed in the explosion?”

“He was.” Poor sod. “Well rid of him, heh?”

She gave a brief sigh. “I never wanted Stephen to die, I just wanted to be—”

“Free of him?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I wanted to be able to live without knowing that someday Stephen could arrive and destroy my life once again. I didn’t want to be ashamed anymore.”

“So you admit you had reason for shame.”

“Indeed. I married poorly.”

My God, the woman pricked at his pride, at his heart, at his mind. “Stephen was a MacLean!”

“Stephen was a cad.”

“You are a cold fish.”

“I am. Cold and smelly, but you’re a fool if you believe any tale Stephen ever told about me.”

Everything she said was true, but this was not what he wanted. Yes, he wanted to be Kiernan, laird of the MacLeans, but he wanted to be Enid’s lover, too. He wanted to bring her to his castle, hold her close to his side, introduce her to his mother and his sister, have her smile at them and at him. And when the welcoming was over, he wanted to take her to his bed and love her
as she deserved to be loved. Instead, all he had was acrimony and regrets.

“Come on. I don’t want us to be late, or we’ll have trouble rousing anyone.” More important, uneasiness slid its cold finger along his spine. Someone did, after all, want them dead. Pulling her close against his side again, he set off once more through the last bit of woods.

The forced march must have heightened Enid’s resentment, for she demanded, “
When
did Stephen tell you lies about his marriage? When he came running home to ask for money? Or was it in the Crimea, when you went to rescue him from his own recklessness?”

MacLean went on the alert. “What do you know about his recklessness in Crimea?”

“I was married to Stephen for three months. I knew that man. If he went to the Crimea, he went to make some money and have a frolic, and got involved with something more than he could handle. So there you came, his beloved cousin, saving him from his own folly once more, and you both got blown up. Isn’t that what happened?”

MacLean’s heart pounded to hear her speak so heedlessly about what should only be whispered. “You know too much for a nurse.”

“As Harry said—I’m not a fool.” She breathed hard and kept her hand at her side as if she had a stitch. “What I don’t know is—who was Stephen spying for? For Britain, or for Russia?”

“You tell me. He was your husband.”

“At least I know his treachery didn’t stain
my
family.”

Audacious woman! “Are you saying I am tarnished by my cousin’s actions?”

“
I’m
not related to him by blood.”

No wonder Kiernan desired Enid so thoroughly. She didn’t care who he was or what position he held. She wouldn’t let him trample on her. She stuck up for herself. He wanted nothing so much as to kiss her, but . . . he lifted his head, then slowed his onward rush. “Sh.”

“Why? You don’t like to hear the truth? I could tell you tales of Stephen that would make your hair—”

Stopping, he put his hand over her mouth. In her ear, he murmured, “Be quiet.”

She had the good sense not to fight him. Pushing his hand away, she stood still as he strained to discern that one, odd, sharp sound that made him think they were being stalked.

He heard nothing. Wrapping his arm around her again, he moved cautiously forward, toward the castle. They had less than a mile to go. He wouldn’t let something happen to her now. Lifting his head, he gave the long, low call of an owl.

And he got an answer. Not far from him, a little to the left, toward the deer blind.

Changing directions, he started toward the noise, calling again.

Again he heard an answer. He recognized that particular call! That was young Graeme MacQuarrie. The whole MacQuarrie clan might be a wretched pain in the arse, but they were the other clan on the island and he would be damned happy to see them.

Enid, smart lass, kept silent and stayed close to him.
She made more racket than he did, but what could a man expect of a Sassenach with sore feet and a full set of petticoats?

The calls got closer and closer together until Graeme leaped from the blind to pound MacLean’s back. “I can’t believe ye finally made it, ye auld muttonhead!”

Graeme’s thick Scottish accent was quite the sweetest sound that MacLean had ever heard. “And to find you here on MacLean land when I’ve whipped you time and again and told you to run along back to Mama!” Releasing Enid, MacLean pounded Graeme in his turn. “How are you, Graeme?”

“Good, for a man who’s spent every chill night waiting to help ye limp along home! What ha’e ye been doing all this time? Whimpering like a lass aboot yer delicate constitution?”

Without showing an ounce of compunction, Enid lied. “He’s done nothing but complain. First he whined about the heat, then the cold, then his feet hurt, then he complained of being hungry.”

Astonishment kept Graeme silent.

“Woman!” MacLean said in the voice he used when he made lordly judgments. “You know how to try my patience.”

“I would hope so. I’ve had enough practice.” Enid leaned against a tree. “Are we close to the castle?”

Graeme snapped to attention. “Yes, miss. We were told a lady would arrive wi’ the MacLean, but no one told us ye’d be so charming.”

By that, he meant that no one had told him she would tweak the tail of the lion of the MacLeans. By her insolence, she had already proved her mettle and
raised herself from the position of a cipher to a woman of consequence.

And she was leaning against the tree, which meant hunger made her weak.

Wrapping his arm around her once again, MacLean headed toward the castle. “She’s not eaten since breakfast, and a poor one it was.”

“And she doesn’t like being discussed as if she wasn’t here, any more than she likes being toted about like a package!” Enid snapped.

“When she gets peckish, she gets a wee bit choleric,” MacLean explained.

“Any lass who has walked across Scotland can be as choleric as she wishes.” The damned fool Graeme sounded respectful. “Would ye like me to carry ye, miss?”

“No, she wouldn’t,” MacLean said.

“Ah.” Graeme fell back a little, and MacLean could tell he was smirking. “Is that the way the wind blows?”

“No!” Enid answered.

Graeme cackled.

MacLean would have set the man straight, but he had a more imperative question on his mind. “Is there someone else out tonight?”

“Sure. We’ve got Jimmy MacGillivray on the east, Rab Hardie to the north, and that Englishman, Harry. He’s a spooky one, wouldn’t want to cross him. We didn’t know how ye’d come in, but the Englishmen were sure ye would get here and worried ye’d be attacked on the way.” Graeme laughed to indicate his scorn.

“Tonight, as we were passing through the meadow, I thought I heard a rifle cock,” MacLean told him.

Enid tripped.

He held her up and kept her moving.

“God’s teeth, MacLean! No one’s out here wi’ guns,” Graeme said tersely. “Not on a night wi’ a bit of a cloud. Not when it’s nigh on midnight!”

“How much further?” Enid asked.

“You can see the lights. There.” Halting at the edge of the woods, MacLean pointed up to the knoll where the jagged battlements shone against a night sky shredded by clouds. “That’s Castle MacLean.”

“It’s beautiful,” Enid said.

MacLean grinned. Romantic sight the castle might be, but he knew otherwise. “Wait until daylight before you pass judgment. The castle’s been through some hard times.”

“Ye’ve salvaged the best of it.” Graeme heaped praise as he got close to food and fire.

MacLean gave the owl call again and stopped beneath a tree until the great double doors opened.

His mother, Lady Bess Hamilton, stood in the doorway with the lights of the great hall shining bright behind her. He recognized her by her shape, which was voluptuous beyond propriety, by her turban, and by the lit cigar she held in her outstretched hand. “Kiernan?” she yelled. “You get in here right now!”

Ah, he had his problems with his mother, but right now her husky smoker’s voice sounded as sweet as the call of a lark.

“We’re going to run,” MacLean told Enid. “Do you think you can do it?”

“I’ll have to, won’t I?” She sprang across clearing like a doe.

MacLean and Graeme uttered identical curses and raced after her.

They caught up with her, of course, then stayed behind and swerved from side to side to confuse any watching gunman.

“Come on, lass,” his mother shouted, “you can outrun those two sluggards!”

Three men bearing torches stepped out of the door and started toward them, Kinman among them. Just when MacLean had about decided that only an idiot would dare shoot in such a company, a rifle roared. Graeme fell.

With a shout of fury, Lady Bess raced down the path toward them. The men with the torches began running. More men streamed out the door.

Enid tried to stop and kneel beside Graeme.

MacLean pulled her toward the castle.

She twisted in his grip. “MacLean, he needs my help!”

“We’ll bring him to you. There’s a villain with a rifle out there.”

“He’s used the bullet!”

MacLean didn’t bother to explain that there could be more than one man, or more than one rifle. She was a smart lass. She knew.

“I’ve got her.” Lady Bess, almost his height, took Enid firmly in her grasp. “Go help Graeme.”

“No!” Kinman took an equally firm grasp on MacLean. “We can’t take a chance with him.”

“Bugger off,” MacLean said, and turned back toward the group of men around Graeme.

Enid twirled away from his mother. “I’m not going inside if you don’t.”

MacLean glared at her. “You’ll do as you’re told!”

“I didn’t cure you to have you shot a hundred yards from your own home!”

Lady Bess whistled. “So that’s how the wind blows.”

“No!” Enid answered.

“He’s up!” the men around Graeme called.

MacLean saw Graeme staggering along, two men holding him erect while Graeme grinned and wiped blood off his forehead.

MacLean surrendered. “Come on, then!” Hooking his arm in Enid’s, he hurried her up the hill without a care for her exhaustion. After all, she had made a fool of him in front of his friend and his mother, and that in the first hour of his return.

He could hear his mother laughing and coughing as she strolled toward the castle. His mother feared not a mere gunshot.