Susana and the Scot (29 page)

She pulled back, forced him to meet her eye. “That seems verra impetuous.”

“Do you no' believe in love at first sight?”

Her brow rumpled. “I used to.”

“You fell in love at first sight?”

“Once.”

“Was it Gilley?”

A flush rose on her cheeks. “Nae. It wasna Gilley.” She sighed. “It was long ago, when I was verra young.” Why she frowned at him, he didn't know. “He broke my heart.”

“Aye,” he said. “Mairi broke my heart as well.”

This time when she stiffened, he could not soothe her.

“Mairi?” She studied him, nibbling on her lip. It was very distracting. But he waited to see her reaction, though the tension nearly killed him. “Tell me about her.”

He let out his breath and tucked her back into his arms, although he was sure she did not want to be tucked.

“She was perfect,” he said.

Susana
hmph
ed.

He tried not to chuckle. “She had silken red hair and soft, alabaster skin.” His palm skated over her hair, her cheek. “Glorious green eyes.” He tipped up her chin and looked into those eyes. “Ripe, red lips.” He kissed those lips. “A tantalizing dent on her chin.” He kissed that, too. “And a birthmark.” His hand skated to her hip. “Here. The shape of a heart, split in two.”

Her lashes fluttered. Her throat worked. What could have been a guilty expression flitted over her features. “What happened to her? This perfect girl? The girl you loved?”

He cupped her face so she couldn't turn away. “They told me she died.”

Her eyes went wide. “She died?”

“Killed in a carriage accident. That was what I was told. For years I mourned her. Years, Susana. I ached for her. Wept for her. And worse of all, I blamed myself for her death.”

She pushed away and sat up, covering herself with the blanket. Making it a point to cover her hip. “Why would her death be your fault?”

“Because she was running from me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why would she run from a valiant man like you?”

“There was a misunderstanding … She thought I had betrayed her. But she was wrong.” His gaze bore into hers. She didn't seem inclined to take the weight of it. She looked away.

“That is a shame.”

“It was a tragedy. I dinna realize at the time that we had both been lied to. But now,” he said, “I see.”

Her head snapped up. Her frown became a glare.

“When first I saw you, you reminded me of her.”

“How flattering.”

“Susana. We both know why. Do we no'?”

She pressed her lips together mulishly.

“You were in Perth six years ago, weren't you?”

Her shoulder lifted.

“You canna deny it. You were that girl. You were my Mairi.”

She flinched when he spoke her name.

“When I kissed you, I knew I'd tasted you before. I was flooded with such joy, such redemption. Such relief. I didn't understand it then, but I do now.”

She pushed away, levered off the bed, and hunted for her chemise. Without a word, she pulled it on. He understood her need to cover herself. He felt vulnerable as well. “Andrew … I doona want to talk about this.”

He stood and grabbed her wrist as she reached for her discarded kirtle. “We have to, Susana. We need to.”

Her eyes glimmered as she stared at him. “I am not that girl.”

“You were.”

She opened her mouth as though to respond, but she didn't. She yanked her hand free and dressed quickly. “I need to go.”

“Susana…”

“Isobel will be looking for me.”

“Susana…” Her frown silenced him and he stepped back, releasing all hold on her. His hope deflated, dried up, and gusted away on a whipping breeze.

He should have said nothing. She didn't want to face the truth of their past. She didn't want to acknowledge what had happened between them, what had been. For some reason she was afraid.

He wouldn't press her. Not now.

He would give her time to release the past, to come to her own decisions about the undeniable connection burning between them.

He could only hope she would accept it for what it was. Accept him.

He couldn't bear losing her again.

Especially now.

 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Susana stumbled as she made her way through the hall to her rooms.

He knew who she was.

She didn't know whether to be relieved or horrified. The truth was, she needed some time—away from his distracting presence—to work through her emotions, so she'd fled. His expression had been too raw, her heart too tender.

For six years she'd hated him and resented him and reviled him. He'd seduced her so callously and professed his love. She'd succumbed to his charms, only to find him in the arms of another woman. In a rage, she'd left. She'd been foolish enough to hope he would follow her when she fled Perth, but he had not. She'd assumed his disinclination to do so was a confirmation that he hadn't meant a thing he'd said.

But now, the revelation that he'd thought she'd
died
? That he had loved her?

He'd said they'd both been lied to. He'd been told she perished. She'd been told he was faithless, that he and Kirstie were having an affair—the truth of which she'd seen with her own eyes. But what had she really seen? A boy and a girl in an embrace. A kiss. Then Kirstie's expression when she'd glanced back at Susana's stricken cry. It hadn't been one of guilt or passion. It had been … triumph.

Susana had known Kirstie wanted Andrew for herself. She just hadn't realized how far her friend would go to win him. She shouldn't have been so trusting.

It could be true what he said. She owed him a chance to explain what had happened, from his point of view.

Aside from that, now that she'd had him again, now that she'd been in his arms with nothing between them, she didn't think she could bear to push him away.

She rounded the corner and saw Rory leaning back on a chair set before Isobel's room; the other chair was empty. His snore rumbled through the hall. Exasperation raked her. He was supposed to be guarding Isobel, not napping. She stormed to his side and kicked the legs of the chair and he tumbled to the ground with a yelp.

She stood over him, arms akimbo, and glared. “What are you doing?” she growled.

He scrambled to his feet and straightened his tunic. “I … I … I…”

“Oh, bother.” She pushed past him into Isobel's room and stopped, stock-still. The bed was rumpled … and empty. She ran to the sitting room and peered in, and then to the closet where Isobel sometimes hid. Empty as well. Dread soured her stomach. “
Where is she?
”

Rory stood at the door, his eyes wide, his lips flapping. “I only closed my eyes for a moment. She was here. I swear she was.”

“She's not here now.” Her tone was acidic. Rory flinched.

She rushed across the hall to her own rooms. Her panic rose when they were empty as well. She never should have left her daughter. She never should have gone.

Sweat prickled on her brow. She whirled on Rory. “Who was sitting guard with you?”

“M-Marcus,” he said. One of Andrew's men. Her blood boiled. Her fists tightened. Had Keir been right? Was she wrong to trust the men from Dunnet after all? And had she paid a price too high?

She set her teeth and gritted through them, “Gather the men. We will search the castle from top to bottom. And for God's sake, find Marcus.” She fixed her gaze on the quaking boy. He was pale and trembling but there was no mercy in her heart. He was supposed to be guarding Isobel, keeping her safe, but he'd failed. “If we doona find her, at once, I shall skin you alive,” she bellowed, and then she stormed from the room.

He skittered in her wake.

God help him if anything had happened to Isobel.

And God help
her
 …

*   *   *

Andrew stared out the window of his chambers, seeing nothing.

It had been hard as hell watching Susana leave him, especially with the unanswered questions plaguing him. He knew with absolute certainty that she was his Mairi, but for some reason she didn't want to admit it.

He wouldn't understand women if he lived to be a hundred.

Although, when he thought back to the last time he'd seen her … he thought he might understand what had happened, and what it had looked like to her. He'd been waiting for Mairi in their usual spot in the woods when Kirstie had found him. They'd been chatting, Kirstie flirting more than usual and Andrew attempting to hold her off. And then, all of a sudden, she'd thrown herself into his arms and kissed him.

He'd been stunned and perhaps a little flattered. And perhaps he hadn't pushed her away as quickly as he should have.

It was a mistake he would regret forever.

Mairi's cry still echoed in his soul. That moment was burned into his memory, when he'd glanced up and seen her expression. Eyes wide and filled with tears, limned with betrayal and heartbreak.

Before he'd been able to untangle from Kirstie's clinging limbs, Mairi had whirled away and disappeared. He'd tried to talk to her, to explain, but she'd refused to see him and then, the next day, she'd gone. And according to Kirstie, she'd never made it home.

By then … well, by then it was far too late to explain anything.

But her carriage hadn't overturned. She hadn't died.

Now, miraculously, it wasn't too late at all.

He glanced at the bed, remembering the beauty of the night they'd shared and his mood lifted. He'd made progress with Susana. They'd created an undeniable bond. He knew, with time, she would soften. She would allow him to tell her his story. And perhaps, they would have a second chance at the love they'd once known.

He dressed and made his way down the stairs, heading for the garden, where he was to meet Isobel for another fencing lesson. The little mite was coming along, picking up the basics like a man born with a sword in his hand.

“Andrew!” Susana's sharp tone cut through the foyer like a knife. His blood went cold. Had he really thought the night they'd shared had softened her?

He turned to see her rushing through the front door, followed by a few of her men, all of whom wore concerned expressions.

“Susana? What's wrong?”

She swept up to him, her expression hard. “Where is Marcus?”

He blinked. “Marcus?”

“He was supposed to be guarding Isobel. He's not at his station. And she's gone.”

He frowned. “What do you mean, she's gone?”

“She's not in her room.”

His gut tightened, but he forced the hint of unease away and set his hand on her shoulder. “Have you checked the garden? It's where we usually meet before breakfast.”

She reared back and glared at him. “Why do you meet with my daughter before breakfast?”

Shite.
He should have mentioned it earlier. He swallowed. “We, ah … I'm teaching her to use a sword.”

“Oh. That.” She brushed his confession aside. “No, she's not there. Or in the morning room.” She leaned in and hissed, “No one has touched the cakes.”

Something slightly acidic tickled the back of his throat. His pulse stuttered. Isobel would never miss the opportunity to have a cake. “Let's go find Marcus.”

They found Marcus in the billet that had been set up for the men in the east wing. He was asleep in his bed. He appeared quite surprised when someone smacked him awake and he opened his eyes to find a fuming virago looming over him.

“Where is she?” Susana snapped.

“What?” He scrubbed his face. “Who?”

“Where is my daughter? You were supposed to be guarding her.”

Marcus paled. His Adam's apple worked. He glanced at Andrew as he sat up in his bed. “I was relieved at dawn.”

Tension sizzled around her in a dark cloud. “By whom?”

“By Hamish.”

Susana's mouth snapped shut. Her cheeks paled. Her lips worked. She shot a reproving frown at Andrew. “
Hamish?
”

“Aye, my lady.”

“Has anyone seen Hamish this morning?” Andrew asked. All the men shook their heads.

Susana teetered to the side.

He put his arm around her to steady her and, if he was being honest, to steady himself. “Doona worry, Susana. We'll find him. And we'll find Isobel.” Andrew turned to his men and roared, “Come on, you lot, let's get moving.”

*   *   *

They searched all day. High and low. In every nook and cranny. But they found neither hide nor hair of Isobel or Hamish. When his friend couldn't be found, Andrew found himself racked by the sinking suspicion that he might never see him again.

He knew Hamish had had nothing to do with Isobel's disappearance, and if he was on watch when she was taken, there was no telling what could have happened to him. That Keir was also nowhere to be found was concerning, especially given the fact that Andrew didn't trust the man as far as he could throw him.

Andrew sent men out on extended patrols, focusing on the roads to the west and east; he charged Hamish's men with searching for clues—they were excellent and well trained at investigations like this, though Hamish was better. Andrew found himself sorely missing his friend, and his expertise.

They found little in Isobel's room, except for the disquieting fact that she'd left her bow behind. She would never have willingly left it behind. In her sitting room, where Hamish had been stationed, they found signs of a struggle, including a trickle of blood. His sword still lay on the table. A search of Keir's quarters turned up nothing untoward at all.

Tracks in the stable yard were impossible to follow, because there were so many, but he sent men out to search for any signs of recent passage in the woods. It was a gamble and a folly to expect they would find anything. Dounreay was a busy castle, and many souls wandered along those roads and rode through the woods.