The Beauty of the Mist (15 page)

“That won’t be necessary,” she snapped, reaching down and picking up the pins from the floor.

Silently, John watched her face with a great deal of interest, the same woman who had melted in his arms only moments ago, now visibly rebuilding her defenses, pointedly forced herself to ignore his presence, as she gathered up her hair into a loose knot on the top of her head.

Maria knew getting away from him should be her first priority, but she also knew that she could not return to her cabin in such disarray as this. If Isabel was awake, she would see through her in a moment.

“I’ll walk you back,” he said quietly. Then, raising his voice–obviously for the benefit of the woman inside the cabin–he continued, his tone severe, “And I’ll be sending a few of my men down here to rid my cabin of all unwanted...and uninvited...intruders.”

Then, he offered his arm out to Maria, but the young woman ignored the gesture. Avoiding his gaze, she finished tucking the last rebellious strands of hair in place and directed her steps down the corridor.

John followed along behind her, watching the silky mass of hair. In spite of her efforts, the thick, ebony tresses threatened to spill down her back. He still could recall the softness and the fragrance of it. Looking over her shoulder, his gaze lit on the side of her face–on the porcelain skin, a blush subtly tinting high cheek bones. He remembered the satin feel of it under his lips’ caressing assault. It occurred to him that he could no more stop admiring her beauty than he could put from his mind the passion of their kiss, her flutter of her pulse as he tasted the skin at her throat, the press of their hips and the sultry look in her green eyes. He found himself hardening at the thought of her, his blood rising once again at the stirring in his loins.

Obviously, quite aware of the heat of his gaze on her, she quickened her steps. “There is no need to be rushing, lass,” he said evenly as they reached the door leading to the deck.

Without answering, she pulled at the latch. The cold, wet mist slapped her in the face as she stepped out onto the windswept deck, bringing her to an abrupt halt.

“There is
every reason
to rush!” she cried out, whirling on him as he followed her through the door.

His expression, smug and amused, provoked her to new heights of anger.

“I’ve done what you asked of me.” She tried to slow her breathing. “But you should know that what happened below, I did against my will...against my better judgment. I...I came to your cabin to tell you the arrangement was off...and then you...you...”

“You’re telling me you changed your mind.”

“I have. There is no deal,” she warned him. “I refuse to spend time with you. I refuse to be any part of this sordid, deceitful game. And I refuse to become the focus of idle talk on this ship. I refuse to be thought your...your...”

“Lover?” he asked with arching eyebrows.

It sounded so beautiful on his lips. It was not the word she’d been searching for, but this word–rippling with the notes of his broad Scots accent–thrilled her deeply, and she stared at the Highlander. The wind was whipping wisps of damp black strands across his handsome face. She hated him.

Quickly she turned and stalked to the railing. The flame in the large covered lamp by the mainmast flickered wildly, and the raindrops that struck the top and sides sizzled violently.

“As you say,” she nodded sharply. “So there you have it.”

As she stood defiantly before him, her chin raised, droplets of water glistening like diamonds in her hair, John gazed in rapt admiration at the woman. Then, in the span of a moment, the commander realized that–whatever she might say–their earlier encounter had produced unexpected results. Judging from her words and the rigid set of her jaw, the Highlander had no doubt Maria was determined to avoid any further romantic encounter. But her huge, green, dark-lashed eyes were telling him something else. She had been as affected by what had passed between them as he. They had both felt the heat, the passion, and he knew it.

And now, after tasting her lips and feeling her response to him, he wanted more.

John reached out and pulled her cloak over her head. She recoiled at his forwardness, but he ignored the response. She didn’t run, at least, nor even voice a complaint at his action.

“I’m thinking, lass, that it may be too late for such second thoughts. But whatever you decide you want to do, standing around in this weather isn’t going to help you much. Granted, it’s fine weather. Much like that we’re accustomed to at home. But not being a Highland lass, you should probably try to stay warm and dry–until you regain your strength, that is. I’ll walk you to your cabin.”

Maria stood gaping at the giant. All the arguments that she had prepared were left hanging on her tongue. She had wanted to discuss business–to bring up Denmark. She was ready, if need be, to make an offer of payment–were he to deliver them there. But Maria also wanted to tell him that he was probably correct in saying that it was too late for second thoughts. That she’d already met her part of the bargain by being seen kissing him in the corridor. She wanted, more than ever, to tell him that now it was his turn to pay.

But before she could utter a word of it, the Highlander took her brusquely by the elbow and started back toward the door leading below. For a moment Maria considered pulling her arm away and making him listen to her, but then she decided against it, for deep inside, the young queen knew that–even if she could force him to stand and listen–she wasn’t truly certain she could bring herself to mention their encounter again.

John hid his smile as he led her down the stairs toward her door. The flushed look of her fair skin, the furrowed creased of her brow showed her inner strife, and what she was thinking reflected in her face like the sun on a pool of water. But it was not the obvious lack of guile that he found so attractive, so much as the fact that she was as drawn to him as he was to her. And for right now, that mattered most of all.

Outside of Maria’s cabin door, John spotted the elderly sailor at his post.

“To the galley with you, Christie,” the commander ordered. “Tell Cook that you’re to have a wee bit of something to warm your insides. And when you’ve finished, see if you can find your way back here.”

Arching one bristly eyebrow, Christie straightened up from his position against the wall.

“Aye, m’lord,” the sailor responded cheerfully, giving Maria a grizzled wink as he passed. “Though it may take more than ‘a wee bit’ to warm these old bones this evening.”

Maria watched as the elderly sailor tripped lightly up the steps with an agility that belied his age. Reaching for the door latch, she turned finally toward the Highlander–whose gaze she’d been assiduously avoiding–to bid him good-bye. This would be the end, she thought decidedly. This was the last time she would leave her cabin before the ship docked at Antwerp. Whatever plan she could devise to escape her brother Charles would have to be arranged once they reached Antwerp.

“Fare well, Sir John,” she murmured uneasily, turning her face toward the door.

The Highlander put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her close.

“Nay,” he whispered. “You’ll not escape me quite so easily.”

She looked up into his deep blue eyes in surprise.

“But...” The words died in her throat as she felt his hands slide up the side of her neck, cradling her face in his large, firm hands.

His gaze shifted to her lips, and he brushed the full, lower lip with his thumb.

“What are you doing?” Maria whispered foolishly.

“I am going to kiss you again.”

“Against...against my will?” she asked shakily.

“Nay, lass, not against your will,” he whispered, slowly lowering his head. “But perhaps against your better judgment.”

His mouth covered hers, and sparks exploded within her. This was so different, this kiss. So different from the one before. He was now a man with all the time and all the patience in the world. At first the kiss was light– coaxing, shaping, and exploring. Then, as his hands shifted, drifting down her spine to draw her closer, his mouth became possessive. Lost in the kiss, Maria moved her hands inside his shirt, over his chest and broad shoulders, and then she wrapped her arms around his neck.

The moment she molded herself to him, his mouth opened further, his tongue becoming more demanding.

Maria felt herself shaking with the power of his touch. His hand slid inside her cloak, covering her breast, caressing it through the bodice of her dress, while his other hand swept restlessly behind her, cupping her buttock and pulling her tightly against his aroused body.

Maria pressed her parted lips to his, all thoughts of resistance obliterated in an instant.

When the Highlander finally broke off the kiss, Maria found herself floating weightless in a pool of light. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the pounding of hoof beats, racing in a wild and endless race. How odd, she thought vaguely, to hear the sound of hoof beats–here at sea. Reluctantly, the young woman focused her consciousness on the sound until it became more distinct. Recognizable. Not horses, she smiled to herself. Rather, the sound of a heart. Hers? She wondered. As her senses slowly cleared, Maria perceived that she was standing in the circle of his arm, her head resting against his chest, and she knew whose heart she was hearing. His. Rapid, solid, and true.

But as she tried to make sense out of what was happening to her, she realized that her own heart was undeniably racing in tandem with his.

John slowly raised her chin until their gazes locked.

“Against your will or against your better judgment, we don’t seem to be able to get enough of one other.” His voice was husky. “So, lass, what are we going to do about it?”

Maria stepped back from his embrace, shaking her head, her face burning. She couldn’t. She just couldn’t.

“Do?” she whispered, her voice cracking as she reached for the latch. “Nothing! We can do nothing, Sir John. I will not see you again.”

The commander laid his hand on hers, preventing her from raising the latch. “This is a small ship, Maria.”

“Please don’t make it harder than it is.” Pushing his hand away, Maria opened the door and stepped inside the cabin. Once across the threshold, she hesitated, keeping her eyes averted as she turned back toward him. “I’ll stay inside these walls and you must stay outside.”

The Highlander placed his big hand against the door as she moved to close it.

“That isn’t what you want, Maria.”

“Please!” she repeated, the hint of panic in her voice evident to them both as she pushed the door closed. “Stay away!”

The glare weighed heavily on the sleeping woman.

In her dream, she could feel the weight pressing down on her. She had found herself running, falling, the weight overwhelming her, crushing her, smothering her.

Janet Maule’s eyes flew open, and–unable for a moment to get her bearings–she stared at the blue cap with the feather that lay on the pillow next to her head.

“David?” the young woman whispered in alarm as she jerked to a sitting position. The early dawn’s dim light was making a weak attempt, at best, to brighten the small cabin. Janet peered first at the closed door, squinting her eyes as she attempted to survey the rest of the room. Her progress halted on the blurred image of a person sitting silently in the far corner of the cabin.

“David!” she called quietly, pulling the blanket to her chest. “Is that you?”

“Nay, hussy. The foul thing has gone!”

The young woman’s hand flew to her mouth as she recognized the chill tones of her stepmother, Caroline.

“How long have you been sitting there?”

“Och, long enough.” Caroline Maule lifted herself off the three legged chair and walked slowly toward the small bunk. “Aye, long enough to hear you proclaim your own disgrace.”

The woman’s shawl slipped from her hair down onto her shoulders. She shook her head with disdain.

“Calling his name out.” Caroline stopped beside the bed, glaring down at her stepdaughter. “Ah, the shame of it. Your father, the old fool, was heartsick with worry over you last night. And for no reason, so far as I could tell. Little did
I
know, come to find out. But it mattered nothing what I might say to him. Sir Thomas wouldn’t rest until I agreed to come check on you. And it appears the man knows his own daughter. Aye, quite a surprise, you are!”

Janet felt her limbs go cold at the words. Last night she had bid David goodnight outside of her door. Her face flushed at the memory of that first kiss. The tingling pleasure had remained on her lips for quite awhile before she had finally fallen asleep. Later, in her dreams, they had been together. But that was only in her dreams. Those happy moments had only been a vision–a vision crowded out by the crushing weight that had pursued her, oppressed her, and finally awakened her.

And that had been the extent of their involvement. David had never so much as stepped inside these walls. She was certain of that.

But then, where had his hat come from? Her eyes locked on the colorful cap, the jaunty feather. It could belong to no one but David. Janet reached out quickly to grab the hat. She must hide it. But Caroline’s hands snatched it away.

“Too late to hide the evidence, slut.”

Janet watched, bewildered, as her stepmother seated herself on the edge of her bunk. Caroline held the blue bonnet with one hand while the other slowly caressed the long feather.

“Your father must see this, of course.”

“My father?” Janet swallowed audibly.

“I’m sad to say, I believe he suspected this all the while.” Caroline’s eyes were accusing and direct. “Why else would he have asked me to come to you at this god-awful hour of the morning?”

Janet sprang upright in the bed, tucking her feet under her. “Nay, Caroline! It isn’t as it seems. I can’t explain the cap, but...”

The tall Scottish woman stood up slowly–still holding the navigator’s hat in her hands–and walked to the tiny window.

“There will be bloodshed,” she declared, keeping her back to Janet. “There will be shame on our family, but the foul demon will pay for it with his tainted blood.”