The Beauty of the Mist (19 page)

David turned and gazed at her slender back, watching her shoulders heave as she tried to take in air. Torn between his desire to hold her, comfort her, and his need to protect her, he stood, undecided and unable to move.

And then he knew he couldn’t stay away from her any longer. He was a fool to think that he could. His arms encircled her waist, and he gathered her to him, burying his face in her hair.

Janet quickly turned in his arms. Like dew in the morning sunlight, she reached up for him. “Please don’t go.”

Her simple request was all he’d ever wished for. Crushing his lips to hers, he showed her how impossible it would be to go. He couldn’t. It was already far too late for them. Whatever the Dame Fortune held in store, she held for both of them.

John nodded to all except two of his serving men to depart, then moved to the side of the bed, extending his hand to Isabel.

The elder woman first smoothed her dress before accepting the outstretched hand of the handsome Highlander. Pulling herself to her feet, she tightened her grip on his arm as a sudden attack of dizziness passed over her. But in a moment, it was gone.

“Are you certain you feel up to this?”

“I’ve been confined to that bed for too long.” Isabel turned to scowl at him. “But, if you think you can get rid of me this easily, by simply feigning compassion for my condition...”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Helping her walk the few short steps to the table, he pulled back her chair and waited as she lowered herself gingerly into the seat.

Isabel gave the table a cursory look and tried not to show her wonder. The feast before them and the finery that adorned the table were indeed a match for the best houses in Europe. She would have to remember to commend the ship’s cook on his skill.

“I’ll need that shawl for the draft and some pillows for my back.”

“At your service, Your Highness,” John responded in a humorously obsequious tone, and bowing low before doing as he was ordered. This had better work, he thought to himself. She’d better come out of that little refuge of hers or I may just knock the door down. There was no way in hell I am going to spend an entire evening alone with Isabel being treated like a cabin boy.

John smiled wryly as he returned with the items. He liked the old woman, but enough was enough.

Maria stood with her hand still on the latch and watched the handsome Highlander place a pillow behind her aunt. She stared at his back, at his powerful shoulders, and at the hands gently wrapping the blanket around the elder woman. Remembering those hands on her, she drew in her breath as a surging heat coursed through her.

Isabel was sitting with her back to her as two men with a number of platters busily prepared for the guests at one end of the room. Maria contemplated the notion of backing out of the cabin and returning when the rest of Isabel’s guests had arrived. It was so much easier to be lost in a crowd. So much safer.

She made no sound, but John felt the heat of her eyes on him. He turned abruptly and stopped.

Suddenly, for Maria, nothing in the room mattered but John Macpherson. If she could have consciously expressed her impression of him, she might have said the Scottish commander was quite dashing in his impeccably fitted Highland clothes, in his white linen shirt with the tartan crossing his broad chest, in his kilt and his soft, high boots. But Maria was capable of no such expression. She simply stood there, gazing at him, unconsciously allowing her eyes to travel the length of him, drinking him in, absorbing him.

And then she stopped. In an instant the sight of him loomed up before her, filling the breadth of the room, of her senses–and pouring into some unknown, unnamable void in her heart.

An eon seemed to pass, and then Maria forced herself to breath, somehow managing a half smile and feeling the heat about to burst through her skin. But John’s smile, a dazzling response to her own feeble attempt, tore at her chest and she closed her eyes reflexively. Stunned and panic-stricken, she could look at him no longer.

Not once–from the time he had entered manhood to the present–had John Macpherson ever given heaven more than a passing thought. Not once–up to the present–had he ever thought to consider the existence of angels on earth. Not once.

Until now.

In an instant, the pagan was converted, the heathen subdued, the savage tamed. Gazing at her as she stood quietly in the cabin door, John knew what the heaven looked like, what the sight of an angel can do to a man’s soul. Clothed in ivory, Maria emanated elegance and beauty. Her hair, free from its usual bonds, cascaded in ebony waves to her waist. Looking on the black tresses, the Highlander recalled the memory of its silken feel and its fragrance. His gaze took in the soft lines of her throat, the milky skin that led from her angelic face, to the tops of her full, high breasts rising above the simple, crossed laces of the dress’s square neckline. His eyes did what his body could not do. They devoured her.

John let his eyes roam shamelessly over the sculpted perfection of her features, over the womanly curves of her body. At once, he knew he wanted her to feel his gaze. He wanted her to fathom the extent of his need, of his desire. He wanted her to feel the fire that was consuming him. The fire that could consume them both.

A shudder coursed through her as she followed the path of his gaze. She watched as his blue eyes unlaced the ties of her dress. Her lips parted as she felt the power of his stare draw her gown from her shoulders. Layer by layer, he undid her. He unraveled her. She felt as if she were standing before a looking glass, but her reflection was not what it had been. As if in a dream, she could see herself through his eyes, and there was no gown, no material to hide her body–there was no lock to safeguard her heart. She stood naked and unveiled. But deep within her, Maria felt something else. She felt wanted. And though reeling a bit at the thought, she welcomed the response.

“Well, could it be Maria, at long last?” Isabel called out, her back still to them. She knew full well the prolonged hush could mean nothing else.

“Aye, Isabel,” Maria replied, her voice a whisper as she let go of the door and stepped further into the room.

“It’s about time you joined us, my dear. I don't know how much longer I could have withstood his company alone. It’s quite a vexing task, you know!” She waved her hand over her shoulder and turned slightly. “Come. Come. The two of you. That physician’s brew will probably put me out again in a moment or two. And that will be the extent of my enjoyment for the evening.”

Maria caught a glimpse of the fleeting expression that crossed John’s face, and she smiled. It was clear that, as far as John Macpherson was concerned, Isabel could have been put to bed hours ago.

Courteously, the ship’s commander moved toward the young woman and reached for her hand. The clean wrap for her palms covered her hands minimally, now, and her fingers were free and functional. Somewhat to her own surprise, though, she didn’t even hesitate before placing her hand in his. But when he brought her fingers to his lips, pressing them there, the flush of heat raced up her arm and coursed through her once again.

“I thought I asked you to stay away.” She whispered the words to him alone. She could feel his warm breath on her skin. Pressing against her consciousness was the recollection of his full lips pressed to hers. She tried to push away the memory, but it persisted, and she found herself yielding to its allure.

Reluctantly, John lowered her hand, but he refused to let it go. “So you did,” he whispered back. His gaze was locked on hers, his fingers caressing the softness of her hand. “And I would have...stayed away. If only I thought you meant it!”

She tried to move away, but he wouldn’t let her go. Instead, he held her beside him and started for the table.

“What are we going to do about this, Maria?”

His words were a caress. She felt as if she’d been kissed.

“And don’t tell me nothing.” He pulled a chair back for her to sit. “I’ll not accept it.”

“What won’t you accept?” Isabel asked bluntly, trying to hide her amusement with the obliviousness of the two young people.

Like one waking from a trance, Maria came back to the room. She’d been so enraptured with John’s presence that she had nearly forgotten Isabel. Blushing, she sat down on the chair that the Highlander offered. Looking for something to hide behind, she immediately picked up the crystal goblet sitting before her. She brought the glass to her lips.

“It’s empty!” Isabel reported to her niece before turning to the Highlander, she repeated her earlier question. “Well, what won’t you accept?”

John filled Maria’s cup and took his seat across from her, giving her a reassuring wink as he settled into the chair. She was quick to bring the drink back to her lips. He turned to the older woman. “I will not accept her demand of taking me to her bed.”

Maria choked on her drink, sputtering and coughing.

Isabel looked at him menacingly from where she sat. “And why is that?”

This time John was the one who would have choked, had not been growing accustomed to Isabel’s bizarre sense of humor. His composure remained intact. “Because she doesn’t mean it. She is just planning to use me. I am not one to be so obliging, only to find myself discarded. My reputation ruined.”

The elder woman considered John’s words. “Ah, I see. Your reputation. So quite against all rules of courtly etiquette, you refuse to bed this young woman.”

Before answering, John first glanced at Maria to make certain she was still breathing. Indeed she was. But while her complexion had the subtlest hint of color to it–something close to the shade of poppies–her eyes sparkled green and alive, and they danced with amusement back and forth between Isabel and himself. John turned his gaze back to Isabel.

“Courtly rules be damned,” the Highlander growled. “I see, Isabel, that for the purposes of being deliberately contentious, you’ve conveniently forgotten the promise you forced out of me. Well, if you’d prefer, I’m willing to consider that arrangement finished, and, if need be, I’ll agree to yield to her wishes.”

Though she shook her head definitively, Isabel’s sardonic look was answer enough, and John raised the decanter.

“More wine?” he asked the older woman brightly.

“What promises?” Maria injected, breaking the silence that followed. Their rough banter, she knew, made it safe enough for her to let down her guard. And though the answer to her question was obvious, she saw her opportunity to make them feel awkward–if it were at all possible to make these two feel awkward–for discussing her as if she were absent.

Neither answered. For a moment Maria thought the Highlander was about to, but after receiving a threatening look from Isabel, he simply smiled impishly at Maria.

“Shall we eat?” Isabel asked gruffly, waving to the waiting men to begin serving.

“Won’t there be others joining us?” Maria asked.

“Others?” Isabel huffed. She waved a knife at John. “This one thinks the party is already too large by one, I believe. Nay, my dear, I’d wager our good host, here, would prefer not to share the vision of your beauty and pleasure of your wit with any others.”

John smiled innocently and speared a filet of fish from the gold platter that his man held. What Isabel said was true. Beyond all the repartee, he really didn’t care to share Maria with any of the others on board. He wanted her all to himself.

“You see, Maria? He doesn’t deny it,” Isabel said, raising her wine to her lips. “Is this
Spanish
wine, m’lord? I wouldn’t have thought you had the good taste to keep Spanish wine.”

“The truth is, lass,” John said bluntly, ignoring Isabel, “I didn’t think it appropriate to subject the nobles of the delegation to your aunt’s foul temper.”

“That was quite thoughtful of you, Sir John,” Maria replied with a smile.

The Highlander leaned back in his chair. “Generous is a better word. We have, after all, been stranded here for a number of days, and I wouldn’t want the entire delegation jumping overboard as a result of your aunt’s treatment of them.”

“Hmmph!” Isabel groused, continuing to eat.

Maria smiled down at her plate, unwilling to risk a glance at Isabel. “I can see, Sir John, that you’ve made the most of your good fortune in spending time with my aunt.”

“Good fortune?” John responded, raising his eyebrows. “We’re talking about Lady Isabel!”

“Aye?” the older woman put in, waiting expectantly.

“Certainly, ‘good fortune’ is too trifling a phrase to capture the true spirit of what I have...experienced.”

Maria could tell, watching Isabel stifle a wry smile, that, in spite of their gruff talk, the commander had indeed won her aunt’s affections.

“My apologies, m’lord,” the young woman responded. “It has, I’m certain, presented some difficulties for you. But beneath her ruined exterior...”

“Who is ‘ruined’?” Isabel exploded.

“...that beneath that damaged façade, there beats a very fine heart!”

“Well, that I have yet to see,” John returned giving Isabel an appraising look. “But to think that musket ball to her shoulder almost took away the only choice part!”

“It’s true. It would have been a dreadful shame,” Maria whispered back as she took a serving of fruit.

“I think I’ve heard just about enough out of you two.” Isabel picked up a long yellow fruit from a proffered tray. “How is it that a barge like this one has Jerusalem apples at this time of year?”

John leaned toward Maria. “Aye. To think, we might have been sharing this dinner alone. Only the two of us. Such a pity!”

Maria gazed across the table into his deep blue eyes. The light of the candles reflected in them, giving his face a hint of the rogue within. Just the two of them, she thought. He didn’t even know how far his words went to produce chaos inside of her.

Isabel looked from one to the other, each enthralled by the other’s charms. “That’s enough entertainment at my expense. Find a different subject of discussion.”

As the dinner progressed, Maria toyed with the food on her plate and occasionally glanced up. John was continuously watching her–that she knew–and her blush deepened each time their eyes met. Isabel was clearly working hard to steer the handsome Highlander into more mundane discussions on a variety of matters, and Maria listened attentively, occasionally contributing. Everything he said interested her, but the young woman was far more eager to exchange silent looks that moved across her skin like caresses. Though John Macpherson mainly directed his words to Isabel, the commander continued stretch his long legs beneath the table, pressing his knees–unintentionally, of course–against her legs.