The Highlander (3 page)

Jamie's eyes glazed with thought. A frown appeared between his brows. He walked over to stand before the girl. "What were you doing in Ravenscroft, or better yet, in the water?"

"I do not recall,
monsieur."

"Where do you live?"

"I have no memory,
monsieur."
She continued on in French, but speaking too low for Jamie to catch much of what she said.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and gave his head a shake. "Could you speak English? I fear I am not up to unraveling the mystery of who you are and why you are here in a language other than my mother tongue—at least not this late at night, and me with a damnable headache."

"If you don't like having a headache, then why do you drink?"

"Who said I drank?"

"I am not a child,
monsieur.''''

Jamie purposefully allowed his gaze to roam leisurely over her, so he could watch her response. "Ye dinna have to convince me of that," he said. He was thinking she had lovely eyes, as light and blue as the waters that lapped gently at the shores of the Greek islands.

No, he thought. She definitely is not a child.

Tavish was scratching his head as he studied her thoughtfully. "We dinna have much to go on, do we? That is aside from the fact that she is a female and in need of our help. Do you think she is French?"

"Just because she speaks French does not mean she is French." Jamie thought about that for a moment. She had exquisitely fine-boned features, and if he were judging by looks alone, she very well could be French. He had studied in France and Italy for several years before his father's death. Based on his knowledge of the French language and his familiarity with native speech patterns, there was little doubt in his mind that the language was her mother tongue. Although she did speak English well, it was strongly accented with French.

Damnably seductive it was, too.

Those captivating, siren's eyes of hers made it difficult to keep his mind focused on what he was about. "Since French is obviously her mother tongue, it would seem highly probable that she is French."

Tavish grinned widely and slapped his leg. "I knew it! So, at least until we decide differently, we will say she is French. What happens next?"

Jamie turned back to the girl. "What is your name?"

Her lips were trembling, but she answered aim clearly. "I do not remember."

Tavish was right. She looked frozen to the core of her. He had never seen lips so blue, but he had to know something about her. It would not do to welcome a spy in their midst. "All right, then how about your last name? Do you remember that?" When she did not answer, Jamie raised his voice. "Your last name! What is it?"

"I..." She stopped suddenly and looked down at her hands, which were clasped together in her lap.

"Go on. Your last name...what is your last name?"

"I...I do not know." Her voice was soft and lilting.

"You were about to tell me a last name a moment ago, then stopped. What made you change your mind?"

"I did not change my mind. Sophie is all the name I recall."

"Sophie. It isn't much, but at least it is a start," Tavish said.

"Something isn't right about all of this." Jamie glanced at Tavish. "A moment ago she said she did not remember her first name. Now she does."

She knew he was waiting for her to explain, but she said nothing. The one called Tavish seemed kind and jovial, but his brother was hard and suspicious. She did not want to stay with him, for she feared what he might do if she did not give him the answers he sought.

Jamie turned back to her and spoke slowly. "I will give you one more opportunity to answer. Tell me now or, by God, I will toss your shivering carcass outside and leave you there." He saw the way she was twisting her hands, the fear in her eyes. He was not swayed. She could wring her hands until doomsday, but he would have the truth out of her or else. "I will warn you, mistress, I am not easily duped by a woman's beguiling ways. Answer me," he demanded.

"I did not tell you because I did not recall it at the time."

"So, you miraculously remembered it when I asked for your last name?"

She nodded.

Jamie turned to Tavish. "She lies."

"I think you have frightened her," Tavish said. "You can tell she's scared. Look at her. See how she trembles, white as a sheet. I worked hard to make her relax, and now you have terrified her. She is near to fainting with fear."

Jamie did not bother to look. "Do not fall into that trap. She strokes you with her words and beguiles you with her alluring ways, but I warn you now, a false face hides what a false heart knows."

"I am no' so captivated that I cannot see the truth," Tavish said. "She has been through much. Grant her leave, Jamie. Is there no kindness in your heart for someone less fortunate than you? Och! I have never seen ye so hardhearted."

"Stop your caterwauling. I am not going to serve her for breakfast. All I want is the truth."

"Aye, and where were we? Sophie...her name is Sophie. She is French. We have that much. It is a beginning." Tavish gave her a smile.

"Aye, and it is not much to go on," Jamie said, not bothering to hide the skepticism he felt. "The name, by the way, is of Greek origin. It means wise, sensible or discerning, which she does not appear to live up to."

"She has no' been here an hour," Tavish said. "Give her time. Sophie could be a French name, too, don't you think?"

"Aye, it is a common girl's name for both the Dutch and French." He turned back to her. "You don't remember anything save your name, prior to my brother finding you?"

' 'Non, monsieur,
I regret to say that I do not.
Je suis desole.''
^,

Je suis desole...
He did not think she was sorry about anything, but he had to confess her words curled seductively around him. Even in her state she was a charmer, and it did not hurt that she had a husky voice that made her accented English quite arousing.

Still, something was not right. Jamie was uneasy about her sudden appearance from the sea, when any mortal would have died from the cold. He was not one to ignore his misgivings.

He spoke to Tavish. "We have no idea how she came to be in the water. It does sound a bit preposterous, does it not? A woman who looks like this doesn't randomly fall out of the sky and land at one's feet now, does she?"

"Not unless you are verra lucky," Tavish said as he gave Sophie an encouraging look. "I guess you didna hear about the shipwreck. A ship— the
Aegir
—ran aground late last night, on the rocks below Monleigh Castle. Some of our men were out there until morning, pulling bodies and belongings from the sea. There were no survivors."

"I doubt she was on that ship because you said you found her near Ravenscroft. That is at least ten miles south of Monleigh. She couldn't have survived the extreme cold temperature of the water long enough to reach Ravenscroft alive."

"The ship was bound for Norway," Tavish went on, as if not listening to what Jamie said.

"Perhaps she managed to crawl onto a piece of driftwood or perhaps a boat, and floated farther down the coastline with the current."

Jamie shrugged. "Anything is possible, but the only survivor? It sounds too incredible to be true."

"I thought the same at first, but what other explanation could there be? She isna a silkie."

Jamie spoke to the girl again. "Have you no memory of being aboard a ship?"

"Non,
I remember nothing."

"You better be telling the truth." Jamie spoke the words sharply and grasped her beneath the chin, in order to lift her face to his. She could be lying. She could be a spy. She could be many things—but most of all, she was someone they could not trust.

He studied her eyes, as if searching for the accuracy of her words. "Gloriously deceitful and a virgin renowned forever," he said, recalling the words of Horace.

"What are you thinking?" Tavish asked.

"Have you considered the fact that she could be a spy?"

"A French spy?"

Jamie nodded. "Or English. It is not unheard of, you know. There have been numerous French spies captured while looking for support for the

Jacobite cause, and the English have had their spies everywhere, looking for them."

Jamie waited to see how she was taking all of this, but all he saw was the exhaustion, and the drain on her body the extreme temperatures had taken upon her. "Enough discussion for now. We can find out where she is from, and why she is here, at a later time."

"Aye," Tavish said, "she needs to rest. We carina leave her sitting here, shivering and half naked."

Jamie turned and jerked another plaid from a nearby hook. "Remove that wet plaid," he said to Tavish.

¹¹
Non.
I am not dressed,
monsieur."

"I can see that, but getting you dry is more important than modesty at this point." He unwrapped his brother's plaid from her and was glad to hear that Tavish's gasp masked his own.

"Mon dieu!"
she exclaimed, and tried to grab the plaid to cover herself, but Jamie held it away and out of her reach.

She looked at him beseechingly, distress plain on her face, and his only thought was that she was exquisitely beautiful, with a body a man would gladly go to war for. "Well, judging from her reaction, we have learned another thing. She isna a whore."

He caught her chin and held her immobile. '"Was this the face that launch'd a thousand ships, and burnt the topless towers of Ilium? Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss.'

"Now you
have
frightened the wits out of her," Tavish said. "She is on the verge of tears. Are ye daft, brother?"

Aye, he was seriously beginning to doubt his own sanity, for now he not only had a half-drowned lass to reckon with, but the lust thundering through his veins, as well. All in all this was fast proving to be a trying night.

Yet, he could not ignore her rare beauty— looking up at him with a misty-eyed radiance, virtue simply oozed from her. She might be the object of any man's desire, but something about her screamed innocence, and a long-buried tenderness flared briefly within him. He regretted the aching need within that tempted him, when he should remain perfectly neutral. With a sort of self-inflicted irritation, he quickly covered her, but not before he had a fleeting glimpse of generous, rose-tipped breasts, a nipped-in waist and the flare of feminine hips...and the corresponding rise of his own erection.

With a muffled oath he turned to pick up another log and tossed it on the flames, more because he needed a distraction than from any real need to build up the blazing fire. He did not miss the way she jumped when the vivid show of sparks exploded with loud popping sounds.

"Why are ye so nervous, lass? Are you hiding something?"

"I am not nervous. I am tired. I am cold. I am hungry. I am tired of answering questions. And I grow quite weary of bandying words about with you."

Ever on the defensive, Tavish sprang to her defense once more. "Dinna be so hard on her, Jamie. Can ye no' imagine what she has endured? She hardly looks like a criminal, or someone you should harbor grave doubts about."

"I am too much the skeptic to overlook the possibility of anything. It is my job to be suspicious."

"Aye," Tavish said, "and burned by false fire, mayhap?"

"I take full responsibility for my actions," Jamie replied. "And it might behoove you to remember that I am trying to cope with the paradox of being a loyal Scot, the chief of the clan, the laird of the castle, a man and a brother, while trying to cope with a deeply felt moral obligation toward this lass I find myself responsible for."

"You may be responsible, but you could also be wrong. She could be telling the truth, you know."

"Aye, then perhaps I should be more like you, irresponsible and always right."

Tavish was grinning now. "Aye, ye should, brother. And a wonderful feeling 'tis, ye ken, to always be right."