The Imposter (6 page)

“So, yer Kate?” he
managed in between chuckles.  “Really?”

In lieu of an
answer to his question, I placed my hands on my hips, and shot him what I
intended to be an intimidating stare. 

“Aye lass, my Da
would have been right pleased with this arrangement.  Too bad he couldna have
lived long enough tae meet ye.  You’ve a fire in yer eyes and my by estimates, yer
young enough tae have been his daughter.  He’d have been right pleased indeed!”
Devon chuckled.

 I could imagine
the scene rolling through his drunken mind of his elderly father with a wife
young enough to be his daughter. 

I pushed Devon
back onto the table, grabbed the needle and jabbed it a bit too harshly into
the tender skin of his flesh wound.  I was exasperated that he found my
situation so humorous, but more than anything, the danger of assuming Ms.
Berkshire’s identity hit home with a weighted blow.  What would happen to me if
I was discovered to be an imposter?

He regained his
composure and flashed a mischievous smile. “And here I was enjoying yer
attentions sae much, thinking ye an angel and such and ye were tae be my
step-mother!  Ha! My Da must be rolling over in his grave!”

“Lay back you
drunken lout, I’ll never finish sewing this up if you keep laughing.”  I placed
a firm hand upon his chest and used my fingers to hold the wound together in
preparation for the final stitches.  “I doubt very much that your Dad would
like you to join him in the grave due to a nasty infection,” I threatened.

Between his
occasional muffled giggles, during which I had to pause so as not to stick him
with the needle again, I was able to finish closing his wound.  As I pulled
back to admire my amateur work, I saw that my patient was once again fast asleep. 
I had been so absorbed in my work that I had not noticed that the hustle and
bustle in the hall had died down and only a few maids remained to tidy the
mess.  There was a steady muffled hum of the breathing men who had been left in
the hall settled into the rhythm of well deserved sleep. 

 I grabbed a
woolen blanket from the hearth and placed it over Devon’s sleeping form.  His
chest slowly rose and fell and a hint of a smile remained on his face.  I
carefully tucked the blanket about him and brushed a fallen clump of hair from
his eye.  A feeling of peace from a job well done came over me and I let out a
well deserved sigh.  I placed a quick kiss right above his eye where the hair
had been.  His skin was warm and weathered beneath my lips.  I froze above his
sleeping body, embarrassed by my action.  What had come over me?

“Good night, step-mother,”
he whispered, catching me off guard.  I could hear the smile in his voice.

I felt the color
rise to my cheeks.  He had known I was there the whole time and had most
certainly felt the kiss that I had placed on his forehead.  One never uses
their best judgment under the grips of sleep deprivation.  Kissing Devon
McClain had most certainly been a bad idea.

Chapter Four

Morning sun shone
down on Kate, glimmering off her auburn hair and highlighting the lighter more
golden flecks.  Devon looked down on her from the balcony attached to his
chambers which gave him a fine, secluded viewpoint.  Her movements were
exquisitely feminine and she looked radiant even in her gray woolen dress that
she used for working in the garden.  She intrigued him and he watched her now
to confirm that it had not just been the alcohol overwhelming his senses last
night when she had tended his wounded shoulder.

 Although it was
undeniable that he was physically attracted to her, it was also evident that
there was something else about her that drew his attention.  Her manner of
speech was peculiar.  She spoke with an accent he had never encountered
before.  The Berkshire lands were close to the English border but he had
expected less of a pronounced accent in Kate’s speech.

  She obviously
knew of his position within the clan, and yet she was not intimidated by his
position as other women often were.  She had matched him line for line, and her
take charge attitude had shown him that she was self-assured, intelligent and
strong-willed.

The way she had
taken charge of the wounded last night had impressed him.  She had worked
tirelessly to tend to his men, ever calm in her ministrations.  He had enjoyed
watching her survey the injured, sorting out the most grave injuries and
dealing with them swiftly and efficiently before moving onto those who were
less severely injured.  She was a born leader and was clearly knowledgeable
about her craft.  She worked quickly and was able to make quick decisions. 
These were qualities that Devon admired in a man but had never encountered
before in a woman.   The idea of a woman with these qualities piqued his
interest.

Hell, she had been
betrothed to his father!  The fact that he was even entertaining the idea of a
tryst with her would make his Da roll over in the grave.

As the next in
line for the McClain lairdship after his brother Collin, Devon could easily
have his pick of the women about the keep.  He’d seen them employ a wide array
of tactics to ensnare his affections and although he had bedded a few of the
overly willing ones, he had quickly grown bored with their games.  He couldn’t
get last night’s brief encounter with Kate out of his mind. He wanted to know
more.

Devon was not the
type to sit and wait for answers to his questions.  Pulling a clean white shirt
over his head and hastily tucking it into his kilt, he decided to stop spying
on the lass and go get a few of his questions answered.   He gathered his thick
chestnut hair at the nape of his neck and secured it with a leather throng,
noticing that his shoulder injury did in fact hurt more that he was willing to
admit when he raised his right arm.  He would go and see for himself why this lass
was so intriguing to him.  He would find out what exactly about her it was that
was so arousing to his senses.  Pulling the chamber door closed behind him, he
made his way down the stairs, hoping that he wasn’t rousing a fire within
himself that he would not be able to put out.

***

“What I wouldn’t
do for a hot bath,” I muttered out loud as I examined the state of my
fingernails, blackened with dirt.  I had asked the kitchen maids for a chore to
do, needing a mundane task to keep me occupied.  I also hoped for an
opportunity to scour the castle grounds for escape routes.

“I think that
could be arranged.  I’ve quite a debt owed tae ye for my rudeness.” Devon said,
startling me.

 I jumped at the
sound of unexpected company and Devon smiled charmingly as I peered over my
shoulder.

 “That’s the least
I could do for my good mother,” he balked as I gave him my best glare, still
not finding the same humor in the situation as he did.  Devon moved the basket
in which lay my harvest and settled to the ground next to me in the garden.  He
leaned back against the stone wall surrounding the garden, looking relaxed and
at ease. 

I continued my
work of loosening a garlic bulb from the grips of the Earth.  Suddenly, he
reached for my hand.  I was startled by his unexpected touch and jumped
visibly, raising my eyes to meet his.

Seeing my reaction
to his touch, he jerked back his hand.  “I’ve come tae apologize, Kate. I was
quite well into my cups last night and I vaguely remember being a less than
accommodating patient,” his green eyes watched my hands intensely as he waited
for my response.

“Your forgiven,
you lout,” I said trying to minimize my reaction to him.  I was surprised  that
his brief touch could spark such a shocking reaction. “Remember, that I was the
one with the needle in hand,” I bantered, wondering exactly how much he
remembered from last night.

“Aye, it’s hard
for me not to remember that.  Every time I move I feel yer stitchery.” He made
a mock grimace that possibly held a hint of sincerity. 

I was quite sure
that the wound pained him more that he would let on.

“Let’s have a look
at it,” I said, brushing my hands on my full skirt.  “I don’t want to touch you
with dirty hands, but at least pull your shirt up so that I can have a look at
it.” 

“Slow down lass,
we’ve but just met and yer demanding that I undress?  How can a lad protect his
modesty these days?” Devon chided but obliged, un-tucking the clean linen shirt
from his kilt and rucking it up to expose my handiwork, as well as the physique
that I had admired last night.  There was not an ounce of fat on the man.  His
abdominal muscles were well sculpted, and they tapered into a deep V that
delved beneath his woolen kilt. 

I noticed that he
had shaved since our last encounter in the hall and his hair was neatly pulled
back into a thick tail secured by a leather throng at the base of his neck.  I
leaned closer to inspect my handiwork, quite impressed with how my stitches
were holding up.  It was impossible not to notice his taught, muscled chest and
tanned skin.  My nose tinged as it caught his earthy, masculine smell.  Electricity
shot through my nerves as I felt Devon’s eyes watching me.  I caught myself and
consciously drew away from him, collecting myself. 

Something about
this man that I barely knew struck me.  My heart skipped a beat as I examined
his chest, and then it began to hammer in double time. 

Oh my
. 
Is
he interested in me?

Intrigue blazed in
Devon’s eyes as he looked down at me and a boyish smile played across his face
as my fingers grazed over the warm skin of his chest.

He’s flirting
with me!

“It looks great. 
Not bad for my first needlepoint project,” I mustered, suppressing the
attraction that I felt and drawing myself away from Devon McClain.   I was
pleasantly surprised to find that the infection had receded and the skin had a
pink healthy pallor about the wound.  “And being that you were quite rude, I
will take you up on the offer of a hot bath!”

“I wouldna offer
if I could na deliver,” he smiled. “I’ll speak with the maids and have a tub
taken up to yer chamber this afternoon,” he said, pulling down his shirt and
tucking it into his crimson plaid kilt.

“Thanks,” I
replied, looking down at the dirt, unsure of how to continue.  I made a vain
attempt to concentrate on my work in the garden in an effort not to look at Devon. 
I felt strangely at ease around Devon, despite my undeniable attraction to
him.  Under my father’s watchful eye, any man who had dared to flirt with me
would have been killed.  I found that I quite enjoyed Devon’s apparent interest
in me.  It made me feel wanted, powerful and normal.  I warned myself to remain
cautious and not to let my new-found liberties cloud my judgment. 

“How’s Brennan?” I
asked, concerned for Leti’s betrothed, but hoping this would be a safe subject
of conversation.  I needed to alleviate the delicious burn of Devon’s eyes on
my skin temporarily so that I could collect my rational thoughts.

“His fever has
gone down, and he seems tae be doing better.  I thought that he was a goner for
sure,” Devon remarked coolly.  “My sister would have killed me.  I can’t thank ye
enough for what ye did for him.  He’s like my brother, ye ken.”

“You’re welcome,”
I responded, secretly euphoric that my healing techniques had done anything to
help Brennan.

We sat quietly for
a moment, each lost in our own thoughts.   I continued to harvest bulbs from
the garden and Devon twisted a sheath of grass between his fingers.  I felt his
gaze upon me in the way that one knows when they are being watched, even
without actually looking up to meet his eyes.  I felt him watching me, studying
my movements.  Having only met Devon last night, I had judged him to be a
leader, a warrior who cared deeply about his men.  He also appeared to have a
lighter side complete with a bawdy sense of humor, which was contrary to the
preconceived notions that I had regarding what a barbaric warrior should be
like.  Maybe his sense of humor had been amplified by the whisky that he had
consumed last night, but I was beginning to believe that it was just part of
his nature. 

  I glanced over
at the man leaning against the stone wall, casually twisting the long piece of
grass between his fingers.  I sensed something that I had not picked up on last
night.  Maybe it was caution, but Devon was clearly trying to figure something
out about me.  He was observing me cautiously, trying to avoid my notice.  It
was hard not to notice this giant of a man.  He was handsome and his presence
was commanding.  I felt his gaze flicker from the grass twisting in his fingers
and burn across my skin.  I also felt when his gaze shifted back to his hands
and the grass he was twisting between his fingers.  My heart raced as the
thought crossed my mind that he might be onto my rouse, might be figuring out
that I was not in fact Ms. Berkshire. 

I felt his gaze
settle on me once again and I looked up from my work, meeting his eyes straight
on.  He smiled slightly, as if he had been caught at something that he should
not have been doing.  His eyes held contact with mine for a moment longer that
was comfortable and I felt the color rise to my face as he so openly looked at
me with those green eyes.

“Are ye about
done?” he questioned, still smiling slightly so as to reveal the dimple that I
had noticed last night while he was asleep atop the table.

Suddenly horrified
with myself for appraising him so openly, I felt my face flush with color. 

“Done with what?”
I questioned haughtily, feeling immediately embarrassed by the intensity at
which we were looking at each other. 

He took joy in
teasing me and was calling me out for ogling him.  I made a mental note to
distance myself from him.  I sensed that playing with Devon McClain would be
like playing with fire.  Not wanting to get burned, I knew that I should keep
my distance from this man.