Chapter Six
Elizabet stretched her arm. Though still tender and bruised, it was well on its way to healing. There was no reason she couldn’t travel. Yet still, Jack made no mention of taking her home. Far from finding this disturbing, the opportunity to extend her stay thrilled Elizabet. She didn’t remember her first several days at Glenlyon, of course. But since she’d woken a few days before, she’d been thoroughly enjoying her time at the cottage. Jack kept her warm, comfortable, and she had a breathtaking view of the loch from the window by the bed. She’d been visited twice more by the lovely Sorcha, whose charm, beauty, and confidence made her someone Elizabet would very much enjoy getting to know better. And every other waking minute had been spent with the man she should probably loathe.
Speaking of…
The door to the small cottage opened, and Jack came in, carrying a stack of wood.
“Ah, ye’re awake. How are ye feeling today?”
“Better, thank you.” She watched him as he set the wood down by the fire, admiring the bunching of his muscles. The way his shirt pulled taut across his back. The glimpses of his calves and knees when his plaid moved. She’d never considered knees to be particularly attractive before. Until she’d seen his.
He turned and caught her gaze. She looked quickly away but not before she saw his amused smile.
He came to sit by her. “I hope ye’re comfortable.”
“I am, thank you.”
“I’m sure this is a far cry from yer family’s estates. Or the palace’s marbled halls, if ye stay at the court of our illustrious king.”
Elizabet cocked her head, considering him. “You don’t seem to like our king overly much.”
“Och, I like him fine enough. It’s his policies I dinna always approve of, or his reluctance to enforce some of them, I should say.”
“Seems as though you benefit from some of those lax laws,” she said with a small smile.
He gave her an answering smile. “I may break a few laws from time to time in order to right a few others.”
Before she could respond, he stood and looked around the cottage. “I didna mean to disturb yer rest, but I wanted to see if there was anything ye needed…”
“I’m fine, thank you. You may find it strange, but I haven’t missed the comforts of home all that much. In fact, it’s been a relief to get away from the relentless pressure to always behave a certain way. After all, a slovenly, unattractive girl will never catch herself a wealthy husband. According to my mother, at least, that is my sole purpose in life. Therefore, most of her waking moments are put to obtaining the best match possible.”
“Well, I could nag ye a bit more, if it would make ye feel more at home. Or bring Berta by. The woman could nag the devil himself into being a saint.”
That surprised a laughing snort out of her. She slapped a hand over her mouth, mortified. But far from being appalled, Jack laughed. A great, loud belly laugh that made Elizabet laugh along with him.
This is what she loved. With Jack, she could be herself. The man was insanely difficult to coax into speech. At least anything of a personal nature. But he accepted her without question. A refreshing change that she relished.
“Let’s see to yer arm now, shall we?” he asked, gently unwrapping her bandage.
She’d come to look forward to the hour when he’d re-dress her shoulder. She’d never known anyone so large to be so gentle. From the way his fingers skimmed across her skin to how he carefully wrapped the linen around her arm. Each brush of his hand sent a riot of sensations rushing through her body. She swore he lingered far longer than necessary. He must be as affected as she. She’d been well enough to travel for a couple of days, and she did worry about her parents. Surely even they were concerned for her. But she would be going home soon enough. For now, she tried to put everything else from her mind so she could savor these moments of freedom.
“What are ye thinking about so fiercely?” he asked, reaching for a new bandage.
She shrugged with her uninjured shoulder. “Only that you seem perfectly happy to listen to me chatter away about whatever nonsense enters my head, but you don’t reciprocate much.”
“Do ye expect me to?”
“No, not really. After all, you still wear that ridiculous mask when you are near me. Naturally, I can’t expect you to be going about spilling all your secrets.”
“But?”
She smiled. “I suppose I find it odd that I feel so comfortable saying anything at all to you when truthfully, I don’t know you at all. And under the circumstances…”
“I’m not who ye’d expect as a confidant, eh?”
“Something like that.”
“So what sorts of things can ye tell me that would scandalize less disreputable folk?”
She shook her head. “Nothing in particular comes to mind.”
“Och, come now. What is the last thing yer mother scolded ye for?”
Elizabet laughed. “What hasn’t she scolded me for might be easier to tell you.”
A blond eyebrow rose over the mask, and she sighed. “Well, the last thing I said that truly horrified her, other than my wish to avoid the match with Mr. Ramsay, of course, was that church services bore me to tears.”
Jack gasped and sat back from her. “Heathen!”
Elizabet giggled. “And that I thought the king’s mistress, the Countess of Castlemaine, is actually quite lovely and entertaining company. Personally, I applaud her. She is wealthy, powerful, and she and the king seem quite happy together—when he isn’t with his wife or another mistress. Still, she has the run of court, acts in any way she pleases, and has the king himself showering her with whatever she wishes. There are worse ways to live.”
“Aye, that’s true enough.”
“Had I said those things to my mother, I’d have been slapped and sent to my room without supper. At best. My mother plays nice when at court but does nothing but spew judgment and condemnation in private.”
“Oh, aye. I prefer to spew my judgment and condemnation openly. Hence, the mask and odd nightly activities.”
“Well, I don’t know how open it is, if you’re hiding behind that mask,” she said, resisting the urge to reach out and pluck it off.
But again, Jack merely smiled. “There’s being open and being daft. I’ll tell those I judge why I condemn them. But I dinna see the benefit in letting them know more about me than they already do.”
“They might disagree.”
“I’m certain they do. Then again, I’m no’ asking their opinion on the matter.” He winked at her and finished binding her arm before tucking her blanket firmly about her.
She’d worn nothing but a chemise around him in the days she’d been there. Jack had said her gown was in the armoire. But it would be too uncomfortable and out of place in her current surroundings. And as she mostly stayed in bed or sat in a chair by the window, she’d seen no need to do more than wrap a quilt about her for modesty. Though he’d already seen more than the quilt would cover anyway. Another fact that would horrify her mother.
“Yer arm is almost good as new.” He stood and cleaned up his bandage supplies. “Is there aught ye need?”
“I’ve been cooped up in here for days now. Can’t I go outside for a bit?”
He finished putting the strips of linen and ointment away before he answered. “I suppose I could allow that. For a short time,” he warned.
She nodded eagerly, and he watched her, as if he were trying to gauge the safety of allowing her more freedom.
“Would it help if I promised not to run off?” she said.
He grinned at that. “Wouldna matter if ye did. Ye wouldna get far. All right, then.” He pulled back the blanket and helped her up, slipping a pair of boots onto her feet that Sorcha had brought for her.
He wrapped a thick shawl about her shoulders and led her outside. Elizabet took a deep breath of the crisp, fresh air and smiled, turning her face up to the sun. The cottage sat nestled in a small clearing on a wooded hill. A brook babbled nearby, but she heard no voices or sounds that would indicate other people were in the area.
Jack took her hand and led her up a small trail, matching his pace to hers. When they came out of the trees, Elizabet looked around, her breath catching in a quiet gasp. From atop their hill, she could see the whole valley below them. A modest castle stood proud and majestic on the banks of a loch, a small village spread out around it. The sun shone off the water, glistening against the gentle loll of the waves.
“It’s so beautiful,” she said, in awe of her surroundings.
“Aye, that it is.”
“This is your home?”
He nodded. “I grew up here, though I have my own lands. Just over that ridge,” he said, pointing to a row of hills in the distance. “But there’s nothing there but a pile of rubble that used to be my home.”
“What happened to it?”
“The keep and surrounding fields were destroyed in the skirmishes with the Campbells. My father wanted to rebuild. But he died before he could.”
“Will you rebuild?”
He shrugged. “I suppose I might. Someday. But I always have a home here, if I need one.”
She glanced up at him. “Why do you leave here to roam the roads to London? Weren’t you happy?”
He gave her a faint smile, though his gaze stayed on the scene below. “Some things are more important than my own happiness.”
He took a deep breath and seemed to shake off his seriousness as a dog would divest itself of water. “Come. There’s a small brook not far from here with a great clump of berry bushes.”
“Berries? It seems ages since I had fresh berries.”
“Well, then. We shall gorge ourselves until we can hold no more.”
She took his hand eagerly and made to follow, except in her haste she let part of her shawl trail on the ground. The fabric wound about her ankle, entangling her already unsteady feet. She didn’t have a chance.
Jack attempted to stop her headlong plunge down the slope of the hill. Instead, she managed to pull him with her. He did at least slow her enough that she didn’t topple end over end all the way to the bottom. But they left a nice trail of disturbed earth in their path as they careened down.
As soon as they stopped tumbling, Jack immediately crawled over to her. “Are ye all right, lass?”
She grunted in reply, and he gave her an amused grin, though concern still creased his brow. He ran his hands over her, checking her ribs, her limbs, and gently probed her shoulder. She sucked in a breath at that.
“How is it?” he asked.
“I’ll do,” she said, though she briefly considered curling into a ball and moaning until the throbbing went away.
“Can ye sit?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Probably. I hadn’t planned on it, though.”
He laughed and wrapped an arm around her to help her up. “Come on, then. It would be best if we didna sit down here all the day long.”
“Really? Sounds like a fine idea to me.”
“Och. Yer’re stronger than that.” He stood and pulled her up and into his arms. “But I’d be happy to assist ye all the same.”
She should resist. Tell him to put her down. But she had no intention of doing either of those things, because being in his arms fulfilled her dearest desire. So she wrapped an arm about his neck and let him hold her.
The time drew near when she’d have to leave. She probably should have already returned home. She didn’t ask about it, though. She was dangerously close to wanting to stay forever.
Until then, she would embrace being rash and irresponsible.
…
John gathered Elizabet closer and began the trek back up the hill. Her warmth mingled with his, the light floral smell that was uniquely hers enveloped him. She could have walked on her own, but he’d not give up the opportunity to have her in his arms. No matter how ill-advised.
He carried her to the brook, then set her gently down, kneeling beside her.
“Are ye sure ye’re no’ injured,” he said, his eyes roving over her for any sign of blood or damage.
“I promise, I am well. A little bruised, perhaps. But I’ll do.”
He reached out and pulled a few twigs from her hair, looking at them with a soft grin. “I wouldna think lesser of ye if ye were hurt, ye ken?”
She returned his smile. “I know. But I truly am fine. My pride, on the other hand, has taken quite a blow.”
John chuckled lightly. “When I was a lad, my brother fell down a hill, though not so steep as the one with which we just became acquainted. He screeched and blethered until our mother threatened to beat him soundly and give him something to go on about. You made hardly a sound and shed not one tear. Your pride is safe, lass.”
He hadn’t moved his hand, but instead continued to lightly stroke her hair. Far from finding this insulting, she leaned into his touch. He cupped her cheek, and her eyes nearly fluttered closed.
This bordered on madness. She was the daughter of his enemy. And for all rights and purposes, his hostage. He should be ransoming her back to her father. Yet all he could think of were those big brown eyes of hers dancing with laughter. Her soft skin beneath his touch. The velvety softness of her lips under his thumb. He’d watched his cousin find happiness with Sorcha and, while he’d envied them to a point, it had never been something he especially desired. The life of domestic bliss was not for him. He craved excitement, adventure. He never thought he’d want anything more.
Until her. Elizabet sparked a craving in him for an excitement and adventure of a different sort. If he could find happiness with one person in the world, chances were good she was the one. That the possibility didn’t exist meant he should shove the idea from his mind as fast as he could. But he didn’t want to let go yet. “I believe I promised ye some berries,” he said.
“I believe you did.” She smiled up at him, and his heart must have knocked into a lung, because he suddenly found it difficult to pull in a full breath. Her beauty at that moment, with her hair in a tangle and dirt smudging her face, would make even the angels in heaven cry.
He led her to the clump of bushes that grew in the shelter of the woods, grinning at her delighted gasp.
“Bilberries!” she said, reaching out to pluck one. She popped it in her mouth, her eyes closing as she chewed.
“We call them blaeberries. Shall we take some back with us?”
“Please. Oh, but we didn’t bring a basket.”
“Nay worries. We can carry them in my kilt.”
He reached down to lift the front of his kilt, and she rewarded him with a scandalized shriek before slapping the fabric out of his hand. He grinned. “Ye didna wish for any berries, then?”
“I’ll carry them.” She gathered a few folds of her skirts to form a pocket.
“But, lass.” He leaned closer as if to impart a secret. “Ye’re exposing a bit of flesh if ye do that.” He nodded down at the inch of ankle now visible.
She raised a brow. “A far sight better than what you’d be exposing,” she said.
His laugh echoed through the woods.
They gathered enough berries to fill her skirt and then sat on the banks of the creek to eat their fill.
“Oh,” she said, glancing down at a tear in her skirt. “I must have caught it on a branch.”
He examined the rend. “Och, it’s no’ but a small tear. I can mend it for ye.”
Her eyes widened. “You do your own mending?”
“Of course. Most men spend a fair amount of time away from home, hunting or fighting. We’d all be running about naked as the day we’re born if we couldna throw a stitch or two. I could knit ye a nice pair of stockings if ye have need as well,” he said with a wink.
She squinted at him. “I don’t believe you.”
“No?”
He rummaged in his sporran, coming out with a needle shoved in a bit of cork, already threaded. Then he gathered her skirt, his hand tightening on the material with the sudden urge to delve beneath it. She watched him, her breath catching in her throat. He tugged on the skirt so she had to scoot closer. The temptation burned through him. So strong. She must have known it. Felt it. Yet, she did nothing but move even closer to him, until her skirts pooled in his lap and her bare legs were inches from his own.
He swallowed hard and dragged in a slow breath, trying to calm the buzzing in his head and the fire in his blood. The lass was still healing. And even if she were not, he’d not take her like some rutting animal on the dirty banks of a creek. Not the first time. And not under these circumstances. Even if she was willing.
He relaxed his hold on her skirts and spread the material out so he could properly line up the torn fabric. The tension between them eased as he made quick work of the tear, both of them focused on the mundane task rather than their proximity to each other.
When he finished, she examined her skirt with delight. “It looks good as new.”
“Well, almost,” he said, though a warm pleasure at her praise spread through him.
“I’m impressed.”
He waved that off. “Och, it’s nothing but a task even the wee ones can do. I’ve been mending most of my own clothes since I was a lad.”
She laughed. “I’m trying to picture my father sitting before the fire knitting his own stockings. I don’t think he’s ever pulled his own stockings on, let alone mended them.”
The mention of her father sobered John, bringing him back to an unwelcome reality where, by all rights, the woman before him should be firmly in the enemy camp. He couldn’t see her as such, though. No matter how he tried. She wasn’t his enemy. She was…Elizabet.
He reached out and wiped the small smudge of dark-red juice from her lip, and she froze. But she didn’t pull away. Instead, her lips parted with a small sigh. The heat from her mouth warmed his thumb, beckoned to him. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss so gentle he could have imagined it.
She pulled back enough to meet his gaze, though she stayed within the circle of his arms. “You said you wouldn’t kiss me until I asked,” she said with a small smile.
“Ye can ask me later.”
He cupped her face and brought her closer, tasting the sweet juice on her lips. She melted with a soft moan, and he crushed her to him, his blood roaring in his veins.
His lips moved over hers, urging them to part. He delved inside, drawing her closer when another moan escaped her. He needed to stop. Now. Before the mad desire raging through his body at her touch completely consumed them both. And then she draped tentative arms around his neck. Her fingers tangled in his hair, drawing him deeper. And he was lost. Let the consequences happen as they would. Every last one of them would be well worth it, if he could spend five more minutes in her arms.
The sound of leaves crunching was his only warning that someone had discovered them.
He jumped up and spun around, his dagger in his hand, already crouched in a battle stance.
Malcolm looked at him, eyebrows raised. John gave his cousin a sheepish smile.
“I’m surprised ye let me get so close,” Malcolm said, a gentle rebuke in his voice. John sheathed his dagger with a frown. Malcolm was right. Had he been an enemy, it might have been too late. And Elizabet would have been in danger.
“It won’t happen again,” he promised. He turned around to help Elizabet to her feet. “Lady Elizabet, may I present Malcolm MacGregor, Laird of Glenlyon.”
Her eyes shot to John’s, no doubt in surprise that he’d introduce her to someone so prominent. Though with Sorcha visiting frequently and making no secret of her identity, Elizabet already knew their location. It mattered little now if she met everyone at the keep. Then again, the more people she met, the more likely she could discover his identity. He wasn’t sure he cared anymore, though he should.
She gave Malcolm a quick little curtsy, and he nodded at her. “My wife has brought ye some stew and bread, I believe, as well as fresh clothing.” His eyes briefly traveled over the stained chemise visible beneath her shawl. Though merely cursory, blandly curious at most, John had the sudden urge to protect Elizabet from the other man’s gaze. He stepped in front of her, and Malcolm’s eyes widened. John hadn’t realized he’d moved until Malcolm gave him that look. And the amused shake of his head did nothing to improve John’s mood.
Elizabet moved out from behind him and watched their visitor with curious eyes. He didn’t like that she wouldn’t stay put and let him protect her. But the fact that she put him at her back, all her focus on Malcolm, spoke of a trust in John that sent a thrill through him he’d never felt before. One that he had no right to feel. Still, he reveled in the fact that she trusted him to guard her back instead of feeling the need to protect herself from him.
“Go on up the path there,” he said, pointing it out to her. “The cottage is right at the top. Shout if ye need me.”
“I can see why they call you the Lion,” she said to Malcolm, completely ignoring John’s request. He took a deep breath. She may trust him, but that apparently didn’t extend to following his orders.
Malcolm gave her a wry smile. “Aye?”
“The hair, the eyes…”
“Elizabet,” John said.
Her gaze switched to him, and he jerked his head toward the trail. She opened her mouth to protest again, and he gave her the sternest look he could muster, though part of him wanted to laugh at her temerity. In a strange place, faced with a man like Malcolm, and her natural inclination was to interrogate him.
She sighed and flounced away. As soon as she was safely out of sight, John took his mask off and rubbed his face.
“Do ye never take it off in front of her?” Malcolm asked.
“No. Was there something ye needed, Cousin?”
Malcolm’s damnable eyebrow rose again. “Aye. I need my able-minded kinsman back. He seems to have been replaced with a madman who doesna ken his arse from his head.”
John looked at Malcolm with surprise and then shook his head with an amused smile. “As bad as all that, is it?”
“Worse.”
“Aye, I ken. But there doesna seem to be a damn thing I can do about it.”
Malcolm shook his head and chuckled. “They do have a way of mixing a man up, no doubt about it. But ye need to stop this, John. Ye’re putting more than yer own life at risk.”
John sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “That wasna my intention, Cousin.”
“Aye, but that’s no matter now. Is she betrothed to that bastard Fergus Campbell?”
John scowled, trying to tamp down the sudden burst of fury that flowed through him at that name. “Not officially, I dinna believe.”
“Well, according to the messenger who arrived today, he apparently believes otherwise and is being a nuisance at court, though so far only among certain circles. Her parents are apparently trying to keep the whole situation quiet. But Fergus has been petitioning the king and trying to rally discreet support to find her and to capture the Highland Highwayman so that he might be brought to justice for the heinous crime he’s committed in taking her. He won’t stay discreet for long.”
John shook his head. “He wants her family connections and her estates. I have my suspicions as to why, but no proof as yet. He doesna love her.”
Malcolm’s eyes widened at that. “Do you?”
John’s gaze shot up. “Of course not. I’ve only just met the lass.”
“Aye, well, sometimes that’s all it takes. I knew the moment my own new bride held a dagger to my throat on our wedding night that she was my true mate. And we’d known each other only a day. Though we were both stubborn about it. Once we truly got to know each other…well, if it’s the same for you…”
John had a sudden image of Elizabet pulling a dagger on him as well. What was it about a woman wielding a blade that made her so irresistible?
He sighed. “No. It’s not.”
Truthfully, he didn’t know what he felt for her. He wanted to protect her, make her laugh, spend hours talking to her, spend hours doing nothing but being with her. And spend hours kissing her until she moaned his name and begged him to take her. But love? It couldn’t be that. They’d known each other only a couple weeks. He wasn’t even sure what love was. And even if he did, he could never act on it.
The last thing he wanted was a woman in his life. Women were fragile, even the strong ones. Too much could happen he couldn’t protect them from. Especially a headstrong woman like Elizabet. Oh, he loved the fire in her. But it made her reckless. He’d never felt so out of control with a woman in his life, and it unsettled him far more than he cared to admit. He’d lost too many women he loved to ever allow himself to love another. His mother in childbed. His sister to a fever. But he couldn’t deny Elizabet had ignited something within him.
The time had definitely come for him to return her home. “No,” he said again, though even he could tell his heart wasn’t in it.
“Are ye sure, John?” Malcolm asked quietly. He’d known John since they were boys. Had been raised together like brothers. No one knew him better. Most of the time John cherished that connection. Now was not one of those times.
“What I feel for the lass doesna matter. She is better off far away from me. But I dinna like abandoning her to that bastard Campbell.”
“Neither do I. We’ll find out what he is up to. For all our sakes. I doubt he’s forgotten our part in his downfall.”
“Aye, that’s the honest truth.”
“Regardless, the lass needs to go back. It’s one thing if ye mean to offer for her. But she’s no’ a pet, John. Ye canna keep her.”
“I ken that well enough,” he snapped. Then he sighed. “Apologies, Malcolm. Ye dinna need to tell me. I’ll take her home. We’ll leave tomorrow.”
“Ye needn’t rush off quite so soon. Ye can take a few days—”
“No. It’s time.”
Malcolm watched him, and John tried not to squirm under his gaze. “All right, then. I’ll send Tim up with supplies for your journey.” He clasped John’s shoulder. “Be safe, Cousin. And return soon.”
“I will,” John said, his heart heavy. He’d return when he could, and his life would go back to what it had been. And it would be lonelier and sadder for what he’d almost known and lost. But there was no help for that. They were no good for each other. Though if any a woman came close, it was her.
He watched Malcolm walk away, and then he donned his mask and turned back to his cottage where Elizabet waited.