“What did ye chat about?” Callum asked, appearing at her elbow as if out of thin air.
Rebecca took his arm, grateful for the solid warmth of his presence. “Air, if you please,” she said, trying not to look behind her to see if Donnach followed, ready to pounce on her again.
Without another word he guided her to the double doors that opened out onto the balcony. An iron railing ran along the front except for the section closest to the wall of the house, where shallow steps curved down into the pretty, walled-off garden.
A half-dozen guests stood about on the balcony already, and without pause Callum headed the two of them down the steps and into the torch-lit garden. Once amid the trees and flowers he led the way off the stone path and up to the back wall, beside a small stone birdbath ornamented with stone cherubs and a stone sparrow.
“Don’t trample the bluebells, or Lady Braehaudin will have you clapped in irons,” she cautioned, releasing her tight grip on his sleeve.
“I’ll keep that in mind. What did Stapp say to ye?”
Of course he wanted to know how his plan was progressing. Rebecca took a short breath. For a moment she’d thought he might have wanted her out here amid the shrubbery for something else, and she felt disappointed for and annoyed with herself all at the same time for wishing it. “He reminded me how volatile you are, and how you’d only bothered to reappear when you had an inheritance to claim. And how he and I have been friends for a decade, and confidants for fourteen months.”
His eyes glittered reddish in the reflected torchlight. “And ye said?”
“I agreed with him. He wasn’t lying, after all. Not about that.”
He nodded, a muscle along his jaw flexing. “And he thinks ye can still be swayed to his side, then?”
“Of course he does. That’s what we agreed on, isn’t it?”
“Aye.” Turning half away, he seemed abruptly interested in the birdbath. “Considering ye fainted dead away when ye set eyes on me, I wasnae certain ye had it in ye to smile at him. But ye did.”
That snapped her spine straight. “Don’t you dare try to turn this on me,” she hissed as loudly as she dared. “Yes, I smiled at him. You asked me to.” She dug her forefinger into his shoulder. “You wanted me to dance with him.”
“Nae a waltz.”
“Well, that wasn’t up to me, was it? Should I have refused? Told him, ‘no, I’ll only tolerate you for a quadrille’?”
He swung around so quickly she lost her balance. Callum caught her by the shoulders and shoved her backward against the stone wall, then claimed her mouth in a breath-stealing, openmouthed kiss. “Every lass,” he growled nearly soundlessly, his lean, hard body pressed along hers, “every lass for ten years was ye. Every damned one. There were times I almost wished Ian dead so I could have ye. I want ye for myself. I dunnae want to share an ounce of ye, even for justice. Or for vengeance.”
Heated, delighted shivers began between her legs. She would never, ever admit that on occasional, brief moments she’d closed her eyes and tried to imagine Ian was his brother, but Callum was here now, and real. Sliding her arms around his shoulders, she sank against him, relishing in his touch.
Callum pulled at her skirt, lifting it along her thighs. Rebecca opened her eyes wide, looking beyond his shoulder to see if anyone might be watching. Of course he’d chosen the most secluded spot in the entire garden—he was a born wilderness hunter, after all.
Holding her against the wall, he hiked her skirt up to her waist, lifted the front of his kilt, and drew her legs around his hips. As he slid inside her she gasped, covering the sound with her mouth against his shoulder. The distant realization that Ian would never have dared be so reckless and bold blasted into pieces as she locked her legs around his hips and he thrust into her again and again, hard and fast and desperate. She came, muffling her ecstasy against his mouth, not caring if he was scratching up her gown with bumping her up and down the hard wall at her back.
While she clung to him he released his grip on her thighs, holding on to the top of the wall on either side of her, shoving in hard as with a grunt he climaxed. He held her pinned there, a blue-garbed, half-naked butterfly splayed on a card, as he spilled himself into her. She could feel the hard breathing that matched her own, the taut center of him focused entirely on her. She spasmed again, abruptly and violently, as he gazed into her eyes.
At the other end of the garden someone laughed. Had they heard? “Put me down,” she whispered, still panting.
“Nae.”
“The longer we’re here the more likely someone will see us. For Margaret’s sake, put me down.”
Scowling, he released the wall and put his hands around her waist. Her legs a little unsteady, she lowered them to the ground again, brushing her skirt back into position as he took a step away.
“I ken,” he murmured, resettling his kilt. “I pushed ye to come here tonight. It’s on me that ye had to dance with Stapp, that ye had to smile at him and Dunncraigh. I reckon I have ’em aimed at me, now. I’ll nae put ye into the middle of this again.”
“Brush the leaves off my back,” she countered, and turned around. Once she felt his hands on her back and tickling deliciously through her hair, she squared her shoulders. “I’ve noticed,” she said, picking and choosing her words, “that when I’m not about, you take more chances. I saw you talking with His Grace. And I saw your expression. That was not the least bit subtle or polite.”
“I r—”
“I know you were trying to make them see you as the largest threat to their plans, you big brute. My point is, I have as much to risk as you do. Perhaps more. And I’ve been wronged by them, to a greater degree than you. So no, you are not going to set me aside and go lay waste to clan Maxwell on your own. We shall do it together.”
It was more than the wish to be near him, to chat and jest with him as she used to do. Now that he’d returned, now that she’d met this new, much-improved version of Callum MacCreath, the idea of watching him leave again, or of allowing harm to come to him, made her physically ache. And if she allowed him to view her as some delicate hothouse flower no matter how ill-prepared she felt for this task, then that old relationship she’d enjoyed so much, when they’d been equal, if wild, partners, would disappear.
“Together, aye,” he commented, as music began for a quadrille. “With me standing between ye and the vermin.”
That wasn’t much of an answer, but he hadn’t argued with her, either. “I have to go back. I’m to dance with Lord Braehaudin.”
“And I’ve his wife for a partner.” She started back to the pathway, but he took her hand. “I ken that ye’re nae the lass I pined after ten years ago. Ye’re an entirely different lass—a lady. And ye—you, standing right there—fascinate me. I’ve nae wish for harm to come to ye, but aye, I could use yer help. Just for God’s sake, be careful.”
Rebecca put a hand on his chest. “I’ll be careful if you’re careful. You used to be a man I liked despite my better judgment. You’re different now, in ways I can’t even describe.”
“Good ways, or bad ways?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.
Tightening her grip on his fingers, she towed him in the direction of the steps and the balcony. “Good ways, mostly.”
“I’ll see if I can do someaught about that.”
In truth, over the past fortnight she’d probably had more conversation with him than she had with Ian in the last six months they’d been married. Yes, they’d chatted about the weather, and meals, and Margaret, but clearly he hadn’t thought to confide in her about his growing suspicions of his partners. And she saw now that that had begun to consume him. He’d worked hard to improve the profitability of Sanderson’s, but she didn’t know if owning part of a shipping company had been his dream—or if he had dreams. And he’d never, ever, had sex with her in someone else’s garden, as if he couldn’t stand the idea of not having her for another minute.
Back inside the ballroom Callum relinquished her to their host, the Marquis of Braehaudin, while he partnered with the marchioness. She tried to keep her attention on what she was doing; stepping on toes wouldn’t impress, and it had been quite a while since she’d danced with anyone. Even so, her mind kept wandering back to the garden, to the man who’d so unexpectedly stormed back into her life.
For heaven’s sake, more than once she’d actually prayed that he was dead, so she would never have to wonder what if. That was when she’d imagined him as he had been—a quick-tempered, easily offended rake in pursuit of any of a dozen different women at any given time. The man he’d become—a protective, hard, clever warrior—felt much easier on her conscience, but at the same time much harder on her heart.
As the quadrille ended, Donnach Maxwell came forward to collect her for the next country dance. She was beginning to feel like a tennis ball, batted back and forth and not even knowing on which side of the court she found herself. And she still managed to smile as he led her back onto the well-polished dance floor.
Callum wasn’t dancing, which should have pleased her. Instead, though, every unmarried female with whom he’d been previously acquainted seemed to have picked this moment to stroll by in front of him, accidentally notice his presence, and stop for a chat. As if they could have avoided noticing such an Adonis in their presence until now.
“I wondered,” Donnach said, as they bowed and curtsied, then hopped forward in one of the sillier dances she’d learned as a young lady, “if ye would consider meeting me for a stroll tomorrow.” He hopped beside her, keeping pace. “I’m nae to call on ye at MacCreath House, but surely ye dunnae mean to allow him to keep ye from seeing yer own friends.”
She tried not to linger on that word, because her definition and his seemed to vary wildly and she needed to remain cordial. In her dictionary a friend did not murder husbands and fathers to gain control of a business. But then she wasn’t supposed to know about that. Or if she did, she wasn’t supposed to believe it. Even now, even reading Ian’s letter, she could still find room for doubt. It was so mad, after all. Could anyone commit two murders and then smile and pretend perfect innocence to the degree that Donnach and his father apparently had?
Every word he said needed now to be examined for a hidden, second meaning, every compliment for a secret threat. It was dizzying, and after her interlude in the garden she already felt off balance. “I’m residing in Callum’s house,” she said, keeping a smile on her face. “I shall honor his rules. But no, he didn’t say I couldn’t go walking with you. Where shall we meet?”
“Along the river walk in front of the cathedral,” he said promptly. “We’ll take a stroll south to the Ness Islands for a picnic luncheon.”
“You have it already planned, don’t you?” she asked, just barely refraining from sending a glance in Callum’s direction. He didn’t want her to risk her safety, but at the same time, all they had by way of proof was Ian’s note and Callum’s unwavering conviction.
“I’ve missed ye, Rebecca. We had plans, ye and I. Am I wrong to think we still do?”
If she hadn’t known, if Callum hadn’t insisted that she listen to his mad accusations and then provided Ian’s letter as proof, she would have been touched by Donnach’s pleading tone. She would have worried that he stood at risk of genuine heartache. If Callum had never returned at all, she would have been tempted to tell Donnach that wooing wasn’t necessary, and she would of course marry him.
But Callum had returned, and whatever lay between them was like lightning, bright and dangerous and mesmerizing. She craved it. Whether this was just her clinging to an old memory, an unfulfilled desire, or something that had a future, the idea of anything pulling her away from it—from him—before she’d had a chance to figure it out made her angry and almost … frantic.
This flirting with Lord Stapp was for a cause, though. It didn’t mean anything. Not any longer. It wasn’t real, and it would more than likely help. More importantly, by spending a day with Donnach Maxwell, she might discover enough information to save Callum’s life. All it would take from her was some courage.
She waited until they’d danced separately down the lines then rejoined again at the end of the row. “You are not wrong, Donnach,” she said, following that with another unfelt smile. “I have missed our chats.”
“I renew my offer to settle ye in at Samhradh House with me. Or at Edgley House, if ye prefer. Ye dunnae need to remain under Geiry’s roof.”
“I do,” she returned. “He is Margaret’s guardian. I won’t leave my daughter behind.”
“Well, I see that as a problem,” Donnach said. “Because he’ll be her guardian until she’s eighteen, at least. I cannae adopt her without his permission. How can I marry ye, Rebecca, if ye willnae come be with me?”
A perfectly logical question. And it still made dread crawl down her spine. “Running away to hide and marrying are two different things,” she countered, feeling her way as she spoke. “He won’t harm her, but I can’t leave her there without a very good reason.”
To her relief the dance ended before he could question why she’d very nearly just contradicted her own logic. She joined in the applause, but kept clapping longer than she should have when Donnach offered her an arm. Blast it all, she had no talent for subterfuge. Hiding a scowl, she put her hand over his forearm.
“For the past year, lass, ye’ve been able to rely on me to help ye,” he murmured, guiding her toward the open balcony doors. “I’ve nae a reason to stop helping ye, now. None of us wants that drunk here interfering. So ye may continue to rely on me. All I ask in return is that ye dunnae listen to his nonsense. He’s a madman who’s been carrying a grudge for ten years over someaught he did to himself. He needs to nae be here.”
What did that mean? Had he just offered to kill Callum? Had she inadvertently encouraged him to do so? Oh, no. This couldn’t—
“The next dance is mine,” Callum said from directly behind them.
Donnach stopped them just short of the balcony. “Go away, Geiry. Ye’re nae wanted here. Ye’re barely tolerated. Do everyone a favor and go spend the rest of the evening at one of yer taverns. The Seven Fathoms managed to survive without yer blunt, but I reckon they’d weep with joy to see ye back again.”
“Aye? Well, I reckon I can break yer nose before ye can make a fist. Care to wager on that?”
Rebecca pulled her fingers free and turned around. “There’s no need for stamping and shoving,” she stated, meeting Callum’s narrowed gaze. “I’ve promised this waltz to my brother-in-law, and I’m a lady of my word.”
Without waiting for anyone to respond to that, she took Callum by the elbow and, using all her strength, turned him an inch toward the dance floor. Abruptly he relented, and she nearly fell on her face as he gave way. Moving with whip-quick grace, he caught her beneath the arm and pulled her against his side.
“What were ye thinking,” he murmured, “going out to the balcony with that snake?”
“I was trying to keep up with his conversation,” she retorted. “I have no idea where my feet were going.”
A low rumble sounded in his chest. She looked up at him sideways, belatedly realizing that whatever she’d said had amused him. Well, at least one of them was enjoying the evening, then—though in truth she’d enjoyed it very much up until that last dance.
“And with whom were you dancing?” she asked stiffly.
“Morag MacKenzie,” he replied, taking her right hand in his left and sliding his right hand around her waist.
A little breathless at being touched by him in public, she put her free hand on his shoulder. “Morag … Wasn’t she one of the women with whom you spent your evenings when you were last here?” She hadn’t liked it then, but now she had the sudden urge to hit the pretty redhead in the nose. The jaw-clenching dislike punching through her felt unlike anything she’d ever experienced, but she knew precisely what it was—jealousy. She didn’t want any other woman touching him as she touched him now.
“Was she?” he returned, gazing down at her face. “I thought perhaps, but they’re all a wee bit fuzzy in my mind. I dunnae recall spending much time sober back then.”
He was in all likelihood lying, but she actually appreciated it. Neither of them was the same person they’d been ten years ago. Not even close. “Was I a fuzzy memory, then?”
“Nae. Ye were the siren calling me back from a very long time at sea, my lass.”
That sounded lovely, but too many men seemed to be attempting to sway her with pretty words, lately. “Don’t those who listen to sirens find themselves dashed upon the rocks? Am I deadly, then?”
The orchestra sounded the first note, but instead of straightening, he leaned his head closer to hers. “Aye. I’d die for ye, Rebecca.”
With that they were off. It took several turns for her to realize that he’d evidently been studying that first waltz very closely, because he knew the steps. He’d always been graceful, but for a few moments she had the distinct sensation that she was flying, floating a few inches above the ground as she twirled in his arms.
He’d likely meant to sound romantic. In light of his original plans and what Donnach had just said, though, she had the sinking feeling that he was being prophetic. How could she give her heart to a man who seemed determined to pay for his transgressions—or what he perceived to be his transgressions—with his life? How could she go through that again, especially knowing the pain that lay ahead?
“I would rather you lived for me,” she said quietly, but didn’t think he heard.