Hard-Hearted Highlander--A Historical Romance Novel Page 12

  “That’s the superstition of fishwives,” he said, feeling annoyed that she would waste the money and allow her obviously superior feminine mind to believe in such farce. “You’re a fool to believe it.”

  “Now I may add fool to the list of attributes you’ve given me. Shrew, harridan, fool... I’m astonished I’ve not been rounded up by the authorities and put on a ship back to England. How can you be so sure of your beliefs? Have you ever tried wishing for something?”

  “Aye, lass, I’ve wished,” he said with a snort. “I’ve wished for things you’d no’ understand.” He noticed a fuzzy curl of hair behind her ear. He wanted to touch it, to tuck it up into the rest of her hair.

  “Miss Kent will agree with my putting hope above despair and wishing,” she said breezily, ignoring him. “I’ll save my breath for her.”

  “Aye, she will, because she knows nothing of the world and of how people struggle for farthings.”

  “Well,” Miss Holly said, dipping down to avoid the bough of a tree. “She is very young yet—”

  “She is scarcely out of the nursery. She hasna the proper knowledge of the world and how bloody cruel it can be.” He said it without thinking, had allowed his grousing to tumble off his tongue. He hadn’t even realized what he said until Miss Holly suddenly stopped on the path ahead of him and twisted around, startling him. She was standing very close to him, and this time he noticed the faint fan of lines in the corners of her eyes. Laugh lines, his mother called them. When had she laughed? What amused her? He wanted to see her laugh.

  She certainly wasn’t doing so now—she folded her arms and glared at him. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Mackenzie, but I think you enjoy your cozy mantle of pity. You wrap it around you like a winter cloak.”

  His brows rose slightly. He supposed he ought to take offense, but Miss Holly was drumming her fingers against her arm, a habit he’d noticed in her before. What he had not noticed was how long and delicate her fingers were, and he was seized, utterly seized, with the idea of touching them to his lips. They were like an exotic fruit he’d never tasted.

  “You spend each day in search of it!” she insisted.

  He took her hand, pulling it away from her arm to hold in his palm.

  She looked at her hand, then at him. “Won’t you at least attempt to find some good in your situation? Or do you intend to march to the altar with that dour look and a world of woe on your shoulders?”

  Rabbie was listening to her with only one ear. Even so, he scarcely heard her, as his heart had begun to beat wildly in his chest. He slowly lifted her hand and kissed her palm.

  Miss Holly gasped as if she’d been stung and yanked her hand free of his. “What is the matter with you?”

  “Diah, I donna know,” he said with unabashed honesty, and suddenly reached for her, one hand on her waist, the other to the side of her head. And he kissed her. Aye, he kissed her. He knew only that the urge to do so had filled him so violently and swiftly that he couldn’t stop himself.

  Miss Holly pushed against him, but Rabbie slipped his tongue into her mouth and met hers, and it was so sweet, and so soft, and so bloody arousing that he was shocked by it. It was a bolt of lightning striking him from above and lighting him up. He hadn’t felt this spark in so long, had assumed he would never feel it again, and yet here it was, reverberating through his body, causing his parched soul to thirst for more, and proving to him that he was alive. He was alive.

  He did not want to let go. He knew, vaguely, that his family was just ahead of them on the path, and still, he could not make himself let go. Especially not when Miss Holly, for all her blustering and condescension to him, opened her mouth and kissed him back. This was not the startled kiss of an innocent lass—her lips eagerly pressed against his as her body pressed against his chest and groin. Her hands were clinging to his arms and her tongue was moving with his. Miss Holly was kissing him as hard as he was kissing her.

  And then she made a soft, but unmistakable sound of pleasure in the back of her throat that exploded in his head. Suddenly everything was raining down on him—desire, greed—and just as suddenly, she shoved against him with all her might. She was strong, too, because he stumbled backward. She gasped for air and moved away from him, dragging the back of her hand across her mouth. “Are you mad?” she whispered.

  Rabbie thought about that a moment. “Aye.”

  She looked frantically to the group ahead, but they had disappeared on the path. No one had noticed them kissing like two lovers. She turned back to him, staring wildly at him. Her hand was shaking. “You are to marry my friend!”

  “Your charge,” he amended.

  “No, Mr. Mackenzie, she is my friend. I am incensed for her! Yes, she is young and inexperienced, but she is hopeful and she wants to make you a good wife.”

  “Why are you the one to defend her thoughts? Why does she no’ speak for herself?”

  Miss Holly blinked. “She’s shy!” she blustered.

  “Uist,” he said. She was ruining this moment, ruining that kiss. “I think there is more to your interest in her marriage than you will admit, aye? But donna scold me, lass—I’m a grown man.”

  She gasped. “That does not give you the right to crush a young woman’s heart!”

  She said it so vehemently that he wondered briefly, curiously, if she was speaking of Miss Kent at all. He put his hand on her shoulder and dipped down to look her directly in her eye. “It was a wee kiss, no’ a declaration of love. Donna make more of it than there is.”

  “That was more than a wee kiss!”

  “Was it? Then I will bow to your superior understanding of kissing, aye? No doubt you read about it in Lord Kent’s impressive library. No doubt you’ll correct me now,” he said, and spread his arms wide, indicating he was ready to be addressed.

  “I am speaking the truth! Why do you object to it?”

  He pressed a hand to her neck, and spoke earnestly. “I object to the fact that you speak about things you canna possibly understand. I didna seek to wed your little lamb, aye? I wouldna wed at all, were it no’ for my duty to my family. Donna speak to me of what is right and wrong. You canna possibly know what that is in this land.”

  She stared at him. Her gaze slowly drifted to his mouth, stirring the embers in him. Some of the fight seemed to have gone out of her and, rather subdued, she said, “I know quite a lot more than you think I do, sir. And I know that if you gave Avaline only half a chance, you could very well be pleasantly surprised. Have you no regard for her situation? Can you not see how difficult this is for her? Can you not imagine how kissing me would hurt her?”

  He removed his hand from her neck. “Your righteousness comes several moments too late, does it no’?”

  Her lush mouth gaped at the implication of what he was saying. Her hazel eyes narrowed. “Yes, it does,” she agreed. “You are...” Now her voice was shaking as she tried to find the correct word. “You are wretched, Rabbie Mackenzie.”

  “Ah, wretched.” He couldn’t help but chuckle at that. He’d been called far worse in his thirty some-odd years. He pulled the lace handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.

  She stared down at it. “Why are you giving this to me?”

  “You’ve a wee bit of sand on your face, aye?” he said, gesturing to her cheek. “Keep it. It means far more to you than it ever will to me.” He stepped around her and began to walk up the path, leaving her there.

  But he heard her mutter under her breath.

  The others were waiting for them as they emerged from the forest. Miss Kent’s gaze swept right past Rabbie and went to her lady’s maid. “We’re invited to dine, Bernadette,” she said brightly.

  “Oh, no, I—” Miss Holly glanced around at all of them, standing there, watching her. “We must reach Killeaven before nightfall.”

  “But we might st
ay until—”

  Miss Holly grabbed the lass’s hand and squeezed it. “I promised your mother I’d have you home, Avaline,” she said earnestly. “We must go.”

  Miss Kent seemed unconvinced, but some unspoken understanding passed between the two women, because she nodded once and mumbled, “Yes, of course, we must.”

  Miss Holly linked her arm in Miss Kent’s, and they resumed their walk up the road. Miss Holly’s cheeks were flushed and her hair, he noticed, was a bit mussed on the side of her head where he’d held her.

  Rabbie started up, too, but became aware of a pair of eyes on him and turned back. Those eyes belonged to Catriona.

  “Aye, what?” he asked, holding his hand out to her, indicating she should come along.

  “What are you about?” she asked slyly.

  “Naugh’ more than making it through each day and the next,” he answered truthfully.

  Catriona clucked his tongue at him. “I donna know what to make of you any more, Rabbie.”’

  Aye, he didn’t know what to make of himself. Especially not after that forbidden kiss.

  CHAPTER TEN

  IN HINDSIGHT, AVALINE supposed the gift of the handkerchief was rather silly of her. Bernadette was right—he didn’t care for the lace, no matter that she had embroidered his initials on it. She’d thought he might think it sweet, might put it in a special place and from time to time in the course of their marriage, he would take it out and admire it, smile softly and remember the innocence of his fiancée before they’d wed.

  It was quite clear that man was incapable of reflection or sentiment.

  Well, at least she’d tried, as she’d told Bernadette she would, which was more than could be said for him. But really, quite honestly, since God was listening—Avaline assumed He was, as the Reverend Nokum was forever warning them that God Saw All—but if He was listening now, she would confess that the handkerchief had really been an excuse to ride to Balhaire. Even though she really disliked riding. Even though she was fearful of her fiancé. And not for the reasons Bernadette had suggested. Avaline had no intention of crying off. But she’d thought—hoped—her fiancé would appreciate her efforts, and if he did not, well...

  There was Captain Mackenzie.

  Oh, what a glorious day it had been, even when her fiancé had appeared, which Avaline had at first feared would ruin everything. Bernadette was so kind to occupy him so that Avaline might enjoy the company of Catriona.

  What an unexpected friendship she’d found with Catriona! Once Avaline had become accustomed to the way Catriona voiced aloud every thought she was thinking, and was not, as Avaline had first supposed, judging her, she’d seen a sunny side to Catriona that she really very much liked.

  But it was Captain Mackenzie who had carried the day for her.

  Aulay. His name was Aulay. She had not been invited to call him that, naturally, but she adored his name. It was quite different and it suited him, for he was different than any man she’d ever known. He was so...divine. Handsome, which was the first thing she’d noticed about him. And so very kind, and attentive. He’d taught her the names of the stars and how to bowl properly, and he’d asked after her family, and about her home in England. He was so much more appealing than his brother!

  Ah, but to that... Catriona had told her the most distressingly sad story about Mr. Mackenzie that Avaline had ever heard. Now she at least understood why he seemed so very angry. At least she thought she did, based on what Catriona had said...but then again, Catriona had said a lot, and Avaline couldn’t be entirely certain she’d caught every detail.

  Nevertheless, Catriona had explained that Mr. Mackenzie’s last fiancée—well, she wasn’t certain if she was, indeed, a fiancée—had been lost in the aftermath of the rebellion. And Mr. Mackenzie—Rabbie—didn’t know what had happened to her. She had just...disappeared.

  Naturally, this distressed the poor man. Naturally, he was resentful of Avaline, for she was not the fiancée he’d chosen.

  The story was so desperately mournful that Avaline was resolved to try harder to please him. She really didn’t want to leave, not now that she’d decided she would be quite at home at Killeaven with her father and mother far from her. Bernadette would be with her, and really, did she need anyone else? She would get along very well here, and now that she knew the tragedy her poor husband-to-be had suffered, perhaps she might help him.

  Avaline lay back against the pillows and closed her eyes. She imagined bringing the poor man back from the brink of complete despair. It would take an effort from her—she would need to see to all his needs, and engage him so as to take his mind off his loss. She imagined, as she pictured the lovely home she would create for him, how he would come to love her. She imagined how he would gaze at her with great affection and gratitude. He would one day realize that without her, he might very well have fallen into a melancholy so deep he could not recover. She’d heard of that happening. They put people who were quite sad into madhouses, didn’t they?

  Avaline lay her hands on her belly and imagined how his family would thank her, would look upon her not unlike a saint, for all of their efforts had been for naught until she’d come and married him had humbly taken up the responsibility of being a wife to such a desperately sad man, and they would whisper to each other, when she was not present, “oh, how grateful we are for Avaline.” His father, the laird, would write long letters to her father detailing how invaluable she has been in saving their despondent son, and her father—her father—would bow before her and say he’d been so very wrong about her all along.

  Avaline rolled onto her side. And if, for some reason, that did not come to pass, there was always Aulay.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  BERNADETTE FELT UNCHARACTERISTICALLY FRAUGHT. She was frantic to hide the offending handkerchief, frantic to do something to erase the great mistake she’d made.

  Such a horrible, awful mistake at Balhaire today...made so much worse by the knowledge that she’d felt that kiss down to her toes, had felt it simmering in her groin and in her veins. It was a kiss full of undeniable, stark desire, and she had been swept along with it, had forgotten herself so completely that she had scarcely been able to claw her way back to her senses.

  And now she felt wild with guilt and fear that somehow Avaline would discover it. She hadn’t felt things spiraling out of control so quickly since...well, since her father’s men had caught her and Albert in that tiny little inn.

  She shuddered at that memory—how humiliating it had been to be startled by men bursting into their room, and for them to find her in her chemise, and Albert, dear God, in nothing but his drawers.

  In a peculiar way, this felt even worse than that. When those men had come, Bernadette knew that she and Albert had only hurt themselves. But in this, she had harmed Avaline. Not that Avaline knew it—but if she ever learned of it, it would ruin them.

  Bernadette hid Avaline’s handkerchief in a drawer beneath several of her things where no one would find it. She walked a circle around her small room, her hands locked behind her head, trying desperately to think rationally.

  How had that kiss happened? One moment she’d been standing there, and the next her hand was in his much larger one, and she should have pulled it free, but she’d liked the way her hand felt in his. And then she’d been stunned by the touch of his lips to the palm of her hand and the way it had sent a thousand shocks of light through her. He’d done it so casually, so easily, and the sensation of it had lingered like a burn on the surface of her skin for several moments after he’d let go of her hand.

  And then he’d kissed her. He’d kissed her ardently, like a man who was not afraid for her to know that he wanted all of her. She’d pushed him, because she’d not agreed to it, she’d not invited it, had not encouraged it...

  But part of her had agreed, obviously. Part of her h
ad not resisted him because there was something so raw and darkly masculine about him, and that kiss had been so...stirring. So astonishingly stirring.

  Bernadette sat heavily on a stool at her vanity, her head in the palm of her hand. “What have I done?” she whispered. To have taken such a risk for a few moments of pleasure! And yet that kiss had startled her awake—it had been so long since she’d known the pleasure of a man’s touch.

  She knew what Mackenzie had wanted of her. She knew what she’d wanted of him. She’d wanted the touch of a madman.

  Until her common sense had taken hold and shook her into seeing what she was doing, and then, she’d felt a surge of panic and guilt and horror so great that she’d thought for a moment she might be sick with it.

  She felt sick yet.

  Bernadette lifted her head and looked at herself in the looking glass. What was she to do? Should she tell Avaline? She couldn’t! Avaline would be heartbroken, might even collapse with grief as her constitution was not particularly strong. Worse, she probably wouldn’t even understand at first that with her confession, Bernadette would have to leave her employ. Avaline would be angry and heartbroken, but at the same time, she would be lost without Bernadette.

  Or, perhaps, Avaline would not be the least heartbroken. It was entirely possible that she would be so angry about the dissolution of trust between them that she would banish Bernadette to Highfield before Lord Kent could even think of it.

  No, she couldn’t tell Avaline—not now. Maybe someday, but not now. But what Bernadette could do, what she must do, was convince Avaline to cry off. That was the only solution for them both.

  * * *

  BERNADETTE BROACHED THE subject at breakfast the next morning. Avaline had slept late, and as a result, she and Bernadette were the only two in the dining room. When Renard left them to carry dishes to the kitchen, Bernadette cleared her throat and said, “Avaline, dearest, there is something I’d like to say.”