Amanda Scott (22 page)

“But I don’t want to.”

“Then tell your mother so when she comes to fetch you,” Anne said, turning back toward the door.

“Oh, very well, but if Sir Eustace is there, I’ll turn right around and come back if I have to get sick all over the floor
to prove to them that I must.”

“Eustace and Toby have gone to the alehouse,” Anne said. “And you know that your uncle will not leave it until someone rolls
him out the door to his cart.”

“Good,” Fiona said, turning more cheerfully to let Molly straighten her dress.

Downstairs, Anne felt only relief to see that her cousin was shyly polite to Sir Christopher and that he was charming to her.
The conversation that ensued was desultory, even boring, so when she took a sip of her claret and chanced to catch his eye
over the rim of her goblet, his teasing expression startled her into a smile.

He was still looking at her when Olivia said, “You should more properly ask him questions about himself, my dear. Men like
to talk about themselves.”

Startled, Anne turned toward her aunt, only to realize that she had addressed her remark to a deeply reddening Fiona.

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Ficna exclaimed. “I don’t know what to ask him!”

“I am sure we’d all like to know where he has been hiding himself,” Olivia said, turning to Kit. “We’re eaten with curiosity,
sir.”

“I have been many places,” he replied with an easy smile. “I have been to Italy and Spain, and sailed the Mediterranean Sea,
and I’ve seen Ireland, too. I know little about what has transpired here in my absence, however. Perhaps you can tell me about
life in Roxburghshire. For example… ”

Anne watched with increasing admiration as he adroitly led Olivia away from a discussion of his activities and deep into Border
gossip, flattering her one moment for her keen insight into her neighbors and friends, and affecting astonishment the next
at the vast extent of her knowledge.

Just as deftly did he draw Fiona into the conversation, and within moments, Anne saw her cousin begin to gaze raptly at him.
Telling herself she was glad that Fiona liked him, she had nonetheless to relax fists that had somehow clenched so hard in
her lap as to leave fingernail marks in her palms.

It became clear that Olivia intended to make the evening last as long as possible, but Fiona was soon yawning behind her hand.

The tables in the lower hall had been cleared and dismantled, and only the jug of claret remained on the high table when Kit
said, “Perhaps you should seek your bed, Mistress Carmichael, before you fall asleep before our eyes.”

“Yes, do go up, my dear,” Olivia said. “Sir Christopher is right. I can see that he is a man who knows how to look after his
own.”

Anne blinked, finding it suddenly hard to maintain her serene expression. Apparently, Olivia had decided to shift her support
from Eustace to his nephew, and she wondered what Eustace would think of that. Indeed, she wondered what she thought of it
herself. Surely, it was a good thing, because Sir Christopher would certainly make an excellent husband, so it was vexing
that just that thought alone was enough to make her want to cry.

She arose from the table when Fiona and Olivia did, but to her surprise, Sir Christopher said, “I wonder if I might have a
word with you, Lady Anne.”

Olivia looked from one to the other. “It is late, sir, and Fiona and I long for our beds. I thought you understood that we
mean to retire.”

“I won’t keep either of you, madam. I just want a word with her ladyship.”

“The young women in this household understand that they are not to have private words with young men,” Olivia said sternly.
“Anne will go upstairs with us. If you want to speak with her, you may see her in the morning when we break our fast. Until
then, good night, sir. Come along, Anne.”

Obeying, Anne glanced over her shoulder. Encountering a teasing grin, she knew as surely as if he had said so that he was
thinking again of their first meeting.

His attempt to steal a private moment with Anne thus foiled, Kit sat comfortably in front of the fire, enjoying the solitude
of the empty hall until he heard sounds heralding the return of the men from the alehouse. Deciding it would be less than
helpful to confront his uncle when Eustace had undoubtedly (from the sound of it) imbibed more ale than was good for him,
he got up and left before the revelers entered the chamber.

He had not found Willie or anyone who had seen the lad. It occurred to him that until supper, Anne had been his only friend,
although he doubted she believed that after what she had done to him. Lady Carmichael seemed disposed to like him, but he
had seen enough of her to realize she was fickle at best, so he could not count on her. He would doubtless be safer in his
bedchamber, but he would not be completely safe until he could reclaim Hawks Rig and man it with his own people.

Taking what he hoped was the right stairway, he went upstairs and along the first gallery he came to until he found the second
stairway at the end. On the next level, he easily found the door he sought.

He opened it and stepped into the darkened room.

Someone had shut the window and kindled a fire in the fireplace, clearly having expected him to return sooner, since it had
burned to embers. Using the orange-gold glow to light his way, he crossed to the window, pushed aside the curtain, and opened
the shutters, drawing a welcome breath of the cold night air.

“Faith, but you’re as bad as your horrid uncle!”

Turning sharply to find himself face-to-face with an angry Anne Ellyson sitting bolt upright in her night shift and apparently
nothing else, he snapped, “What the devil are you doing in my bed and where are your clothes?”

Unable to sleep, Anne had been staring at the canopy overhead, thinking she probably owed a debt of gratitude to Olivia for
sparing her “just a word” with Kit Chisholm, when she heard him come in. At first, she thought Peg must have forgotten something
and, fearing to wake her, had entered without her usual double rap to announce herself. Anne nearly spoke before she realized
that the footsteps of the person rapidly crossing the room were much heavier than Peg’s.

Sitting up and peeping between the bed curtains, she watched the tall, shadowy figure stride across the room and open the
shutters before it dawned on her that it was Sir Christopher.

Shocked and furious to think that he would enter her room, she had shoved the bed curtains aside and told him exactly what
she thought of such behavior.

When he whirled to face her, demanding to know what she was doing in
his
bedchamber, she realized what must have happened and saw the same realization dawn in his expression.

“Faith, I’ve come to the wrong room, haven’t I?” he said.

“Aye, sir, you have,” she said, striving to recover her calm and failing completely. He was in her room with her and far too
close for comfort, and she was sure, despite his teasing look earlier, that he must still be angry with her for pushing him
into the brook. “There are separate stairs leading to the east and west wings of the house,” she explained. “The rooms and
galleries are much the same on both sides, and in the guest bedchambers the furnishings generally sit in the same positions
with respect to the fireplace. If your fireplace is in the same—”

“Put a robe on, lass,” he said, his tone still harsh.

“You need not bite my nose off,” she snapped. “You are in
my
room, after all, and you must leave at once, so it does not matter if I put on my robe or not.”

“It matters,” he said.

“Now, see here—”

“No, you listen to me for once,” he said. “I wanted to speak to you below, but your aunt prevented that. Still, until this
moment I have not been able to find two minutes to speak privately with you, except when I got doused for my efforts, and
I do not want to have this conversation before an audience.”

“There can be no conversation,” she said. “I know I owe you an apology, and I do apologize, so if that is what you came here
seeking, you have it. Now, go.”

His gaze fell upon her old robe draped across a nearby stool, and he snatched it up, flinging it at her. “Put that on, or
I won’t hold myself responsible for my actions. I’ve warned you before, my manners are not up to their old standard.”

“Because of being with sailors so long,” she said acidly. “Yes, you told me.” But when he continued to look grimly at her,
she sighed and put on the robe, saying, “Very well, but I cannot imagine what you think you must say to me.”

“First, I am not angry with you. If I were, you’d have had no doubt of it, because my temper is the sort that flames high
and loud, and burns quickly.”

“You were angry when I left you sitting in the water.”

To her surprise, he grinned but turned toward the fireplace as he said, “I was, and you should consider yourself lucky that
I couldn’t reach out and grab you then, because you’d have found yourself sitting beside me. Still, I know I deserved your
anger, lass. I behaved badly, and I know what I’d do to any man who treated a woman the way I treated you on that bridge,
so I have nothing to say about that aside from offering you
my
apology.”

Anne could not remember any man other than a servant apologizing to her before. The experience was unique and surprisingly
pleasant. Moreover, it instantly put an end to the nagging distress she had felt since running from the bridge.

He knelt beside the fireplace, took a log from the nearby basket and put it on, then began to blow on the hot embers to encourage
their appetite.

She said, “If you are not angry, then what have we to discuss?”

Flames leaped in the fireplace, and as he stood and turned, they cast a flickering glow behind him that outlined his tall
figure, making him look larger than life. Anne realized that she felt no less vulnerable with her robe on than she had felt
without it. He was too large, too near, and entirely too masculine. Moreover, she had already learned that his behavior was
unpredictable.

She started to get out of the bed, thinking that she might feel more able to cope with him while standing.

In a strained voice, he said, “Stay where you are.”

“Now, really, sir, I suppose I may do as I please in my own chamber. Pray tell me what you wish to discuss.”

“At least stay where you are, lass. I am truly no saint, nor am I accustomed to resisting temptation when it flaunts itself
at me.”

“But you must not
let
yourself be tempted! You are betrothed to my cousin.”

“That is exactly what I want to discuss,” he said. “I am not persuaded that I did the right thing today by interfering in
her wedding. The more I see of young Fiona, the more I think that someone like Eustace is just what she needs. He is older,
clearly admires her, and would be bound to treat her kindly. Faith, but he must feel like her father.”

“You can know nothing about your uncle if you think his behavior toward any female is the tiniest bit fatherly,” Anne said
tartly.

“I know that is what you have told me, and I know it is what you believe of him, but although he has not seen fit yet to acknowledge
me, I have seen nothing in his actions to indicate a predatory attitude toward your cousin. And she—”

“You have scarcely seen him at all,” she pointed out. “He left with Toby an hour after you arrived, and they have not yet
returned.”

“Oh, they’ve returned,” he said. “I heard them coming in and left the hall in a hurry, which is most likely why I took the
wrong stairway. They sounded as if they had been drinking heavily, and they had others with them. It sounded like a party.”

Anne grimaced. “Then they will be carousing until all hours,” she said. “I just hope your uncle does not come wandering up
here. He’s done that before, too.”

“Has he? He’d better not try it whilst I am here.”

A bubble of laughter gurgled out before she could stop it. “I wish I may see that,” she said. “Do you mean to say that if
you were to hear him at Fiona’s door, you’d storm out of here to tell him he has no business to be there.”

“From what you have told me, he is as likely to be at this door as Fiona’s,” he said, but he was smiling at the picture she
had painted for him.

“I see nothing amusing in the thought of Sir Eustace at my door,” she said, trying to sound stern but failing. “Faith, but
I would like to see his face,” she admitted, “even at the risk of my own ruin.”

Kit sobered. “That mustn’t happen,” he said, stepping forward and catching her by the shoulders.

Anne’s breath caught in her throat. She could no more have protested than she could have flown. Instead, she looked up at
him, wondering if he would dare to kiss her again. Every cell in her body cried out for him to do so, stirring impulses she
scarcely recognized as her own.

He seemed to have stopped breathing, too, for he said no more but stood looking down at her, his hands still gripping her
shoulders.

She wanted to touch his face, but she kept her hands at her sides, knowing that if she so much as reached up to touch one
of the hands on her shoulders, she would be asking for trouble.

His right hand moved to her cheek, as if he were reading her thoughts and echoing them with his actions. His fingertips were
rough as he drew two of them down her left cheek to the comer of her mouth and then across her lower lip. The impulse to kiss
his fingers nearly overwhelmed her. Her nipples tingled and other parts of her body did as well. Sensations she had never
felt before coursed through her, and when he fisted his hand and rubbed the backs of his knuckles across her chin anc. up
to her cheek again, her lips parted invitingly.

His right hand slid to the back of her neck, and with a near growl from deep in his throat, he pulled her toward him, and
his mouth came down hard on hers.

Anne leaned into him, all resistance melting at the first touch of his lips on hers. With a moan of pleasure, she pushed proprieties
aside and kissed him back.