And the Bride Wore Plaid (26 page)

Now there was a thought. Devon considered it. Finally, he shook his head. “I don’t think so. I mean, it is called the St.
John
talisman ring.”

Malcolm didn’t appear convinced. “I hope you are right. I also hope that neither Fiona nor Murien have found the thing.”

“What would they do with it?”

Malcolm frowned. “I don’t know, but the way they’re scheming, ‘tis a possibility one or the both o’ them had their hands on it.”

“You’re being a bit hasty.”

Malcolm sighed, his shoulders slumping. An apologetic smile flickered over his face. “Perhaps ‘tis just mislaid, as you said. I’ll go and see if I can’t find that lazy butler. Perhaps Davies has some knowledge of your ring.”

Devon didn’t think he’d ever actually seen the butler at Kilkairn. “I hope Davies knows where the ring is. I must find it before I leave.”

Malcolm nodded. “We shall. Never fear. It is too dangerous to leave lying around. Meanwhile, you had best dress for dinner. You look a bit wet.”

Devon nodded. “I shall. Thank you for your assistance, Malcolm. I appreciate it.”

“I’m looking for that dismal artifact more for my own good than yours. ‘Tis the last thing I want lying about where an innocent male might chance upon it.” With that, Malcolm headed downstairs, yelling for Davies as he went.

Devon watched him go. Why couldn’t his mother have had a ring that caused increased health or stamina? Anything other than an illness that might lead to marriage. It really wasn’t fair.

Sighing, he turned and made his way to his own room, wishing he didn’t have to attend dinner that evening.

Dinner was every bit as horrid as Devon feared. Fiona was flushed and talkative, a desperate sparkle in her eyes. Once or twice Devon caught her staring at Malcolm with such a look of longing that it startled him.

Malcolm, for his part, spent most of the meal prying for hidden meanings behind his wife’s every statement, while Murien did her best to play the part of The Perfect Companion.

By the time he and Malcolm retreated for brandy, Devon was ready to plead tiredness and retreat to the relative quiet of his room. But once there, he found himself resenting the stillness, for it left him far too free to think about Kat.

He stood restlessly and wandered to the window, pushing aside the heavy curtain and looking out at the starlit night. What was Kat doing now? Was she working with the lads? Was she thinking about the promises she’d made him? Was she even awake? As late as it was, she was most likely in bed, sound asleep.

That brought to mind more important questions. What did she wear to bed? A long flannel nightgown devoid of lace or trim? Somehow, he couldn’t imagine her in anything so mundane. Perhaps a thin cotton rail, tied with ribbons and bows? But no. That was too ordinary. Perhaps she just wore a silk chemise. One with little tiny flowers embroidered around a low neckline. A neckline that outlined the curve of her generous breasts—

He turned from the window and grabbed up his coat, his imagination—and other parts of him— afire. It was almost midnight, and by the time he arrived at her house, it would be tomorrow already. Perhaps, in addition to showing her that he was earnest in his desire to forward their relationship, he could also model the virtue of promptness.

Grinning at his own whimsy, he made his way through the moonlit night to the stable, where he woke, then handsomely bribed, a sleepy groom to saddle Thunder.

Kat tossed her scarf on the dressing table and then found her comb. Sighing heavily, she sat in front of the oval mirror and made a face. “Comb your hair and stop thinking about That Man.”

As usual, she didn’t listen to herself, for the third time she drew the large toothed comb through her hair, she caught herself wondering what Devon was doing now. Was he playing billiards with Malcolm? Listening to Fiona talk about the upcoming ball? Or walking a moonlit path with Murien?

“Ow!” The comb hit a tangle. That was the problem with having thick hair, it got mussed far too easily.

She worked the comb through the tangle and smiled when it finally slid through. “There,” she told her reflection in the mirror. “See what a little work will do?”

Her reflection grimaced back at her. Work was one thing, but wanting the impossible was another, which was what spending an entire day with Devon St. John tended to do to her. The man had a gift for inspiring confidences and appearing earnest, both talents that made him a dangerous man indeed.

It was funny; when she was with Devon, everything seemed so
right
. But then, when she wasn’t with him, the doubts began creeping in. The damning little thoughts that asked her what she thought she was doing, spending time with a man who, by his own admission and Murien’s insinuations, changed his affections as easily as most people changed their clothing.

Kat pulled the comb through her hair one last time, then braided it. The situation with St. John was too perplexing to consider this late at night. Perhaps, when she saw him tomorrow, she’d know the answer. One made all the easier by warm sunlight and a new day.

A scratch sounded at her window. Kat paused in braiding her hair, but the sound did not come again. She finished braiding, then rose and carried the candle to the bed.

Another scratch sounded, and this time she could tell it was the tree limb that, when the wind blew from the south, bent until the branches scraped the casement. She frowned. It hadn’t seemed that windy before ... was there a storm blowing in? She went to the window and flipped the latch, then pushed it open.

“Kat!” came a strident whisper.

Kat jumped, pressing a hand to her heart.

“Kat!” came the voice again, this time closer.

She blinked, then leaned forward. The tree branch was bent toward the house, but there was no wind. What there was, however, was a large man, steadily climbing the tree to her bedchamber. “St. John!”

He paused, grinning up at her. His teeth flashed in the pale moonlight. “It’s after midnight.” He was a scant six feet away now, and she could make out the shape of his face, a shadow of nose and eyes and smiling lips.

“I know it’s after midnight. What are you doing here?” she asked, astounded and perplexed and frightened just the teeniest bit. He was getting closer with each moment, climbing with the surety of a man who had clambered countless trees as a lad.

She suddenly realized that he’d said “tomorrow.”

Good heavens, he was coming because she’d promised ... What
had
she promised?

But she knew what she’d promised ... and she’d meant it, too. Or she had until Murien had let her know how far gone Kat already was. The truth was that she already cared too much for St. John to have a simple dalliance with him. If she wasn’t careful, she’d reveal her feelings and damn what friendship she and Devon did share; a friendship far more precious than any Kat had ever had.

She pressed a hand to her cheek. Her heart was pounding, her palms damp, her throat tight. Part of her felt as if she should flee. But another part of her was flattered and excited and ... happy. Devon St. John was climbing a tree outside her window. Her window and not Murien Spalding’s, the most beautiful woman in Scotland.

He was now almost at eye level, the light from the room spilling over his face. Excitement gleamed in his eyes. “You said we would settle this thing between us ‘tomorrow.’” He placed a hand on her window casement. “It is now ‘tomorrow.’”

At his words, her body whispered needfully that she should move, just a step or two, and then he would be in her bedchamber and all the heated thoughts and late night longing she’d suffered would be sated. But her mind ordered her to stay put, not to be swayed by soft words.

Which was right, her mind or her body? It was torture, this double yearning to do and not to do. Kat clenched her teeth against it all.

His gaze met hers, softly quizzing. “I can’t climb in unless you step back.”

The old fears and questions tumbled back into her mind. “I-I do not know if I should let you in or not.”

“Are you asking my opinion?” His teeth flashed whitely in the uncertain light. “For if you are, I think you should let me in so we can—”

“I’m quite certain I know what
you
think. I just don’t know what
I
think.”

“Whatever you decide, you’d best make up your mind quickly. I might fall at any minute. These branches are not very stable.”

He was laughing at her, she could tell. And she didn’t like it one little bit. “Of course, as hard as your head seems to be, one little tumble won’t kill you.”

“Won’t it? Kat, what are you afraid of? You don’t trust anyone of the opposite sex other than your lads and your brother. Meanwhile, you stay here, hiding from the world and anyone who might hurt you.”

He thought she was afraid. How ludicrous! “You are sorely mistaken; I am not afraid. Not of you or anyone else.”

“I see.” He was silent a moment before he said, “What if I just come in long enough for a drink of water?”

“There’s water in the barrel by the barn.”

“Oh.” He leaned on the casement with his free arm, the candlelight smoothing a golden path across his handsome face. “I’ll get some water on my way out. But... I’m also a little chilled.”

“Then you’d best return to your room at Kilkairn.”

He glanced past her to the crackling fire in her room. “But your fireplace doesn’t smoke. What if I just came in long enough to warm myself a bit?”

She crossed her arms and looked at him.

He heaved a sigh. “You are the most stubborn woman. Very well, I’ll leave. But I must rest first. May I come in and just—”

“No!” Heavens, but he was a determined individual. “Good night, Mr. St. John.” She placed her hand on the casement to close it, expecting him to move out of the way.

Instead, he drew back instantly—and then disappeared from sight. The place where he’d been was filled with a horrid black stillness.

She gasped and rushed forward. “Devon—!”

He was still there, crouching on the thick tree limb that held him, hanging onto the branch above. His teeth gleamed faintly in the dark. “You would miss me if I was gone; admit it.”

“I am not admitting anything,” she said, though her heart still trembled in place. “That was a horrid trick.”

“I’m a desperate man. Climbing up was one thing, climbing down in the black of night is another.” He moved back into place, leaning in the casement as he smiled at her, that wistful lopsided smile that always made her melt just the tiniest bit on the inside.

“Kat, my love, what if you chose a chair for me and I promised to stay in it?”

Her gaze narrowed. “You wouldn’t get up?”

“The seat of the chair and I would never part. Not unless you invited us to.”

That seemed like a fair offer. Besides, if he stayed in the window, one of the lads was bound to see him. Simon in particular was a restless one and was frequently up and about in the wee hours of the morn.

Kat closed her eyes. “This is madness, but... blast it! I suppose I might as well.”

And with that, Kat Macdonald made a monumental decision, one she’d mull the rest of her days. She stepped out of the way and let Devon St. John climb into her window.

Every once in a while, I gets a pain in me head and I’m never sure if it is because of somethin‘ I’ve done, or somethin’ I need to do.

Lady Birlington’s maid Sabrina to Cold Bob, the fishmonger, at the market early one morning

Devon climbed the rest of the way in, stepping over the sill with ease. He paused to close the window, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet.

“You cannot stay long.” There was a defensive note to her voice.

He turned to answer her, but though he wanted to reply, her night rail prevented him. All he could do was nod. Nod and stare, for she was wearing a gown of pale green silk that flowed to her feet, clinging lasciviously to every curve she possessed. Worse—or better, depending on whether he enjoyed the lush torture she presented—the neckline was low, exposing rounded curves that made his mouth water.

“Yes, well,” she said, her heightened color letting him know she was aware of his regard, “the next time you decide to clamber up a tree and into a woman’s room, you might want to make more noise.”

“Noise?”

“Yes. Whistle or something. I could have mistaken you for a reiver, come to steal my jewels. ‘Tis a wonder I didn’t call for one of the lads.”

“I don’t whistle. Not well anyway.”

“Then sing. That would work, I suppose.”

“No,” he said firmly. “I am not going to sing, not even for you. I respect my fellow man too much to put them through such a parody of talent.”

“That is very kind of you.”

“I made that decision after being forced to listen to I know not how many musicale performances by anxious mamas who think men admire women who can warble a song.”

Her lips twitched. “Poor you, having to endure such.”

He tried not to stare too long at her soft, full mouth. “I never heed the matchmaking mamas. But they have made me more aware of the fact that just because we think we’re talented, does not make it so.”

“A wise lesson.”

An awkward silence then fell, as if they’d used all their stored-up banter and were now completely wordless. Kat glanced nervously around, then cleared her throat no fewer than three times.

Devon finally took pity on her. “I believe I was supposed to occupy a chair. Shall we sit?” Now that he was there, he had all the time in the world.

“Sit?” She glanced at the bed, then at the chairs, as if dragging her mind from one to the other. “Oh yes! Of course we may sit.” She led the way to the chairs, her gown revealing the tantalizing outline of her thighs as she moved.

Devon had to force himself to breathe. God, but she was beautiful. He eyed the long red-gold braid that hung down her back and wondered what her hair would look like splayed over a mound of white pillows. His blood heated.

She took her seat, sitting on the very edge of the chair, her hands clasped on the arms of the chair. The second he took his place across from her, she said, “Why are you here?”