As High as the Heavens (19 page)

She didn't care, Heather told herself over and over.
She didn't care what Duncan Mackenzie thought of her,
and she certainly had no wish to dance with him-not
now or ever. He was being a strutting cock, imagining it
was his due that every woman at the ceilidh must swoon
over him. She had every right to dance with whomever
she wished. Indeed, she hadn't noticed any of the other
women dancing too often with the same partner, Janet
included.

Her fine plate of food, though, was ruined. It tasted now like sawdust, flavorless and dry. Heather made a few
halfhearted attempts to eat a few more bites, then gave
up. She sat there with her plate on her lap until Beth,
with Tavish in tow, walked over. Heather made room for
them on the bench.

Her maid surveyed the contents of Heather's plate.
"Ye're not eating. Doesn't the food suit yer fancy?"

"It isn't the food," Heather gritted out between clenched
teeth. "It's that ... that man!" She punctuated the last
remark with a seething glance in Duncan's direction.

"Och, it's him again, is it?" Beth sighed. "What has he
gone and done this time?"

"He accused me of wanton behavior because I danced
with any man who asked me!"

Scowling, Tavish leaned over. "Shall I go and thwack
him on the head for ye, mistress?"

Envisioning such a scene was most amusing. A tiny
smile tugged at the corner of Heather's mouth.

"Och, nay, Tavish, though I'm grateful to ye for the
offer."

"It's but a simple case of masculine jealousy," Beth
observed calmly between bites of her roast venison.

"Jealousy!" Heather hissed. "I hardly think so. Or, if
it was, it was only because I stole some of the attention
from him."

"Be that as it may, ye aren't being fair or reasonable
here." Beth paused to take a deep swallow of her cider.
"Ye've been with him long enough now to know Duncan
isn't a vain man, nor one who must find his value in the
esteem of others."

"Well, it's still hard to believe he's jealous of the attention other men show me," Heather grumbled, even
as she finally faced the fact that Beth might be right.
The consideration, though, she had to admit, was far
from displeasing.

"Besides, when it comes to me, he surely isn't that
uncertain of himself." She shook her head emphatically.
"Nay, not Duncan Mackenzie."

"Isn't he?" Beth cocked her head, a mischievous light
dancing in her eyes. "Mayhap ye're right. If he truly
was that uncertain of himself with ye, it could only
mean-

"No more, I say!"

Heather leaped to her feet. Not sparing any of them
a backward glance, she stalked over to where the plates
were being scraped free of food into a big wooden tub.
After cleaning off her own plate, she deposited it on a
spare table. Then, taking up her cloak from a hook near
the door, Heather threw it around her shoulders and
headed outside.

It was a crisp, clear night. Heather walked a short ways
to a stand of bare-branched oaks and leaned against the
solid bulk of one of the trees. High above, the sky was a
huge span of raven black, sprinkled with tiny, twinkling
stars and pierced by a bright sliver of the moon.

She gazed at it wistfully. This night, the sky ... it was
all so calm, predictable, and comforting. Not at all like
her life-or state of emotions-of late. And all because
of that dunderheaded Duncan Mackenzie. Jealous, indeed!

"Ye shouldn't be coming out of doors alone," a deep male voice intruded on her heated musings. "Especially
after yer saucy behavior inside."

Ready for a fight, Heather whirled around, her hands
fisted at her sides. Duncan stood there, his tall, broadshouldered form backlit by the light glowing from the
dance hall's windows. He hadn't even bothered to don
his cloak, and stood there in shirt and belted plaid. He
didn't, though, even for the sharp bite in the air, appear
the least bit cold.

"And why would ye care?" she taunted, advancing on
him. "What I do is my affair, as are the consequences of
that behavior."

"Some of the men might take yer sudden departure
as invitation to a passionate little tryst."

She came up to stand right before him. "Well, then I'm
fortunate to have ye as my keeper, aren't I? Ye, of all men,
would never suspect me of such conduct, would ye?"

"Wouldn't I?"

His face was shadowed, yet even by moonlight Heather
could tell his mouth was grim, his jaw set and hard.
Once more her anger rose. How dare he even think her
capable of playing a wanton, much less imply it?

The possibility that he might doubt her hurt. Her anger
faded in a sudden swell of confusion and sadness.

"Ah, Duncan, Duncan. Why are ye being so cruel?"
Heather asked softly. "It shouldn't matter to ye what I
do. Not that I'd purposely seek to hurt or shame ye or
yer family. Surely ye know that, don't ye?"

He stared down at her for a long moment, then flung
back his head and gazed up at the heavens, his big body
gone rigid, his arms stiff at his sides. "By all the saints," he groaned, "I don't know aught about ye or me anymore.

Duncan lowered his head, his burning gaze-even in
the darkness-searing clear through Heather. "Forgive
me, lass, for my earlier unkind words. Never have I spoken like that to a woman and now to say such things to
ye, of all women. . . " He sighed. "I'm a fool who doesn't
even know what he wants anymore, save that I know
I want ye badly. That I lie awake at night on my pallet
and long for ye. That I can scarce keep from touching
ye"-his hands went to clasp her arms-"whenever we're
together. And when I dare consider kissing ye ..."

As he spoke, Duncan pulled her close. Her breath
caught in her throat. Her heart began an erratic thudding within her chest. Frantic thoughts roiled in her
head-thoughts of flight, of calling for help. Yet even as
they shot through her mind they were instantly muted,
consumed by an ardent hunger to just once be held in
his arms and have him kiss her.

"Aye?" she prompted gently. "What do ye think, feel,
when ye consider kissing me?"

Lifting on tiptoe, Heather reached for him, grasping
Duncan's face in both hands. She gazed deeply into his
eyes.

"I've never been kissed by any man besides my father.
I never thought, indeed never wished, to kiss another
man save my husband. But since I first met ye, Duncan
Mackenzie, the thought of kissing ye has been almost
constantly on my mind."

"Has it, lass?" he whispered, his warm breath on her
face as light as the brush of a butterfly's wing.

"Aye, Duncan. It has."

His hand moved, sliding up her back to clasp her neck,
supporting, protecting, caressing it. "And if I kissed ye
now would ye find offense in it? Would ye think me an
uncivilized brute, an unprincipled savage?"

The deep, husky timbre of his voice vibrated along
every sensitized nerve ending Heather possessed. A
warmth washed over her, sweet, rich, thick as honey.
And she ached for him. Ah, how she ached!

"Though my mind tells me I shouldn't want it so, my
heart cries out with longing for yer kiss."

Heather gazed up at him then sighed. Her head lowered. Her hands slid from Duncan's face to rest upon
the broad, solid expanse of his chest.

"But it's wrong, Duncan. I'm betrothed. I shouldn't
want another man, leastwise not like I want ye."

A long, strong finger crooked beneath her chin. Ever
so gently, Duncan lifted her gaze back to his. "And have
ye ever considered that mayhap ye shouldn't wed a
man ye don't want, lass? How can he possibly make ye
happy?"

She smiled sadly. "In truth, I never thought to find
happiness in a husband. I but thought to do my duty to
my father and family. My happiness, I always believed,
would be found elsewhere-in books, learning, and mayhap, eventually, in my children."

"That isn't right, lass." He smiled down in tender
compassion. "A man and a woman were meant to find
joy and completion, one in the other. They were meant,
one in the other, to render support and sustenance in
life's journey, in both good times and bad. Never have I believed God gave woman to man solely to procreate
the race, so that each might fulfill a duty."

Ah, Heather thought, the tears springing to her eyes,
but it's all so different for ye. Ye've no obligations, save to
see to the care of yer family. But I, I've an ancient heritage, the weight of countless noble generations, to bear.
I've heavy responsibilities as the Gordon heiress and my
father's only child. I can't wed any man I please.

Any man I please ...

The words took Heather by surprise. Since her mother's and sister's deaths, she had never once considered
the possibility of wedding for love. Indeed, she had
chosen to avoid such a fate as if it were some leprous
scourge. Yet, in the short time she had known Duncan
Mackenzie, her thoughts had turned time and again to
such considerations. He had, despite their verbal battles
and the heightened tensions when they were together,
become the man she'd have chosen, if she had ever had
the right to choose.

An unwashed, uncivilized, illiterate savage indeed!
He had never been the man she had first imagined him
to be. He had, in truth, exceeded even the breeding of
the family to which he truly was kin. He was his brother
Colin's equal and more.

Perhaps that was what frightened her most. Duncan
was everything she could ever want in a man. Duncan
was the kind of man a woman could lose her heart to.
Yet if he failed to love her as deeply, as passionately, in
return ...

A sudden remembrance shivered through Heather,
and it was more bitterly cold than the chill night wind blowing through the glen. They cannot help themselves
... They cannot help themselves ...

For a fleeting instant, Heather's eyes slid shut. For
a fleeting instant she fought a savage battle. Then she
opened her eyes. She shoved back from Duncan.

"Yer words are fine, yer beliefs noble," Heather forced
herself to say. "And mayhap, for ye, they are quite possible to attain. But they can't ever be for me. I wish they
could, but they can't."

"Ah, lass, lass." Sadly, Duncan shook his head. "I
thought ye were made of stronger stuff than this. I
thought ye possessed more fire, more spirit, than to allow
others to dictate yer life for ye."

"And what do ye know of me?" Heather cried, stung
by what she imagined were his pitying words. "What
do ye know of the events that have shaped me and my
decisions, to judge me so?"

"Ye're right." He lifted his burning gaze to hers. "I
don't know. Tell me of them. Help me to understand.
Help me to help ye."

"And what makes ye think I need yer help, much less
want it?"

With a muttered curse, Duncan reached out, encircled
her waist with a powerful arm, and pulled her back to
him. "What indeed?" he growled, wrapping his other
arm across her shoulders to imprison her. "Could it be
because ye want me as much as I want ye? That ye feel incomplete without me, as I feel when I'm not with ye?"

Heather struggled within his grasp. "Let me go, Duncan," she cried, sensing he was near the limits of his
control. "Ye've no right-"

"I've every right," he cut her off, his voice gone ragged,
raw, and savagely intense. "Every right to fight for the
woman I want and need!"

Then he said no more. His head lowered. His mouth
descended, claiming hers in hungry, demanding possession.

For a heart-stopping instant Heather stood there, frozen
in shock. Shocked by his boldness. Stunned by the knowing, expert way Duncan's mouth moved over hers, by
the feel of him-all hard-muscled, overpowering manpressed so closely to her.

Never had Heather known such sensations, nor craved
them as desperately as she craved them now. Yet even
as her heart cried out for more, her mind pulled back.
Danger, it whispered. Beware, or ye are surely lost.

"N-nay." Gasping, Heather wrenched her mouth from
his. "Ye can't ... ye must not-"

"Can't? Must not?" Duncan asked softly. "Why? Because
I'm not worthy of ye? Because, for a crude Highlander to
kiss ye might sully yer precious, highborn virtue?"

Caught up in a maelstrom of confusion and need,
Heather shook her head. "Nay, it isn't that at all. It's
just that-"

"Ye didn't like how I kissed ye?" he finished for her,
his voice gone harsh, ruthless. "Well, mayhap I was a
wee bit rough. It's no excuse, but I confess to having forgotten myself. For that I beg pardon and"-once more
he lowered his head toward her-"promise to show ye
my more gentlemanly side."

Even as his last words faded, Duncan kissed her again.
Ever so softly his lips touched hers and, this time, Heather
couldn't restrain the ardor of her own response. With
a moan, she rose to meet him. Her hands, still caught
between their bodies, crept up to his chest, clutching
the coarse fabric of his shirt and his plaid's thick, warm
wool.