Bride of the Black Scot (8 page)

He took a step toward her. She backed away. “Stay away from
me,” she said. “You are both my heart’s desire and my terror. You watched me
fall in love with you, little by little, knowing the pain I suffered, when all
the time it was in your power to give me that which I most desired. You could
have eased my agony.”

“I am sorry, love.”

She knew that expression on his face, knew he wanted to come
to her, to comfort her, but something held him back. Perhaps it was the look
she gave him…the look that said he was not welcome.

Not now.

Perhaps not ever.

She had done the unpardonable. She had thought herself
betrothed to one man while she had shamelessly thrown herself at another,
begging him to make love to her, in spite of all he did to dissuade her. Shame
and desire warred within her, and she turned away, her low voice filled with
anguish. “Too much,” she whispered. “There has been too much deception between
us. I cannot go on pretending it does not matter, for that would go against
everything I believe in. For above all else I respect honesty and abhor
deceit.”

His look was soft, gentle. “It wasna your fault. I was the
one who wronged you, but if you will give me the chance, I will make it up to
you.”

Her look was incredulous. “You cannot mean you expect me to
go through with this mockery of a marriage.”

He gave her a dark look. “We just made love, Juliette. In
the eyes of God you are my wife already.”

“I cannot marry you, Stephen. I want to return to England.”

Stephen stood staring at her slender back, her bent head,
unable to believe her words.
Return to England? Was she daft?
He reached
for her, taking her by the arms, turning her around. She kept her gaze fastened
on the ground.

“What did you say?” he asked.

A horse nickered in the distance. The wind stirred the
trees. She looked at him, her face twisted with anguish, and a wrenching pain
tore at him. “I said I want to return to England.”

“You are here by order of the king. Do you no understand
what would happen to you and your family if you defied that order?”

“Then I will go to France…
anywhere
…but I cannot marry
you. Not now.”

“Did our lovemaking change so much?” he asked, but in his
heart he knew it had. He had acted dishonorably. He had deceived his betrothed.
He had made love to her without revealing who he was. The thought of it
sickened him. How could he have stooped so low, when he knew how much she had
come to care for him—when he knew it was love that had compelled her to ask him
to make love to her in the first place? Frustration ate at him. How could he
make her understand why he had had to test her, why he had had to be sure?

“Leave me,” she said, turning away.

He reached out his hand, touching her shoulder gently.

“Oh God…Leave me! Please! Grant me this small dignity, at
least.”

His other hand came up to touch her shoulder and he drew her
back against him. His heart twisted. He did not know what to do. Never had he
felt so inadequate. Her feelings for him ran deep, he knew, but they were also
new and terribly fragile. Anguish tore at him. He wanted to take her in his
arms and make love to her again, to make love and keep on making love, until he
made right everything that was wrong between them.

“Stephen…please leave me.”

He sighed wearily and threw back his head, staring at the
dark canopy of trees overhead. “Ah, lass, have I ever told you that you are a
great deal of trouble?”

“Yes,” she said, “but I promise I won’t trouble you
anymore.”

Before he could say anything else, she dropped the tartan
and waded into the water. A second later, she dove under, disappearing from his
sight.

He sighed, his hands dropping to his sides as he stared into
the darkness, his thoughts troubled.

The roofless walls of the abbey seemed to close in upon
Juliette as she sat staring morosely into the fire, ignoring the sounds of
sleep coming from Stephen’s men, who lay scattered around her. She felt so
alone, yet only Angus and Stephen were absent. She did not know where they had
gone.

She drew her legs up, wrapping her arms around them, resting
her chin upon her knees, staring blankly into the fire, her mind combing her
memories for a dozen or so clues that should have told her that Stephen and the
Black Scot were one and the same.
He favors me a great deal…

There will come a time when you find you dinna know me at
all…

That much was certainly true. She was betrothed to a man she
did not know.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized that
she was having a great deal of difficulty accepting the fact that Stephen and
the Black Scot were the same. Stephen was a living, breathing man, someone she
knew. Someone she had once trusted.

The Black Scot was just a name, a man cloaked in mystery.

Her shoulders slumped. Tears threatened, but she swallowed
back the hurt, keeping the bitter aftertaste. No longer would she worry about
loving one man while being married to another.

How could she marry Stephen now? A man she could not trust?
She could never be happy in a marriage based on lies. She had always been an
honest person. She could accept no less in the man she would marry.

She sighed deeply, uncertain what to do. She would have to
return to England, of course, thereby disgracing herself and her family. But
that would be better than becoming embittered in a failed marriage, or allowing
her hurt to be transformed into an angry need for revenge.

No, that wasn’t her way. Nary an ounce of vengeance flowed
in her veins. She was hurt, but not so hurt that she felt any desire to destroy
Stephen. Love could not turn to hate so easily…at least, not for her.

How easy to think of what she did not want to do; how
difficult to know what she did want. She was like a child with a piece of ice,
neither able to hold it, nor willing to let it go.

“Indecision brings nothing but delay, lass.”

“Hello, Angus,” she said, without looking at him. “I fear I
am not very good company at present.” She heard the rustle of clothing as he
lowered himself to sit beside her. She tilted her head to see firelight skip
over the creases in his face. “You have talked to him?” she asked.

“Aye, as much as I could. ’Tis easier milking a wildcat than
getting conversation out of the lad when he doesna want to talk.”

“I think he has said enough for one night.”

“So that is the end of it, then? You are calling the wedding
off?”

She picked up a stick and poked at the fire, drawing circles
in the dirt. They reminded her of wedding rings. She smoothed the dirt,
destroying the image, only to find herself drawing it again. That is what her
mind had been doing: making decisions and cancelling them, only to make the
same decisions again.

“What are you thinking, lass?”

She sighed heavily. “I am thinking that I don’t have many
choices, and none of them are to my liking.”

“Weel, you canna remain like the ass ’twixt two bottles of
hay, without ever moving an inch either way.”

She sighed again. “I know.”

“Would it help lass, if you ken the reasons why the lad kept
his identity from you?”

“I don’t suppose it would make it any worse.”

“I ken he never intended to deceive you, lass. It was only
his intent to be sure of your loyalty before he revealed himself as your
betrothed. If he hadn’t lost his heart to you, he would have told the truth
sooner.”

Her head came up off her knees and she stared at him. “Be
sure of my loyalty? Had I given him any reason to doubt it? Did he think I sent
the MacBeans?”

“Nay, he didna think that, but the lad hasna had many
reasons to trust the lassies. His aunt betrayed his father, you ken, and it
cost the old laird his life. He died in Stephen’s arms.”

She dropped her chin down to her knees again. “And so I
suffered the consequences of her betrayal.”

“Aye…hers and Stephen’s first wife.”

Her head jerked up. Her mouth went dry. “His first wife? I
did not know he had been married before.”

“It wasna for long, and it was a long time ago.”

“And she betrayed him?”

“Aye. Even before her betrayal she tried to tell him his son
was another man’s bastard.”

“Why?”

“It was an arranged marriage between two clans. Neither of
them was happy about it, but Stephen was willing to try. She wanted no part of
him or the marriage, you ken, because she loved someone else. When she
discovered she was with child, she taunted Stephen by telling him it was
another man’s child she carried.”

“But it was really Stephen’s child?”

“Aye, though he didna ken the child was his at first. Even
so, he loved the lad as his own.”

“How did he learn the boy was his son?”

“By the time Robbie was two years old he looked so much like
Stephen…weel, a blind man could have told the lad was his son. He wanted
nothing more to do with her, you ken, but the child…it was his intention to
hold the marriage together because of Robbie.”

“Was?”

“She betrayed him to his enemies—to the man she fancied she
loved—thinking Stephen would be killed. Stephen and his men were ambushed. It
was a fierce battle and Stephen was badly wounded, but he returned home, ready
to kill her with his own bare hands. She was standing on the south wall of the
castle, watching his return through the parapets. Just as he reached the
castle, she threw herself over the side.”

“Oh, how terrible.”

“Aye, she took Robbie with her.”

“Oh, God.”

“There hasna been much tenderness in the lad’s life. His
mother was the only woman close to him who never betrayed him, but she died
soon after his father. It isna that he distrusts all women, you ken. It is
simply that he would be certain of a woman’s allegiance before he puts his
trust in her.”

Juliette remembered what Stephen had told her of the Black
Scot.
I ken he would value your allegiance more than your understanding…

“Weel, I ken I have confused you enough,” Angus said. “I
will leave you with your thoughts, lass.” He started to rise to his feet.

Juliette touched his arm and he turned back to her. “Thank
you,” she said.

Angus nodded, then left as silently as he had come.

Juliette sat staring into the fire, feeling peace within her
at last. She ached for Stephen, yearned for him to come to her, to tell her
there would be no more lies, no more deceptions between them, that he loved her
and wanted her to become his wife. She breathed deeply, hope flowing back into
her heart. At last, she knew what she must do. Stephen would never come to her,
but she could go to him.

A few moments later, she was walking down the trail with
nothing but the light of the moon to guide her. The mist was beginning to gather,
the wind that came after the rain having died down.

She saw Stephen standing where she had left him, his back to
her. She stopped, uncertain what to say or do.

“I willna let you go,” he said, “if that is what you came to
ask me.”

“I came to talk to you.”

Still, he did not turn around. “Why?”

“Because there are many misunderstandings between us that I
would have resolved before…”

“Before you return to England?”

He turned around now, and looked at her, his expression
neither accusatory nor understanding. For the longest time they stood there, as
if searching for the answers to many unasked questions. “I would have come to
you,” he said at last.

“When?”

He smiled. “Soon enough to prevent your leaving.” His
expression darkened. “I meant what I said, lass. I willna let you go.”

“I am glad to hear that, m’lord, for I can think of no other
place I would rather be than with you.”

Suddenly, he was crossing the distance between them. He was
standing close enough for her to reach out and touch him. But she did not.

She had taken the first step by coming to him. If this man
was to be her lifelong mate, he must tell her that he cared. She would walk
back to England if she had to—and face King George’s wrath—but she would not
commit herself to marriage with an inflexible man.

As if sensing her thoughts, he caressed the side of her
face. “You are a remarkable woman, Lady Juliette. Not many would be so
forgiving.”

“I am not being charitable, m’lord, nor am I too witless to
know when I have been wronged. I came back because I want you to know I
understand why you did it. Angus told me about your father.” When he looked
off, she put her hand on his sleeve. “Why would his sister betray him?”

Stephen’s gaze returned to her face. “Because she favored my
father’s younger brother and wished him to be the laird of the Gordons.”

“But you would have become the laird after your father’s
death.”

“Not if I was dead.”

Juliette’s heart lurched. “She meant for you to die as
well?”

“Aye. But when the battle was over, it was her favorite brother
who died in my stead.”

His arms came around her tightly, drawing her hard against
him, as if he feared she might bolt and run.

“Did Angus tell you anything else?”

“He told me about your wife and son.”

She heard his sigh of relief, then felt his body relax. “I
should have told you, but I couldn’t. I have been standing here since you left,
trying to think of a way to tell you—groping for the right words to say, the
words that would make you understand.”

“I understand now,” she said softly.

“And I thank you for that. All I can say in my defense is I
was so afraid of being betrayed, I didna think how I would feel if it turned
out that you had come to Scotland to marry me for honest reasons.”

He dropped his head, his warm breath sending tremors of
delight over the sensitive skin of her neck. He whispered his next words
against her ear. “Forgive me. There has never been much softness or gentleness
in my life and precious little understanding. I was reared with a broadsword in
one hand and a shield in the other. Your openness, your honesty, your
straightforward manner disarm me.” He dropped down to one knee before her. “I
lay my arms at your feet, mistress mine. I desire to atone for what I did. What
would you have me do?”

“I would have you stand up first, m’lord,” she said, tugging
at the sleeve of his coat. He came to his feet and drew her against his great
body. “I never thought I would see a man such as you surrendering to a mere
lass,” she said. “Does this mean you are my prisoner?”

“I ken I was that from the first moment I saw you…as naked
as a newborn, you were, and as shy as a fawn.” He rested his chin on top of her
head. “It was never my intent, you ken, to care for a wife who’d been forced
upon me by an English king.”

“And have you come to care for me?”

“Aye,” he said, “I have. I am glad you came back to talk to
me, lass. It gives me a small glimmer of hope.”

“Have you need of hope, m’lord?”

“Aye,” he said, “much to my surprise, I find I do. It would
seem a certain English lass has captured my heart and my good sense along with
it.” He drew back, looking down at her. “I never intended to keep my identity
from you for so long, but by the time I felt I could trust you, I realized how
much I had come to care for you. And then I was afraid to tell you for fear of
losing you. When you asked me to make love to you…” He threw his head back and
closed his eyes. “I have never felt so dishonorable than I did at that moment.”
He opened his eyes and looked down at her. “Can you find it in your heart to
forgive me, Juliette?”

“I told you I have already forgiven you, m’lord.”

“But have you forgiven me enough for us to marry?”

“I have forgiven you enough to persuade King George to go to
war with the Scots if we don’t.”

“Did I ever tell you that you were a troublesome lass?”

“Aye,” she said with her best Scottish brogue, “you have.”

Before Juliette could say more, Stephen kissed her with a
driving hunger that left her weak with wanting. She kissed him back with all
the feeling she could show him, experiencing a warming satisfaction when he
groaned and pressed himself more intimately against her, so that even through
her clothing she could feel the fierceness of his need, the shape of his
desire.

His hand came up to cover her breast and she shuddered.
Suddenly, his body stiffened and he pulled away.

“What is it?” she asked.

He remained motionless, his head turned slightly, as if he
were listening for something. A second later, he shouted, “Run, Juliette!”

Before she could obey his command, he whirled around.
Stunned, she watched him run toward his broadsword.

There was no sound at all, and when she first saw them, she
thought they were figments of her imagination, mere specters of her fantasy
created from the shadows of the night.

A great shout arose, and the reverberating echo of horses’
hooves rang in her ears as a band of thirty or so men came thundering out of
the trees. She jerked her terrified gaze from the approaching horde of men to
where Stephen was running toward her, his great claymore in his hand. And then
at least a dozen riders cut him off.

The leader of the group rode forward and looked down at her.
She had never seen a man with such red hair. She had never seen a man who
looked so primitive, or so large. Juliette swallowed painfully and stared up at
him.

“I thank ye, Lady Juliette, for making the taking of ye
simple for us. I dinna ken that kidnapping an English lass would be so easy.”

“Who are you and what do you want with me?”