Heather and Velvet (42 page)

MacKay grinned. “You must be Jamie, the minister’s son. The one he fished out of the Glasgow gutter.” MacKay looked around. “Where’s the other one? The strapping lad he used to run the moors with?”

“Tiny’s at his cottage.” Jamie’s eyes narrowed as he glared at the paper in MacKay’s hand. “If ye ain’t the magistrate and that ain’t a writ of arrest, how do ye know so much about us?”

MacKay smiled enigmatically. “Not a magistrate, my lad. Only an admirer.”

Jamie snorted. “Most of me admirers are of the female persuasion.” He eyed the hilt of MacKay’s claymore. “Ye haven’t a daughter, have ye?”

“No. No children.”

Jamie looked relieved at MacKay’s reply. A husky ripple of laughter drew their gazes to the two figures silhouetted against the azure sky. Sebastian sat on the wall with Prudence nestled in the cradle of his thighs. As they watched, he tilted her face to his and gently kissed her. The knot in MacKay’s throat tightened. He slipped the vellum back into his plaid. When his hand emerged, it cupped a gold pocket watch.

Jamie sighed. “I’m warning ye. You’d best go back where ye came from. If they see ye, ye’ll never escape. They’ll have ye milkin’ chickens and polishin’ goat eggs quicker than ye can remember yer own name.”

MacKay snapped open the engraved cover of his watch, sending a dart of sunlight across Jamie’s eyes. “Look at the time, will you? I’ve an important engagement in the village. I fear I shall have to call on your master another day.”

With a jaunty swing of his sporran, he started back down the hill, his claymore clanking against his boots.

“Wait,” Jamie yelled after him. “Who shall I tell him called?”

MacKay’s cheery whistle floated back to him on a burst of wind. Shaking his head, Jamie hefted the ax and made a halfhearted swing at the stump. Sunlight splintered against the blade as it had flashed against the inscription on the stranger’s watch. The ax slipped, sinking into the ground dangerously near Jamie’s toes.

His head jerked up. “Why, MacKay, ye canny old bastard!”

The old man was gone. Sun warmed the empty path.

Jamie glanced down the slope. Sebastian had plucked a vine out of Prudence’s hair and was tickling her under the chin with it.

Jamie eyed the shade of a pine longingly. “Me da always said I should learn to mind me own business,” he muttered.

Creeping beneath the tree, he pulled his cap over his eyes and settled down for a long afternoon nap.

Sebastian lowered the bucket of mortar and stood with hands on hips, surveying his handiwork. When he looked over at Prudence, his expression softened. Her hair hung in snaky tendrils, half up and half down. A fierce scowl furrowed her brow as she clawed at the ivy on the gate like a vengeful lioness.

He wanted to laugh at his own arrogance. He had repaired the stone wall to separate her from the vast emptiness below, knowing deep in his heart that even a mighty fortress would be powerless against it. Whether basking in the deep greens of summer or drenched in the purple of coming autumn, the moor’s heathered breath would be carried by wind and mist to breach any barriers he could build. The wind stung his eyes. It wasn’t the moor that had killed his mother. It was his father’s mercurial temper and unrelenting fear of betrayal.

Sebastian was surprised to find that the rending grief that always accompanied memories of his mother was gone, leaving an odd peace in its place. The early afternoon sun warmed his back. Shadows of clouds chased each other across the dappled grasses. It was too easy to pretend the moment, like the promise of spring, would last forever.

He walked over to Prudence and folded her cool fingers in the warm cup of his hand. “Come with me.”

He gave her no time to protest or question as he pulled her through the gate and away from Dunkirk. A narrow footpath materialized from the sheer drop of the cliff. He
clambered down the rocks with the confidence of a mountain goat.

Prudence clung to his hand, bracing her weight against him when she would have stumbled. The wind battered them, snatching her breath away. She fixed her gaze on the whipping halo of Sebastian’s hair, for without the wall to shelter them, the height was dizzying. Down, down, they climbed into the waiting glen. By the time they reached the bottom, she was gasping for breath.

Sebastian caught her around the waist. “What ails ye, wee English lass? Ha’e ye nae spirit in yer puir pitiful frame?”

She shoved against his chest, hiding her smile behind a black scowl. “Spirit eno’ to keep up with a barbarous Highlander, methinks.”

With a dazzling grin, he pulled her into a pelting run, away from the shadow of the cliff and into the sunny arms of the moors. They ran hand in hand like children, parting the rustling grasses, freeing the scent of the coming spring from the spongy turf. Prudence laughed, throwing back her head to drink in great gulps of air. Sebastian spun her around, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

As he drew her into the sparkling gloom of a pine forest, she collapsed in a heap on the ground. The ripple of water against rock drew her attention. She crawled forward on her elbows, parting a curtain of needles to peer below.

She was surprised to discover they lay atop a mossy brae overlooking the village. The river twined beside the sleepy cottages, shimmering silver in the sunlight. Smoke drifted from the stone chimneys.

“Sebastian!” she exclaimed as his deft hands worked their way beneath her skirt.

“Aye, dear?” His tongue flicked against the sensitive skin behind her knee.

“You musn’t do that. The village is right below.”

“We have complete privacy here. Just try not to scream as loud as you did last night when I …” His words were mercifully muffled against her thigh.

Heat pricked the back of her neck. “Why, I believe you have a predilection for making love in public places!”

“Nonsense. Of course, there was the time in the sunken bandstand at Vauxhall Gardens …”

Her foot came up, catching him neatly in the ribs.

He slipped behind her and nuzzled her nape. “Ha’e ye nae mercy on a puir ravishin’ bandit?”

His words evoked a hazy memory in her, like a dream sweetened around the edges by erotic tension. Her head fell back, swayed by the persuasive heat of his lips, the artful press of his fingertips against silken drawers dampened by longing.

Rhythmic hoofbeats thudded on the road below. Prudence thought it the mad beat of her pulse until Sebastian straightened and lifted a branch.

She felt an agonizing tug at her heart as they saw Laird Killian MacKay ride into the village below, dressed in the full resplendence of plaid and kilt. His broad shoulders were painfully straight. She wondered what the effort must cost his gnarled joints. Stealing a wary look at Sebastian, she saw his mouth was twisted, his eyes dimmed with an unreadable emotion.

They watched the village spring to life. Cottage doors flew open. Sacking flapped in open windows. Piping laughter rang in the air as from every cottage, every yard, every corner of the village, poured children in a ceaseless stream. They danced around MacKay’s dappled gelding, faces turned upward, little hands brushing his horse’s satiny flank. Not a single hand came away empty. The children ducked their heads, shy eyes glowing, grubby fingers clutching handfuls of sugared walnuts. These children did not look like the children of Jamie’s village. Their cheeks were chubby, their feet encased in sturdy brogues. Prudence wondered how much of that had to do with their laird’s benevolence.

MacKay leaned forward with a mighty groan and swept a blond boy into his saddle. The boy clutched the pommel, beaming a toothless grin at his envious friends.

Sebastian let the branch fall, enclosing them again in the muted world of green. He rolled to his back, staring up at the creaking canopy. “Twenty years ago he would have lifted the boy to his shoulders. The bastard’s getting old.”
He tucked a pine needle between his lips with painful nonchalance, but the tautness of his jaw betrayed him. “I used to come here and watch him when I was a boy. I thought he might be the king of all Scotland. I think I started to hate him even then.”

“For what, Sebastian? Being kind to children?”

He rose without answering, brushing dry needles from his shirt. His eyes were as cold as flints. “We’d best get back. I have a visit to make.”

She caught his hand. “Tomorrow will be soon enough.” She rubbed her lips lightly over his knuckles, tasting the warm spice of his skin. “Sebastian?”

He gazed at their interlaced fingers as if hypnotized. “Mmm?”

“Are there other ways to make love without making babies?”

Sebastian’s breath caught in his throat as he stared down at her, lost in the curious brilliance of her eyes. “Aye.”

She eased the tip of his thumb between her lips. “Show me.”

His resistance melted beneath the sleek, wet heat of her mouth. Groaning hoarsely, he tangled his hand in her hair, forgetting MacKay, forgetting everything but the temptation to play with abandon at the game they had created.

Rosy shafts of late-afternoon sunlight pierced the arrow slits in the hall. Holding her breath, Prudence eased herself from beneath the weight of Sebastian’s thigh.

His long fingers wound in her hair. “Going somewhere, Duchess?”

She winced. Didn’t the man ever sleep? She rested her fingertips lightly on his chest. “I’m parched. Would you care for some ale?”

He twirled a strand of hair around his finger. “We shouldn’t have sent Jamie away. He could have fetched ale and dropped grapes in our mouths.”

“He already believes himself a slave. We mustn’t humor his delusions.” She wiggled out of his grasp, tucking a blanket under her arms.

Sebastian’s gaze swept her from head to toe as she rescued the flagon of ale they had left warming on the hearth. His lazy grin disarmed her. “Decadence becomes you, Miss Walker.”

She curtsied, holding the blanket high enough to show off her shapely calves. “Thank you, my lord. I’ve been practicing.”

She twirled away from him and knelt by the hearth, her motions hidden by the folds of the blanket. Her hands were oddly steady, she noticed, as she splashed ale in a goblet, then twisted the lid off the tiny vial she had slipped from her trunk earlier. She dared a glance over her shoulder. Sebastian sprawled on the blankets like a contented satyr, a swath of wool riding low on his hips. A flush of satiation touched his cheekbones. Decadence also became him, she thought. Too well for her peace of mind.

Five. Ten. Fifteen drops. She paused, then tilted in two extra drops of the laudanum. Sebastian’s frame was much larger than Tricia’s.

Her hands did not falter until she knelt beside him and pressed the goblet into his hand. It swayed, dribbling ale in the sandy hair scattered across his chest. She inclined her head to hide her burning cheeks and dabbed at his chest with a strand of her hair.

He drank deeply. “Mmm. Hot and sweet.” His eyes studied her with smoky intensity. “Like you.” He cupped her nape and drew her down for a long, wet, open-mouthed kiss.

Prudence wanted to weep. Not sweet, she thought. Bittersweet. She slid down, resting her cheek against the fleecy warmth of his chest. His hand stroked her hair, then fell still. His fingers uncurled against her cheek. When she had measured the rise and fall of his chest for several heartbeats, she rose, dressed quickly, and slipped out into the misty Highland gloaming.

The sinking sun had streaked the sky with pink. As Prudence left the path, her skirt caught on the thorny spines of a hawthorn bush. She jerked it free, ripping a jagged
swath from the faded velvet. She had no way of knowing how long Sebastian would sleep. If he awoke before she returned, she would have more than explaining to do.

The sky deepened to lavender as she plunged through a burn swollen from the melting snows. Icy water plastered her skirts to her ankles. A chill nipped the air, drying the sweat at the nape of her neck. She climbed the rocks on the opposite bank, tearing her fingernails on their jagged faces.

She paused to catch her breath. Bowls of mist melted over the glen. The trembling boughs of the birches seemed to mock her. She pulled her shawl up over her hair and darted into the waiting arms of the forest.

A strand of pines streamed past in a blur. She pounded the rich earth beneath her slippers, stumbling only when the rocks bruised her tender soles. A hot blade of pain stabbed beneath her ribs, and she bent double, grasping her side. The agony slowly abated. Her vision cleared. She blinked, believing her bleary eyes deceived her. She wished she had thought to bring her spectacles.

Silhouetted against the darkening sky was a castle of legendary splendor. As she crept nearer, she expected to hear the skirl of bagpipes or see kilted men-at-arms rush out to raise the drawbridge. Only the neatly clipped topiary and mullioned windows assured her she hadn’t stumbled through some portal in time. She hastened her steps. This was no time for dallying. She had to reach MacKay before Sebastian did, to warn him that she hadn’t yet been able to soften Sebastian’s heart toward him.

She pounded on the iron-bound door with her fist, bracing herself to meet the shocked gaze of a proper English butler. The door was snatched open and a strong hand jerked her into the shadowy entrance hall. She gasped as brutal fingers tore the shawl from her hair.

She gazed upward into a face alight with some unnamed emotion. As MacKay’s gaze traveled her features, the brilliance in his slate-colored eyes slowly dimmed. He let her go. His color was pasty in the candlelight and sweat tinged his brow. She could smell the staleness of whisky on his breath.

“Sweet Lord, child, I’m sorry. For a moment I thought …” He passed a trembling hand over his face.

“That I was her?” she asked softly. “That I was Sebastian’s mother?”

MacKay would not look at her.

But Prudence’s curiosity was unrelenting. “She came to you, didn’t she? Out of the night. Out of the mist.”

MacKay ran a hand through his hair. His broad shoulders were stooped as he ushered Prudence through a doorway beamed with crude timber into a study in cozy disarray. A fire crackled on the stone hearth, holding the darkness at bay. Oil lamps scattered pools of light across the polished wood floors. A virginal sat in one corner, its keys furred with dust.