Highland Enchantment (Highland Brides) (21 page)

The door of the wagon creaked open. He urged her inside, and she went, crouching to enter, then swiveling around.

Liam stood in the doorway, his body rigid. Their gazes met and fused, and then, like a marionette on taut strings, Liam shut the door and turned away.

They traveled all the next day. Rachel kept to herself. Where Liam had spent the night, she didn't know. Neither did she care, she told herself. But her gaze kept straying to Catriona, who drove her own wagon. As for Liam, he walked most of the day, keeping silent and distant.

Sometime after noon they stopped in a clearing by a small lochan. John and Fane managed to catch several perch which Hertha happily cooked into a pot of cullen skink.

Lachlan played with Bear in the water as the sharp smell of onions and fish filled the air.

Finding she had nothing to occupy her hands, and nothing
useful
to fill her mind, Rachel wandered into the woods in search of herbs. In a stand of elm trees, she found mother of thyme creeping along a rocky outcropping. Once brewed into tea, the leaves would make a tonic good for settling stomachs. So she picked a good deal of the leathery leaves, stashed them in her rag pouch with her soap and other necessities, and wandered on.

Hawthorns grew in profusion along a craggy slope. Even from her vantage point, Rachel could see sparse clusters of crimson berries sprinkled throughout the white-flowered foliage. Crushed and dried, the berries would make a fine infusion, she thought, and climbed up the slope to reach them.

But once there, she realized that even the lowest cluster was above her head. Glancing about, she searched for another means of reaching it.

"Allow me," someone said.

Turning abruptly, Rachel nearly bumped into Rory's chest. He smiled his Gypsy smile into her face.

"I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Nay." She exhaled softly, calming her breathing. Maybe this man was perfectly harmless, but if the truth be known she had always been cautious of men. Unlike Cousin Shona, who reveled in their attention, Rachel had never felt completely comfortable with them, even in her homeland where she was well-protected. "You didn't frighten me," she lied.

"Tis good," he said, and reached up, brushing against her shoulder to pull a cluster of berries from its mooring. "Twas not my intent." He handed it to her. "What are they for?"

"They aid in strengthening the heart," she said, and nervously stashed them in her pouch.

"Truly? Then we'd best fetch more."

He brushed past her and reached for another cluster, but it was too high. Turning back, he motioned to her. "Come. I'll lift you."

"Nay." How far was it back to camp? "I'm certain I have enough."

"But what if my heart fails from the shock of your beauty?" He grinned at her. "Come. Tis not like you to be afraid of a mere man."

Actually, it was just like her. But she supposed she was being silly. Stepping forward, she reached nervously up. He settled his hands on her waist and lifted her easily from the ground.

Rachel snatched the berries quickly from the limb, but instead of putting her down Rory turned to the right and lifted her a bit higher.

"You might as well gather those," he said, indicating a few berries that grew close to the truck.

Seeing the cluster, she grabbed them too. "Tis enough," she insisted, eager to have her feet on the ground.

"As you wish," he said and set her down. "Might there be something else you need?"

"Nay. I'd best get back to camp."

He watched her, his dark eyes unreadable. "Tis a strange lass, you are, Flora. Sometimes you seem bold beyond words, yet sometimes you seem most shy."

She shrugged as she turned away and strode for camp. Though she didn't trust him, she couldn't deny that it was exhilarating to bask in his interest. "Is it not a woman's right to be fickle?"

He laughed as he caught up with her. "Aye, I suppose it is. Your boldness added a certain charm to your performance."

She said nothing. They walked on, side by side.

"It seems to me you could do more," he said. "You are a natural performer."

She laughed, for nothing could be further from the truth. Unless twas a desirable thing to feel sick to one's stomach and weak in the knees when a crowd turned its attention on her, she was a truly lousy performer.

"You have a gift," he said, arguing with her inner thoughts. "It seems a pity to stifle it."

"Stifle it?"

"Aye. You should be more than Hugh's assistant."

"Indeed?" They were nearing the camp now. Nearing safety. Through the last few leaves, she could see the men fishing. Just the sight of Liam made her stomach knot up and anger well in her again. For a time yesterday, she had thought that he felt something for her, something more than the need to protect her because she was her mother's daughter. Something more than the fractious union of brother and sister. But at the last moment he had turned away, had probably spent the night with Catriona or maybe some village lass.

Her gut twisted harder.

"Indeed," Rory said. "I see no reason you could not perform the same feats as Catriona. You are as light as a swallow. I could lift you with one finger."

Liam turned toward her. Rachel jerked her attention to the ground in front of her.

"Hardly that," she said.

"Are you insulting me or challenging me?" Rory asked.

"Neither," she said quickly.

He laughed aloud, his teeth bright in the afternoon sun. "You are so serious, Flora. Methinks you are not very happy."

"I am happy," she insisted.

"I know your husband did not return to your wagon last night."

She felt a blush burn her cheeks, though she told herself she had nothing to be embarrassed about. "Tis none of your affair where he spends his nights," she said.

But in that moment he touched her arm and drew her to a halt. "I don't like to see such a bonny lass unhappy."

"I am not unhappy," she repeated.

"But you could be happier," he argued, “if your husband paid you more attention." He slid his fingers up her sleeve. "If he were made just a wee bit jealous?"

She sucked air through her teeth. "I've no wish to make me husband jealous."

"You lie," he whispered, leaning closer.

She met his gaze straight on. But she had always been a hideously poor liar, and suddenly there seemed little point to it. "Aye, I do," she murmured.

He chuckled, and she could do nothing but join in, for the honesty felt good and natural.

"But twould be wrong," she said finally.

"Maybe," he agreed, "but tis too late now."

"What?"

"They are already looking at us," he said.

She moved to turn toward camp, but he touched his fingers to her jaw, holding her head in place.

"Methinks it would work better if you would pretend you do not notice."

She should pull away, she knew. She should tell him to stop this foolishness. But his fingers were gentle against her skin, and his smile was alluring. In truth, it was far past time a handsome man treated her as if she were more than a living dowry. What could it hurt if she flirted with him for a spell? She was quite certain he was in love with Catriona. Who would not be?

"Maybe you have designs of your own," she said.

He raised his brows. "Such as?"

"Maybe you would not mind if Catriona too were a bit jealous."

"I hadn't thought of that."

Rachel laughed. "And I'm a monk."

"I hope not," he whispered, and leaning close, he offered his arm. "Twould certainly foil me plans."

Less than an hour later, they were traveling again. But the dynamics had changed. Liam still walked, and Catriona drove her own wagon, but now Rory sat beside Rachel. He had explained to the others that he hoped to teach her a few of the tricks of the trade. Not a single person had raised an eyebrow. Even Liam said nothing, but strode along beside the wagon as if deep in thought.

They stopped not far from the village of Darlington that night. A fire was lit and the chores seen to. But soon afterward, Rory sat down on the log beside Rachel.

"Are you ready to begin?"

Her thoughts had been far away. She turned to him with a start. "Begin what?"

"Your training, lass," he said, and leaning closer, grinned. "What did you think?"

She gave him a reprimanding scowl. "I think tis foolishness."

"You would not turn me down," he argued, looking abashed. "Not when you have such talent."

"I truly do not—"

"Not when your husband is watching us."

She couldn't help but to twist toward Liam, and in the instant when her gaze struck his, her breath caught in her throat.

"You have his attention," Rory whispered. "Twould be good to use it wisely. Come, lass, practice with me."

Rachel hesitated, and in that moment, Liam rose to his feet, and turned away.

She wrenched her gaze from his back. "I'll do it," she murmured.

They moved to a clearing not far from a wee lochan. The sunlight was fast fading from the sky, but it seemed they did not need the light, for Rory worked by feel.

Maybe Rachel would have changed her mind but now and then she would hear Liam laugh, and her gut would knot. Aye, she knew he was teaching Lachlan a bit of sleight of hand, knew that he was well occupied with his beloved tricks, but still it irked her that he could so easily ignore her.

How many years had he been tormenting her? she wondered. Ever since she'd first met him, he'd either harassed her or ignored her. And all the while he'd acted as if her two cousins were nothing short of angels. It shouldn't have bothered her, of course, but it did. She'd always known she possessed neither Shona's charm nor Sara's alluring femininity. She was too forthright and too opinionated. It made her a desirable wife but not a desirable lover. And Liam it seemed had little use of a wife.

Rory's attention made her feel, perhaps for the first time in her life, sensual and alluring and wanted. Thus, she did as he asked.

Twas a simple feat he taught her first—how to balance on one foot in the cradle of his two hands. From there they progressed to him scooting her up to sit on his shoulder. It was not a difficult maneuver, and yet there was an intimacy to it that Rachel was not accustomed to. An intimacy that made her laugh with nervousness when she made a mistake—which was quite often to her own way of thinking, though Rory insisted that she was doing well.

Fatigued from exertion and nerves, Rachel's foot finally slipped from his hands. She rocked back on her heel and nearly fell before Rory grabbed her and snatched her close to him.

They stared at each other from inches apart, breathing hard.

"I don't think I am made for this," Rachel murmured nervously, but Rory shook his head.

"Tis not true, lass," he said, his hands still firm about her waist. "If the crowds but saw you perched upon me shoulder, they would come running simply to stare at your beauty. Truly, lass, you make me want nothing more than to—"

But suddenly there was the sound of galloping feet. The world tilted and Rachel was tossed to the ground while Rory flew in the opposite direction.

She lay on her back, stunned and speechless. But Rory was not so silent.

"Let go of me, you bloody bastard!" he yelled. It took a moment for Rachel to realize the Rom had been snatched away from her by Bear. "Get off me!" he roared, swinging at the beast with his elbow.

The bear dropped his hold on Rory's tunic and backed away, looking offended, just as Liam and Lachlan ran up.

"Tis sorry I am." Liam panted to a halt and pulled the bear off Rory. But at the same time he seemed to be stroking the beast. "Lachlan here was teaching me Bear's tricks, and I fear I made a mistake."

"A mistake!" Rory growled, making his fists tight as he stepped toward Liam. "I do not think twas a mistake atall."

Rachel watched Liam as she lurched to her feet. His eyes were unreadable in the failing light and his smile tight and tilted. "What be you saying, Rory, that you think I might take umbrage to you mailing me wife?"

Rory stumbled to a halt. "I was not mailing her. Indeed, I believe she enjoys my company."

"Truly?" Liam snarled. "And how would she enjoy you if you were missing your—"

"Liam!" Rachel rasped. Flying between them, she grasped the Irishman's arms. Their gazes fused. "You've no right," she hissed.

He stared at her in seething silence.

"Nay," he whispered finally. "I've no right. But I swear to God it doesn't matter. If you don't come with me now, the Rom will pay in blood."

Rachel stared at him. She was tempted to tell him to go ahead and try it. Liam was no warrior, and Rory looked the type to defend himself. But despite everything, the thought of him wounded made her stomach turn.

"I'll retire to the wagon now," she said finally, though the word sounded stiff to her own ears. "I am tired."

She turned away. Liam held Rory's gaze for a moment longer, then pivoting about, caught up to her in a few quick strides.

The first few paces were in silence, then, "Could it be you thought you hadn't made enough of a spectacle of yourself yet?" Liam snarled.

"A spectacle?" She fought down the anger, the tears, the fatigue. "Whatever do you mean, Husband? I was merely endeavoring to improve me own skills."

"What skills be those? Luring a man into your bed?"

She forced a laugh. "Nay, Love," she said, making certain her voice was quite loud and obnoxiously cheerful. "I am quite adept at that already."

She thought she could hear him grind his teeth and turned just before their wagon to gaze into his eyes. "Do not you agree?" she asked, and reaching out, skimmed her fingers up the bare skin of his neck and onto his hard jaw. She felt the small muscles there twitch.

"Get in the wagon," he ordered, keeping his voice low.

She slanted her face down for the express purpose of looking up at him through her lashes.

"Shall I take that as an agreement, Hughie?"

"God damn it, Rachel, get out of sight!"

She laughed low in her throat and taking his collar, pulled it tight as she leaned toward him. "I like a forceful man," she said, and turning, did her best to make certain he didn't see her shake as she pulled the door open and entered the wagon.