Highland Enchantment (Highland Brides) (27 page)

It wouldn't be long now, Rachel thought, but still time marched on. Finally, fatigued and uncertain, she fell into her dreams.

Again she woke alone. By the silvery light that seeped into the wagon, she knew it was still early, the first glimmer of dawn. Somewhere far off a nightjar chirped its rapid call. The sound was lonely and haunting. Where was Liam? Rachel wondered. Catriona's mesmerizing face flashed into her mind, but she shook it out.

Today she would not be debilitated, not by uncertainty nor embarrassment. Today she would find out what Liam was thinking, learn why he was avoiding her. She was outside the wagon in a matter of moments. The fog was thick again, soft and silvery and silent. Peering about, she made out the forms of the other wagons.

From the direction of the river, a horse nickered, the sound low and muffled in the heavy fog.

Lifting her skirts, Rachel strode in that direction.

Liam rested with his back to a rowen. Gone was the grin so characteristic of him. Instead, he sat in silent retrospection, staring over the narrow band of river that rolled away.

Gathering her nerve, Rachel stepped toward him.

His reactions were as quick as a cat's. One moment he was resting and the next he was on his feet, his eyes narrowed and his right hand curled around the hilt of a blade that had appeared from nowhere.

It occurred to her suddenly that he could have used that same knife on Lord Pitney. That he could have left the man dead in the woods and no one would have been the wiser. But despite his distaste for the nobility, he hadn't done that.

"Did I startle you?" She smiled as she said it, nervousness like a wound coil inside her.

"What be you doing out here?" he asked. The knife disappeared, though she had no idea where.

"I wished to talk to you."

He glanced sideways as if wondering which way to rim. "I must see to the horses," he said.

She noticed now that the white mare was grazing only a short distance away, her rope trailing in the heavy dew of the grass. "She looks content enough," Rachel said, trying to keep her tone light.

"Aye, but the others be thirsty. I'd best see to—"

"Liam," she interrupted before he could turn away. "I need to talk to you."

He pulled his brows low over his eyes. A muscle jumped in his jaw, and though she had known him most of her life, he looked formidable suddenly, and unapproachable.

She cleared her throat. "About us," she began. She'd spent most of the night planning what she would say, hoping he'd come to her, waiting to draw him into her arms and tell him how she felt.

But suddenly emotions clogged in her throat, making it impossible to speak.

She noticed without trying to that he looked no more relaxed than she. In fact, his hands were formed to fists and his lips pursed in a hard line.

"What of us?" he asked, his voice dusky.

She nearly winced at his tone. What little confidence she had disappeared like dew in the bright light of day, but she refused to drop her gaze. Instead, she stiffened her back and raised her chin slightly. Aloofness was a weapon that had rarely failed her.

"We cannot pretend that nothing happened," she said.

"Why?"

Because the touch of his hand, the sound of his voice and the throbbing feel of him inside her had made her so much more than she'd ever been.

"Because something did happen," she managed.

"Aye, but it will never happen again. That I vow," he said, and turning rapidly away, disappeared into the fog.

The gown was yellow. Not the bleached yellow of straw, but the bright, radiant yellow of a celandine blossom.

Catriona, kneeling inside the wagon, held it up to Rachel's shoulders. "It will look good on you," she said.

"Nay," Rachel responded. "Tis not that I am ungrateful to you, for you have done much for me already. But I will not be dancing again."

Catriona pulled the garment down in front of her. The wagon was silent, her gaze as steady as an arrow sent straight and true.

Rachel cleared her throat. "In truth, I must soon be leaving you."

"And Hugh."

"What?" Rachel said.

"You will be leaving with your husband, of course."

No. She would be going alone, for Liam did nothing but confuse her, and she could not afford to be confused. "Of course," she said.

"You'll need some coin, then," Cat deduced. "You would be a vision in this gown. Twould surely earn you a few extra coppers."

Rachel scowled down at the garment. It was a bonny piece, bold and bright and lovely. She touched the satin-soft sleeve, and in that moment her mind danced back to Liam. Why would he not talk to her? Why had he spent the past several days avoiding her? Had he felt nothing that night in the woods?

"He'd not be able to take his eyes from you," Catriona murmured.

Rachel jerked her gaze hopefully to the girl, but caught herself before she spoke. "I don't know what you mean."

"I begin to think he is not your husband atall."

"Whyever would you say that?"

Catriona shrugged. "You are obviously a lady, well-born and well-educated. What is he but a juggler and a magician?"

Flashes of the panic that had seized her at the falls returned to her. She could not afford to lose her disguise. "You're wrong. What would make you think that?"

Their gazes fused. "Tis not what I think," Cat said. "But what Hugh thinks."

"Is that what he said?" Rachel whispered.

Catriona shook her head as if disgusted. "Grandmother thinks you have the gift. I am not even certain you have a brain. Wear the gown. Make him crazy."

"He is crazy enough," Rachel countered. "You can take my word on that."

"Nay. He is not," Catriona disagreed. "Not for you. You want him so slavering drunk on your beauty, so enamored with your goodness, that he can do naught but sing your praises from the highest roof."

Rachel tried to fight back the words but there was little hope of that, for emotion was as heavy as sin inside her. "Do you think he cares for me a bit?" she whispered.

"Wear the gown," Cat urged. "And don't be shy about flirting with others."

From inside the wagon, Rachel heard Catriona's performance come to an end. She thought Liam might insist that she not dance again, but he didn't care enough even for that. She closed her eyes, tried to settle her stomach, gave up, and waited for the music to start.

It began as it always did, with that haunting rhythm that spoke of the sea and lovers and a thousand forgotten yearnings.

Her skirt hiked up as she stepped out. She felt, more than saw, dozens of faces turn toward her, but she pushed them out of her mind and let the music lead her feet. Slowly she lifted her arms above her head. They undulated to the music. Dragonheart thrummed the rhythm against her heart, and her body now took up the chant, swaying and turning in time to the beat, and suddenly the music became everything. Off to her right, she was aware of Liam watching her. To the left was the crowd. She danced toward it, her arms rising and falling with the notes.

The crowd parted before her. She danced down the center. Behind her, she felt Liam's gaze, and suddenly it didn't feel so cold, but almost as a ray of sunlight. It was not so hard to believe he coveted her. She was beautiful, she was alluring, she was woman.

The men turned toward her. Through the slash of the hair that whirled with her movement, she could see their wide eyes, their greedy faces. A fat merchant in a green doublet smiled at her. She spun around him, her feet beating like a drum upon the grass.

He reached for her. But she danced out of his grasp, on to the next man and the next.

She was a siren, a...

But suddenly evil struck her. She felt it like a blow to her stomach, taking her breath.

Her heart jolted to a halt. Her feet faltered as she skimmed the crowd. And there, not more than a yard away, stood Davin. He stared at her, his icy eyes narrowed, his huge body tense. Confusion consumed her. He'd been sent to protect her, to see her safely to Blackburn. She should be happy to see him, but instead she felt only fear. A vision flashed across her mind, a vision of Liam in pain.

She jerked as if the pain were her own. But it was all foolishness. Davin was her guard. Yet fear, cold and prickly, sliced through her. She jerked her feet back into the rhythm with a horrid effort.

Her body swayed again, but her mind was torn, shattered by dark images of pain, of torture. Her mind said she should reveal herself. Her soul insisted that she hide.

But why would Davin wish her ill? It made no sense, and yet the feelings plagued her, gnawed at her, begging her to slink away, to find cover.

So she must do the opposite. The solution seemed so clear. She pressed down the fear, forced herself to move toward Davin. Raising her arms toward the sky, stretching her body upward, she felt his hard gaze on her, intense as a hunting beast’s. Pivoting around him, she swayed to the beat, and suddenly the music was moving faster. She twirled again. Her hair swept outward, swiping across his chest. She heard the hiss of it against his blue doublet.

Faster and faster she went, nearly in his reach, nearly within his recognition. But she was no longer Rachel. Gone was the Lady Saint, replaced by this wild wanton.

The music came to a crashing halt.

Rachel dropped to the ground at his feet, the high portions of her breasts pressed well into view, her eyes averted, her burnished locks sprayed around her like a sea of sable.

For a moment all the world seemed to stand still as Davin stared at her. Then, "Come along," he said to the men beside him. "Tis a lady that we seek. Not a dancer."

Rachel's legs shook as she rose to her feet. Her head felt light and the world seemed to swim before her. Liam reached for her from nowhere and turned her toward the wagon. In a moment, they were inside. The door closed behind them.

They froze like rabbits in a warren. Fear lay as heavy as a woolen on them, but finally it dissipated, dissolving softly into the still air.

"Had I known you so wished to end your life, I'd not have been so determined to save it."

Rachel closed her eyes and released her breath. "Why would he wish me harm?"

"Why would you show yourself to him?"

She shook her head, worn and frazzled "I convinced him beyond a doubt that I am not Rachel of the Forbes. And a good thing, too, or your life would surely be forfeit."

"What are you talking about?" he snarled, his expression impassioned, his grip still hard on her arm.

"How do you think it looks to Davin, Liam? He was commissioned to protect me. Indeed, he was doing just that when some ragged Irishman knocked him in the water and cut the rope, spilling his ward down the waterfall and away. Never did he find a body. Not a word of explanation did he receive. Were you him, Liam, who would you think was the villain?"

"So you say you only danced to protect me from your guard?"

Nay, she had danced because she had been terrified of being discovered, terrified that Liam had been right all along, that her life was endangered by the very man paid to keep her safe. "Aye," she said, "just to keep you safe."

"Then why did you not tell him your identity? He's your guard. Surely if you wished you could have kept me safe from him."

She forced herself to shrug, pushing aside her terror, her confusion, Liam's haunting hatred of her. "Though he seems a stoic fellow, I fear Davin's feelings for me run quite deep. It may be his need for revenge would have been beyond my control. He is a very powerful man. While you..." Anger and hurt made her reach out to press her palm against Liam's chest. "Well, just now you amuse me."

"I am flattered." He gritted the words.

"As you should be."

"So you say you keep me around for naught but your entertainment?"

"Until I can find a better replacement."

He grabbed her arm in a hard grip. "You were a virgin," he growled, shoving his face close to hers.

She forced a laugh. "As, I assume, you were at some point, Liam."

"You were untried only two days ago. Don't deny it."

"Believe what you will, Liam, if it makes you feel better. But believe this also, I've no reason to think Davin is my enemy."

"No reason! Do you not remember twas he that meant to kill you on the ferry?"

"So you say. But I've no reason to believe so. He did me no harm before you tossed him in the drink."

Liam stared at her, his eyes narrow. "Then why do you not tell him who you are? Indeed, you could maybe still catch him."

"Maybe I shall," she said, anger burning through her, and reached for the door.

He jerked her back to him. "Over me own dead body!" he growled.

"As you wish," Rachel retorted, and yanked her arm from his grasp.

But suddenly she was flat on her back, Liam's face inches above hers.

"Twould be your body that would be forfeit, if you went to Davin," he growled, "and you well know it. Why do you torment me so?"

"Torment you?" She forced out the words. "Whyever would my actions do that, Liam? Oh, but I forget, tis most likely because of your undying love for me."

His hands tightened like talons, then loosened abruptly. He jerked away to scrape his fingers through his hair.

"You are making me insane!"

She sat up, feeling shaky and tense. "Me? I am all but a saint, Liam. Everyone knows tis true. So surely you can forgive me a wee bit of dancing—unless tis that you are jealous."

He said nothing, but stared at her with narrowed eyes.

Heart pounding, she crawled toward him. The taut laces of the bodice barely concealed her bosom. Hidden between her uppressed breasts, Dragonheart purred, seeming to press her on. "You are not jealous, are you, Liam?"

His gaze, hot as a licking flame, sparked down to her exposed chest, then snapped to her face.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said, but his tone was rusty.

"So you say you do not care what I do with other men?"

A muscle jumped in his jaw. His dark eyes blazed. "Why would I care?"

Maybe his words should have hurt, but the air snapped with tension, calling him a liar.