Highland Wolf (Highland Brides) (28 page)

"Old Bertram the Hand was there when they pulled the fence from the firth."

"First Cork and now James," Tara murmured. "Must Bertram watch all the old masters die?"

"'E says you're the master now," Liam said.

Roman watched her turn her face toward the lad. They were immersed in their own world. A world of crime and intrigue. He had no part in that world. He was a barrister, a diplomat. And yet, somehow their worlds had become enmeshed. Her life had entwined with his own, and suddenly he had no wish to live without her, no matter what world she lived in.

"If James was a master at redistributing stolen goods, why would Dagger have him killed instead of employing his expertise?" Roman asked.

"James was more than a fence," Tara said. "He was a legend. Thieves would come from as far away as Rome to sell their goods. But he got a good deal of business from here in Firthport."

"A bloke could enter in his back door one day and James would sell it out the front of 'is shop the next."

"And the magistrate did nothing to interfere with his dealings?" Roman asked.

Liam shrugged. "'E didn't steal it, 'e only bought it, and there was plenty a times when the former owners was just 'appy ta get their goods back. They didn't care 'ow it was done."

Roman scowled. The entire situation went against everything he stood for, but he was out of his element now. "So why did Dagger kill James?"

"Dagger must have his own system for distributing stolen goods," Tara said.

"Or mayhap finding out 'oo the Shadow was was more important than fencing goods," Liam said.

"What do ye mean by that?" Roman asked, dread seeping over him.

"That's why 'e took auld James. Cause 'e knew the old fence was one of the few that knowed about the Shadow."

Roman felt his stomach pitch. "So he might know—"

"If he knew I was the Shadow, I'd be dead now," Tara said. Her tone was flippant, but her eyes... "They learned that I was associated with the Shadow, but James must have..." Her voice broke. She turned away. "He must have died before they could force him to identify me."

Roman gritted his teeth. "Are ye saying Dagger tortured James ta find out who ye were? And now ye're playing about with—"

"Playing about!" She snapped the words at him. The worry in her eyes was no longer hidden, but was mingled with anger and frustration. "Mayhap this is a game to you, Scotsman. But 'tis not to me. 'Tis deadly serious. I am not a barrister who can fall back on the law to save me. In fact, 'tis the law that would do me most harm. I am not the son of a lord. There is nothing holding you here. At any time you can hie yourself back to your homeland and forget Firthport ever existed. But this is my own place in the world."

Roman remained absolutely still for several moments before finally speaking. "There may have been a time when I was above begging, lass. But 'tis na longer true. Please," he said softly, "dunna follow this course. We will find another way to free David MacAulay."

"I can scale the walls of Harrington House," she said quietly. "I can get the bracelet."

"’Tis said old man 'arrington is guarding 'is daughter well," Liam said. "'Tis said 'e 'as 'ired men to make certain she stays put."

Tara was silent for a moment, but then she shrugged. "I've fooled guards before."

"And what if 'e recognizes you?" Liam asked.

Tara turned quickly toward the lad.

"What do ye mean, recognizes her?" Roman asked.

For a moment, she only stared at Liam, but finally she spoke. "Liam has long feared that someone would recognize me as the Shadow. But the Shadow is dead."

Roman watched her carefully, considering every word. But if there was more to this situation than what she admitted, he could not tell. “Then let the Shadow lie in peace," he said softly. "As ye said, I am a diplomat, a barrister—there is another way for me ta achieve me ends."

Tara caught his gaze and smiled gently. "I suppose I should be happy to forgo this job." She shrugged. "All right, Scotsman, 'tis for you to think up a better plan."

"You'll not try for the bracelet?" Liam asked, his tone dubious.

Tara laughed. "Despite what you may think, I have no wish to stand in line beside MacAulay for the hangman's noose."

Liam exhaled noisily, then flipped the coin between his fingers again. "'Tis glad I am to hear that, Tara, for you've still to tell me 'ow you stole the mermaid."

"You're far too young to know," Tara said.

'Then I'll take my leave," Liam said, "and try to grow up faster."

"Grow up any faster, lad, and you'll be a gaffer before you've grown your first whisker," Tara replied. Again, her tone was flippant, but she reached out and touched the boy's hand, and for a moment, it tarried there. "Take care, Liam."

"I shall, but I will also learn what I can about the Dagger," he said.

The door closed noiselessly behind him.

The room fell into silence.

"Then ye'll na steal the bracelet?" Roman asked, watching her back.

She turned with the elegant grace of a flower in the wind. Her golden hair flowed like silken waves about her shoulders and her teeth looked snowy white against her darkened skin. "If I did not know better, I would say that you don’t trust me, Scotsman."

He scowled at her. "I dunna. And for good reason."

She approached him with swaying hips, her colorful skirt sweeping her ankles. "Then I vow, I will not steal the bracelet until we have considered all options."

Her arms slipped about his waist. They were slim arms, but strong and resilient, like the woman he loved.

Terror coiled in Roman's gut. "Who are ye now, lass, Salina or Tara O'Flynn."

She laughed. "Mayhap I am both."

He watched her eyes. They were the crystalline blue of an angel’s. But he must not be misled. "And mayhap ye are all Salina this day," he said.

She shook her head and lifted her skirts.

Her ankles were narrow and fine, her calves slim and shapely. But just below the knee he could see the delineation where the walnut stain stopped and the pale skin began.

"You see, I am part of each," she said. "But I had best return to myself before it is too late and the dye will not be undone. Then who knows, mayhap I will be Salina forever and every man I see will be scurrying for cover."

"I did not see Dagger running for cover," Roman said, scowling as she turned away.

She fanned up the fire with quick efficiency, swung the water kettle over the blaze, then glanced over her shoulder at him.

"In fact, methinks he was more than interested," Roman added.

Straightening, Tara lifted three lemons from a wooden bowl on her small table, and glanced at him again. "'Twas my hope to ... distract him, Scotsman."

"Distract him!" Emotion welled up in Roman's chest. It was hot and angry, and he didn’t like it, for emotion got people killed. "Ye could have found a thousand ways ta distract him. Ye did na have ta flaunt yer—"

"You're jealous." She looked up at him from where she leaned over the table. Her breasts were pressed high and full against her meager blouse. Her tone was soft, and yet her words cut through his bluster like hot steel through snow.

"Nay." He meant to say the word with force, but only managed to push it out on a husky breath.

"Why?"

So absurd was his denial that it was as if he had never spoken. 'There are men of the world, lass," he said, clenching his fists once. "But I am na one of them. I canna hold ye in me arms, feel yer passion beneath me, then watch ye flaunt yerself to another."

She squeezed a lemon. Her fingers looked as smooth as lily stems against the yellow rind, but her gaze didn’t leave his. "So you are not a man of the world?" Her tone was husky, sensual, awakening some primitive need in him.

He clenched his fists. "Nay, I am na."

"Are you certain?" She stood slowly.

He watched her. There was a sensuality that robed her. "I am a man of the earth, solid ..." She rounded the table, approaching him. Her blouse had slipped off one shoulder and threatened to reveal more. He cleared his throat. "Boring," he said.

"I don't find you boring," she whispered. Her hair was like golden, gossamer wings, her eyes as deep as eternity. "In truth, I have never dreamt I could feel what you make me feel. When you touched me ..." She paused. Roman could see the steady thrum of a pulse in her fine throat. She let her eyes fall closed for a moment. "I felt like I was truly alive for the first time. When I felt your flesh against mine ..."

Desire roared to wakefulness in him.

"Your heart against my heart," she said, reaching out for a moment before drawing her hand back to curl her fingers against her breast.

It was full and dark-skinned, and he knew if he touched it, he would be lost to all thought. And he must think.

"Roman," she murmured, breathing hard, "touch me."

The hell with thinking! With a growl, Roman drew her into his arms. Their lips clashed.

Raw, hungry desire consumed him. Her hands were like quicksilver, everywhere, hot, enticing. He wasn’t sure whether he freed her breasts or whether she had, but suddenly her blouse slipped below her nipples. Soft and intoxicating she was.

He drew one pink nipple into his mouth, suckling, licking, feverish with excitement.

She gasped and bucked against him. In a moment her legs encircled his waist and his erection was straining out between the unlaced plackets of his hose. He tried to slow down, to take her gently, but she was not gentle. Indeed she was as hot as flame in his hands, moaning, begging, demanding. When she entrapped him hot and throbbing in her hand, he could wait no longer. With a groan of aching impatience, he yanked her skirt up and drove into her.

Desire met desire on even ground, each striving for fulfillment. She arched against him, her head thrown back, her breasts bare and pushed toward his mouth.

He reached out, flicking his tongue over her nipple. She caught his hair in her hands and a primal cry of lust rose from her. With that, Roman erupted in a volcanic explosion.

He pumped hard and fast. She matched his pace, pressing against him with all her strength until their movements finally slowed to a shuddering halt.

He felt her grow lax against him, felt her legs unclasp as her feet slipped to the floor.

But he couldn’t bear to let her go. Though he felt limp with weakness, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

The pallet rustled as he joined her there. When he leaned over to kiss her, her lips felt feathery soft, though they looked bruised by the passion he had expended on her.

He lifted his gaze to hers, searching for resentment, anger. "Did I hurt ye, lass?" he asked.

"Nay, Scotsman. Did I hurt you?"

He couldn’t help but smile and kiss her again. When he drew back her expression had gone sober.

"Why are you not married?" she asked.

He watched her eyes. "I waited for an advantageous match."

"Advantageous," she said. "What does that mean?"

Never, not if he lived to see a thousand years would he know anyone as desirable as she. He knew that suddenly, beyond the shadow of a doubt.

"I have known hunger, lass," he said.

He had not meant to be cryptic. The words had simply come, but somehow she understood.

"And so ye would marry for wealth," she said. There was no condemnation in her voice, but perhaps there was sadness. "'Tis what is expected, I'm certain."

"Expected?" He looked into her eyes. There were riches there. "Amongst the Forbes, there is naught to be expected but the unexpected."

While one of her hands toyed with his hair, the other remained softly curled against her breast, which was dark-skinned nearly to the nipple, where it faded to delicate ivory. The image fascinated him, drew him. He kissed the hand, the fingers, the breast.

"In truth, lass, I believe I have been expected to marry... conservatively, to a prominent family. A diplomatic union."

"It is your family's custom to choose your wives such?"

He pondered that. "The women of the Forbes are..." He shook his head, trying to find the proper words, but it seemed all diplomacy had fled. "Well, they are dangerous. But I think me family expects me ta find someone more ... staid." She would fit in admirably among the Forbes women, he thought, but he didn’t say it, for emotions and sensation were coming at him too fast to sort them out one from another.

"Staid?" she asked softly.

"Ta suit me own disposition."

"Staid." She nodded. Four pink welts marked the path where her nails had raked his chest. She followed that course with a gentle finger. "Mayhap they misjudged you."

"And mayhap ye bring the animal from me own soul. But in truth, lass…' he said softly, "I dunna think the Forbeses choose their wives atall." He let his fingers slide down her back as his mind slipped away to the far distant hills of the Highlands. "Sometimes when I was a lad, in the midst of the night I would believe I was yet with Dermid. I would forget Fiona's tender touch, or mayhap I would dream that I couldna quite reach her." Even now he felt that aching terror coil within him. He clenched his fist and drew a deep breath. "I would creep down the hall and sit at Fiona's door. Sometimes there was na sound, but sometimes I would hear her voice, or her laughter. Then there would be Leith's tone, deep and contented, filled with laughter and thought. 'Twas Leith that told me the truth," he said softly. "Fiona was na chosen, he said, she was sent from heaven above."

Tara lay very still, her eyes wide, her expression tense. "And your brothers' wives, were they heavensent also?"

"I have na brothers auld enough to wed, but me foster uncles, Roderic and Colin, have married."

"And were their wives gifts from heaven?"

He smiled at his own thoughts. "Mayhap the Flame was sent from somewhere else," he murmured. "Somewhere that would foster a good hot fire. But aye, lass, she has been a gift ta the Rogue."

Her fingers had slipped from his hair and now stroked his neck. The feather-soft feeling was tantalizingly sweet. "But you did not think you deserved such a gift," she whispered. "And thus you sat alone by the door in the dark, listening for Fiona's voice?"