My Fierce Highlander (27 page)

What had he meant, anyway? He wasn’t a
heathen, yet he believed the heathen rituals worked? In most other
ways he appeared to be a Protestant, but the Highlanders held to
their superstitions. Besides, something more urgent worried
her.

“Are we safe out here?”

“I have posted armed guards all around, very
close together. Don’t worry about it. Remember, this is a
celebration.” He bowed. “Would you give me the honor of this dance,
Lady Gwyneth?”

Heat rushed over her face. “It has been ages
since I’ve danced. I’m sure I would make a mess of it.”

“That matters not. Come, m’lady. ’Twill be
fun.” Brows lifted with an expectant look, he held out his hand.
“You do remember what fun is, aye?”

No, she scarce remembered it at all.

“If not, I’d like to remind you.”

She took his hand. “Oh, very well. But if I
tread on your injured toe, you must not blame me.”

“My toe is full recovered and can withstand
your wee foot upon it.” He led her toward the other couples already
dancing. When they joined in, she was glad to see he had not lied
about his toe and seemed light on his feet.

Gwyneth made a misstep and almost toppled
sideways. Alasdair caught her and chuckled. Her own laughter
surprised her. How long had it been since she’d laughed and danced?
More than seven years?

“I have forgotten how to dance,” she
confessed.

“Nay. Merely out of practice, I’m thinking.
But I ken well how to remedy that.”

A prickle of worry returned. Where was
Rory?

She glanced aside and saw him jumping around
with the other children, ashes from the bonfire smeared on all
their foreheads. She smiled and returned her attention to Alasdair.
“Someone has rubbed ash on Rory’s forehead.”

“Aye, ’tis for blessings as well.”

More superstition. Well, what could it
hurt?

“’Haps you would like me to smear ashes upon
your forehead, m’lady.”

She laughed. “I think I prefer a clean
face.”

“You are a lovely lass, but a hundred times
more beautiful when you smile and laugh as you are now.”

Such outrageous compliments. And the way he
looked at her, with rapt attention. Her face felt as if it glowed
fiery red, and not just from the heat of the bonfire.

“Promise me, every day from now on, you will
smile at least once, and I must be witness to this action. Laughter
is required five times a week.”

Gwyneth snickered. “I can make no such
promises. You are naught but a charmer.”

“I have never been accused of such.” His
smile was indulgent, full and without restraint, reflecting her own
feelings—happiness such as she had not felt during the whole of her
life.

In truth, he was a charmer, and how would she
resist him this night?

***

After two dances, Gwyneth was both relieved
and disappointed when Alasdair bowed, kissed her hand and went to
talk with his guests—the other chiefs and their families.

When he led one of the young, unmarried
ladies out to dance, jealousy swooped in on Gwyneth.

She focused her attention on Rory and was
surprised to find him twirling in circles with a small girl in fine
clothing. After a couple of minutes, Rory’s hands slipped off hers.
She tumbled onto her rump and turned a backward flip.

“Good heavens!” Gwyneth strode forward.
“Rory, you will hurt the little lady. Now, help her up.”

“Pray pardon,” Rory said, reaching his hand
down to her.

“My, what a mannerly young sir he is,” said
one of the ladies as she dusted off the girl’s skirts. “You are
fine, are you not, Millie?”

She nodded emphatically and dragged Rory out
for more dancing and horseplay.

“Well, he’s already popular with the lasses.”
The short, round woman laughed. “I’m Alice Balfour, Lady
Grant.”

“’Tis an honor to meet you, my lady. I am
Gwyneth Carswell.”

“Oh, you’re English. ’Tis clear in your
speech.”

“Yes.”

“And how did you come to be all the way here,
in the Highlands?”

“I was married to a Highlander but am widowed
now. At the moment, I am the MacGrath’s housekeeper but I hope to
find a position as governess or tutor and go south before
winter.”

“Indeed? The long winter nights and deep
snows of the Highlands were the hardest thing for me to grow used
to. I was born in the Lowlands, you see, some miles from
Dunbar.”

Could this be an opportunity? “Would you know
anyone in that area who is searching for a governess?”

“My brother just hired someone new for his
eldest son, but they have five more, all under seven, one set of
twins. I told him to give his poor wife a wee break.” She chuckled.
“You’re serious about this, then?”

“Yes, very. Does he live in a peaceful
area?”

“Indeed.”

“Laird MacGrath has promised to provide me
with a reference.”

“His word is gold. I will send a missive to
my brother upon my return home. If you have a letter of reference
from Laird MacGrath, I will include that as well.”

“That would be wonderful.”

“The MacGrath’s first wife was my distant
cousin, and he is well respected and liked in our family.”

Gwyneth felt like an interloper, even though
she herself had asked him if his late wife’s family might be in
need of someone.

“Clearly you’re well educated. Are you of
noble birth, then?” Alice asked.

Gwyneth usually felt it best not to mention
her background, but in this case it might prove helpful. “My father
is an English earl.”

Alice’s eyes flew wide. “In truth?”

“Yes, and he provided all of us, including my
five sisters and one brother, with proper educations.”

“Goodness, I wish we were in need of a
governess. You impress me greatly. Millie is our youngest, and
Paula, our eldest.” She smiled toward the twirling couples.
“Dancing with the MacGrath as we speak. Oh, wouldn’t they make a
lovely pair?” She sighed. “I would give my eye-teeth to have him
for a son-in-law.”

Though she did not wish to, Gwyneth turned to
follow her gaze. The young Paula, of no more than eighteen years,
beamed up at Alasdair. Her long, dark hair flowed down her back.
They matched in coloring and her tall height complimented his. He
focused on her, to the exclusion of all else, and laughed at
something she said.

“I’m thinking he’ll become smitten with her.
What do you think?” Alice whispered eagerly. “Look at how he smiles
at her.”

“’Tis possible.” Gwyneth looked away. The
sight of them hurt her eyes. And her heart. “I thank you for
inquiring with your brother. I shall ask Laird MacGrath to write
the reference missive before the morrow. Pray pardon me and enjoy
the rest of the celebration.”

Lady Alice bid her good evening, and Gwyneth
moved toward the shadows to try and soothe her aching heart. Good
lord, why had her reaction to seeing Alasdair dancing with the
pretty lass struck her so?

Gwyneth couldn’t marry him, so she should
want him to find a suitable wife. But some part of her deep inside
couldn’t understand the logic of that.

Was it possible that a woman and man could
love each other equally and forever? Or was it a fable? The love
she’d thought she felt for Southwick years ago was but delusion.
Upon much reflection, she’d come to the conclusion that her parents
didn’t share love, nor much warmth or fondness.

Of course, Gwyneth had never loved Baigh
Shaw. She had come to believe love between a man and a woman didn’t
truly exist. Was it a fantasy some poet had dreamed up to mislead
people into thinking such lofty love and passion were possible?

The only love that she knew existed between
people was that of a parent for a child, and vice versa, along with
love between siblings and friends.

But the wondrous emotions that grew and
expanded within her for Alasdair were unlike anything she had ever
experienced. They near took her breath and her reasoning. She did
not trust herself, nor her feelings—which were not warm and
comforting, but hot and disturbing. Mayhap the Gaelic words he’d
whispered in her ear during their lovemaking had been an
incantation that had drawn her under his control. Or mayhap real
love could exist between a man and a woman and that’s what she felt
for him.

Trying to keep her attention off Alasdair and
any female who might be touching him or gazing at him with
adoration, she focused on the male clan members who were setting a
blaze to a giant cartwheel of straw. Once it was well afire, they
rolled it down the hill toward the loch below. When it reached the
bottom, still burning, a cheer went up. “A fruitful harvest!”

Did their superstitions know no bounds?

A short time later, a few of the older clan
women started rounding up the tired and yawning children.

“’Tis time for stories and bed,” Great Aunt
Matilda said.

The children whined and moaned.

“’Haps we will even find some comfits
inside.”

The promise of sweets hastened their
steps.

“I’ll come with you,” Gwyneth told Matilda,
glad for the excuse to avoid watching Alasdair court any more
ladies. She helped herd Rory and the other children toward the
barmkin and castle.

“You cannot be going in now,” Alasdair said
behind her.

Surprised, she stopped and turned.

“You’re not one of the children. And you’re
far too lovely to not enjoy a night like this.”

She fought down her unreasonable irritation
at him for the attention he’d shown the young lady. “I’ve enjoyed
it, but I’m tired.”

“I was hoping for another dance or two, if it
would please you.” That wicked gleam in his eye was too charming
for her comfort. ’Twas time for her to face reality—nothing could
ever exist between them. Nothing but the secret trysts…all in the
past.

“As I said, I’m tired, but there is something
I wish to speak to you about.”

“Very well.” He watched her with
curiosity.

“I’ll return after I make sure Rory is safely
inside with the other children.”

He bowed. “I’ll be waiting.”

She expected to find him dancing with another
lass when she returned, but he stood alone just outside the barmkin
gates.

“I’m glad you came back,” Alasdair
murmured.

Glancing around, she noticed that fewer
people were present around the bonfires. “Where is everyone?”

“The women are most likely running naked
through the heather.” He grinned. “Will you be joining them?”

Naked? Through the heather?
“Certainly
not!”

He laughed. “Jumping the balefire, then? A
wee bit more dangerous, but arguably more effective.”

“Oh, gracious! No.” She stalked toward the
barmkin.

He followed. “Are you not wanting to
strengthen your fertility?”

No, indeed
, she did not want
strengthened fertility. Trying to ignore his teasing, she focused
on the reason she’d wanted to talk to him. But now that it was time
to ask for the letter of recommendation, she hesitated to speak the
words that would take her away from him forever.

“’Haps I can do it for you, then,” he
said.

“What—”

He smiled like a devil bent on sensual
mayhem. No, she didn’t want to know what he’d meant. She turned to
go.

He grasped her hand, stopping her. She didn’t
even know where she’d been fleeing to. The barmkin was almost
empty, though she did see a couple kissing in the shadows.

Before she could determine who they were,
Alasdair tipped her face toward him. “I’m hoping you won’t leave me
out here alone, Gwyneth. ’Tis too early to go to sleep.” With his
fingers, he traced her cheek and chin. Tingles spread in the wake
of his touch. “Do you ken, tonight is when fairies roam the earth,
looking for mortals to pull mischief on.”

She shook her head, suppressing a grin.

“Don’t tell me you don’t believe in fairies,
for I won’t be hearing it.”

“Are you never serious?”

“Aye, ’tis serious I am about wanting to kiss
you,” he said in a deep, low tone.

Heavens! Could she not find the strength
within herself to resist him? She put her hands before her, to ward
him off, but he pressed firmly against her with his hard chest. Her
fingers yearned to stroke over him and beneath his clothing, to
absorb the feel of his muscles. But she couldn’t.

“What of Paula?” she blurted.

“Who?”

“The young lady you spent so much time
dancing with.”
And laughing with. Oh, I am daft. I should not
have said anything.

He lifted one brow and stared at her for a
long, tense moment. “I don’t want to kiss her.”

Did he mean it? She concentrated on his
ornate falcon brooch near his shoulder, the blue and red jewels
sparkling in the dim light.

“Gwyneth, ’tis glad I am that you’re
jealous.”

“I am not jealous!” How mortifying he saw
through her words.

“Och, nay. You’re not.” He grinned and held
her with one hand around hers, his grip gentle, his thumb rubbing
her palm.

She could’ve easily pulled away, but his
warmth, the way her whole body and mind focused on the spot where
his skin stroked hers, gave her pause.

“Will you not gift me with another kiss in
the garden?” He advanced, and she retreated.

She did crave the profane decadence of his
mouth upon hers. Her lips burned in anticipation. Her breasts
tingled, craving his attention, before the hot excitement slid down
through her body.

When her back came up against the garden
gate, he unlatched it. She stumbled backward through. With quick
reflexes, he caught her against his body, so hard and solid. A buzz
of spellbinding need swept through her.

A groaning sound came from the garden. “What
is—”

“Shh,” Alasdair breathed against her ear, and
she shivered. After their entrance, he eased the gate closed and
urged her behind an evergreen shrub. The balefire lit up the sky
and reflected off the gray stone castle wall to cast a soft glow
down into the flower garden.