Some Like it Scot (Scandalous Highlanders Book 4) (22 page)

His glare shifted into a frown. Abruptly his hands dropped, and he backed away a step or two. “I was being polite,” he growled.

“That's nae politeness. That's nearly a proposal. Marry Elizabeth. It'll save her from the duke, and she'll civilize ye some. As much as can be done with ye, anyway.”

He continued to stare at her for several hard beats of her heart. Then, his hands and his jaw clenched, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room. His heavy bootsteps receded down the hallway until she could no longer tell them from the rain.

“Bear?”

Well, that hadn't gone at all well. Or perhaps it had. If it stopped him from kissing her and making her wish she had some idea how to act like a female, then good. He needed to go kiss and chat with Elizabeth. As she'd told him, her sister knew how to act like a lady, and could very likely teach him how to be a gentleman.

“Ye're daft, Catriona,” Bear's deep growl came from the doorway, making her jump. “My brother's been trying to marry me off to one lass or another fer nearly two years, and I told him what I'm telling ye now—dunnae try matching me up with some lass because it suits yer lunatic ideas of domesticity.” He took two long strides forward into the room, his head low and his eyes narrow. “I like yer sister well enough, but I willnae be marrying her. I dunnae want her. I want
ye.
”

Her heart abruptly hammering, Catriona stood up and backed away from him. She'd heard his anger when he'd confronted his brother, but she'd never seen evidence of a temper so notorious that stories about it had reached even to the Isle of Islay. Until now. “Elizabeth makes more sense for ye,” she said anyway. “For both of ye.”

“Nae,” he retorted, grabbing up the musket that still leaned against the table and tossing it across the room like a twig. “It makes sense fer
ye,
because it leaves ye oot of the equation, free to go off and do as pleases ye withoot any guilt. But ye're in
my
equation, wildcat. I'm nae going away.”

“Then I will,” she stated, lifting her chin and surprised at how difficult it was to say the words aloud. “My sister is safe; there's nae reason for me to stay on here. As ye said, Haldane Abbey is yer property. I amnae, however loud ye bellow it.”

Two feet from her, so close she had to crane her neck to meet his gaze, he stopped his advance. “Ye willnae go anywhere, Catriona,” he growled, reaching out and wrapping his fingers into the front of her coat, dragging her up against him. “Say what ye like, but we both ken ye're running from the MacDonalds. And nae MacDonald can touch ye here.”

“I didnae say anything of the kind.”

“Ye didnae have to, lass.” He took a deep breath, looking at her so intently she didn't think she could have looked away if she'd wanted to. “And I swear to ye,” he went on more quietly, “ye've naught to fear from me. Ye can trust me with all yer secrets.”

She wanted to. Even if keeping well away from him was safer. Safer for her heart. “I dunnae know how to play this game, Munro,” she blurted. “I say what I think, and I think ye and Elizabeth make a good match.”

Before she could take a breath, he kissed her, his mouth soft and lingering and warm on hers. “Say it again, then,” he murmured.

“Ye belong with Elizabeth.”

He dipped his head again, his too long black hair brushing her cheek as he took her mouth. Her fingers itched to wrap into his coat, and she sternly restrained herself. “Ye want me kissing yer sister, do ye?” he asked softly.

No!
she yelled to herself, but for him she wrinkled her brow in what she hoped was a scowl. “Ye'll keep her safe, giant.”

“Do I feel safe to ye?” he returned, his kiss this time hotter and more intoxicating than a glass of whisky.

He didn't feel safe. At all. He felt … dangerous, to her head and to her heart. “Stop it,” she ordered, wrapping her hands around his and trying to free her collar from his hard, unrelenting grip. “I may be a virgin, but I'm nae an idiot. A few fair kisses willnae convince me of anything but that ye ken how to kiss. Because of all yer practice, I assume.”

With a muttered curse he released her again. “There are lasses who would already have all their clothes off if I kissed them like that, ye stubborn woman.”

“Then go kiss them,” she suggested, even though just the idea of it made her hands curl into fists.

“I dunnae want to kiss them. I want to kiss ye. And hit myself in the head with a hammer, all at the same time.”

Well, she could sympathize with that—not that she would tell him so. “There's a hammer, right over there.”

“Bah. I dunnae know what to say to convince ye of anything, Cat,” he returned, and stalked over to retrieve the musket. With obvious care he inspected the weapon, emptied the shot, and reloaded it for her.

“So ye'll go find Elizabeth?” she finally ventured, not certain what she'd expected to happen but feeling oddly … disappointed at the same time. As if something extraordinary had run right up to her, given her a look, and then turned around and walked away.

Bear snorted. “Nae. Ye may have befuddled me, but I'm nae an idiot, either.” He narrowed one eye. “Despite opinion to the contrary.”

Later she would attempt to decipher why his refusal of Elizabeth, his destruction of her swiftly formed plans, didn't bother her much at all. “Ye'll at least leave me be, then.”

“Aye. I'll leave ye be,” he returned, handing her the weapon. “Use the damned blankets I brought ye. I'll nae have ye freezing to death on my account.”

Abruptly she wanted to cry. He'd given up—precisely as she'd asked him to, and yet—he'd given up. On her. “I will. Thank ye.”

“Ye're welcome. Do ye have a timepiece here?”

“What? Nae. What are ye—”

“Here.” He pulled a pocket watch out of his coat and set it on the table. “Make yerself scarce aboot ten o'clock, but be close enough to hear me yell. I'll try to have only Peter with me, but one of my brothers or Lach might insist on coming along.”

Catriona eyed him. Either she was too tired to follow the conversation, or Bear still meant to return to Haldane. “I thought—”

“Ye thought what?” he broke in, setting the bundle he'd dropped in the doorway close by the hearth. “That ye'd managed to be rid of me? I dunnae mean to make it as easy as that. I'll leave ye be tonight, because ye're tired and ye've had all yer plans turned rightside doon, and because if I kiss ye again I'll nae be able to stop myself. But I do mean to have ye, lass, and I reckon I'll seduce ye until ye can think of naught but the two of us rolling aboot naked on those blankets.” He gestured at them.

Now she'd likely never be able to sleep in them at all. “But—”

“Aye, ye drive me dizzy, wildcat, spinning me aboot so I couldnae tell ye where to find the sky. But I do know two things: first, I'm nae going to wed yer sister just so ye can have one less thing to keep ye here. And second, I like ye. I've a fondness fer ye I cannae explain to yer satisfaction, obviously, but I'm nae finished with ye.” He retrieved his rifle, hefting it like it weighed nothing. “Och, and there's a third thing, too. Ye like me. Ye'll nae admit it, because ye're more stubborn than a badger, but a lad knows when the lass he's kissed, kisses him back. And ye, wildcat, kissed me back.”

She couldn't deny that. Not tonight, when the warmth and taste of his mouth still lingered on hers. Not when her heart had nearly pounded its traitorous way out of her chest when she'd first heard him in the hallway. “I see ye as a friend, Bear. One I didnae expect. But—”

He lifted a hand. “Nae. Ye stop right there. I'm nae yer friend. What I want to do to ye I dunnae do with my friends.” The big man flashed her a warm smile that did even more heated things to her insides. “We can be friendly, I reckon, because that's a beginning.”

With that he walked up, gave her a last, too brief kiss that had her leaning up toward him, then left the kitchen. Catriona sagged back into the chair. All her plans for seeing Elizabeth properly and permanently taken care of, for her escaping from the contemptuous, condescending looks of … well, of everyone who knew her, all stood as ruined as the building around her. But in the midst of all that, one thought swirled—Bear MacLawry liked her, refused to give up on her, and apparently meant to woo her.

Heaven help her, she wanted him to woo her. She wanted to do more than kiss him. She wanted to feel his warm skin beneath her hands and hear him tell her again that he liked her and wanted her, and not because he had to, because she was a MacDonald chieftain's daughter—or niece now, rather—but in spite of that. No man had ever just liked
her
. Or if one did, he'd never had the courage to approach her and tell her so.

Wishing endlessly for things, though, had never made them happen. Or it had never sufficed before, anyway. At this moment, unless she'd dreamed everything that had just happened, Bear
did
want her. Now she only needed to decide if giving in to what her body wanted would be worth the trouble it would cause. Was what might well be her one chance at happiness, even temporary happiness, worth a war?

She stood up again, going over to open the bundle he'd brought. Two heavy blankets, a sealskin wrap with a hood to keep a good portion of her dry when next she had to go out in the rain, and a cloth-wrapped meal of venison and three thick slices of buttered bread. Gathering it up, she sat against the warmth of the chimney, pulled one of the blankets up over her legs, and ate her predawn breakfast.

As she did so, she opened the last item Bear had smuggled out to her. A book.
Robinson Crusoe,
yet. She'd read it before, but not lately, and now she had to wonder if Munro thought of her as Crusoe. And if she was, was she a shipwrecked wretch alone in the wilderness? Or had her rescue already arrived, and she merely lacked the courage to stretch out her hand and accept it?

“Damnation.”

Perhaps she should just let Bear ruin her. It was only her presence the MacDonalds required—not her virginity. And she had no intention of giving them either one. Once she … lay with Munro MacLawry, then she could stop thinking and wondering about him and make her plans based on logic rather than on frustrated lust. And perhaps that would satisfy him as well, and he would stop saying so many tempting, naughty things to her.

The more she thought about it, the more sense it made. In exchange for a night with him, the path before her would be clear. She wouldn't have to spare Munro—or any idiotic dreams of a might-have-been future—a second thought.

*   *   *

“Where's the lass?”

Ranulf turned away from the library window as his younger brother Arran strolled into the wood-paneled room. “Charlotte, Rowena, and yer Mary took her doon to An Soadh. Evidently she requires a new bonnet.”

At his gesture, Arran closed the door. “Any more conversation with Bear? Has he said what he means to do with Lady Elizabeth?”

“Nae. He's up at Haldane again, fixing the door and the roof, I assume. This morning he sent Debny into the village with an order fer cut stone and lumber.” Sitting at the worktable, Ranulf pulled a letter from his pocket and slid it across the mahogany surface to his brother. “Until I hear differently, I'm assuming our
bràthair
is making Haldane Abbey livable because he means to live there.”

Arran grimaced. “Bear's nae been one to spend much time contemplating. And I dunnae want to be the one to try to talk him oot of anything. But do ye ken he's fallen fer the lass, or has he just gone and rescued her and now thinks he's obligated?”

With a shrug, Ranulf sat back against his chair. “By Sassannach standards, he
is
obligated now. He's been alone with her. And considering that Peter Gilling was the chaperone, well—Gilling chaperoned ye and Mary on yer way north. We all ken how effective that was.”

“I cannae argue with that,” Arran said with a grin. He unfolded the letter Ranulf had given him, then shot his older brother a quick look. “Ye truly mean to tell the MacDonald she's here?”

“Her father was a clan chieftain. Gorrie likely doesnae give a damn where she ends up, but I'm nae going to be the one who made the trouble, this time. I'll be courteous and gentlemanly and inform him that I'm removing Elizabeth MacColl from his clan.” He gave a dark smile. “That sounds courteous, doesnae?”

“Fer ye? Aye. But what if the MacDonald wanted her wed to Visford fer some reason? Suppose he disagrees with ye aboot the lass's future?”

This was why Ranulf valued the middle MacLawry brother's opinion so much. Arran generally had a way of thinking an event through not only to its logical, but also to its likely, conclusion. In this instance, however, he'd spent most of last night pacing, his bairn William in his arms, following the threads of every possible scenario. “Nae informing Gorrie seems a bigger risk to me,” he countered. “Munro's my
bràthair
. His marriage willnae be overlooked, even if hers is.”

“Aye. I'll agree with that. And I assume ye're expecting Gorrie to want someaught in return fer giving this mostly English lass to the MacLawrys.”

“What I know fer certain is that if the marriage happens before he hears aboot the match, he'll want more from us. When he gets angry that we tried to go past him withoot asking permission, we'll also end up with a herd of MacDonalds looking fer trouble crowding our borders. In my opinion, one MacDonald here is enough.”

“I cannae argue against that.” Arran finished reading the missive and handed it back. “Ye're a generous man, Ranulf. Especially since Elizabeth MacColl is too distant from her clan to bring us any advantage. And I'm fairly certain the Stewarts willnae be happy to lose their last chance at a MacLawry marriage.”