Stuart, Elizabeth (38 page)

He
shook his head. "Nay, lass, though at the time it seemed likely I'd soon
be on my way to France."

She
dropped her eyes, quietly releasing her pent-up breath.

"Colen
was waiting for me with the news when we came in from the beach that
night." He rose and paced the floor. "Maybe if there'd been more time
I could have thought of something, lass. God knows I didn't want to hurt you,
but I knew you couldn't stay at Camereigh." He halted before her chair.
"Returning you to Glenkennon seemed better than dragging you into an
outlaw's life. It wasn't what I wanted for you, Anne."

She
kept her eyes focused firmly on her hands, trying hard to temper the wild
exultation growing inside her. He hadn't wanted to send her away! Dear God,
could it be possible that he loved her—had loved her all these miserable
months?

Don't
believe him, a warning voice whispered. He's too glib, too easy with words.
He's fooling you again. Remember how he acted, what he said.

"Why
didn't you tell me the truth then? Did you think me so stupid I'd not have
understood... or did it just take you this long to come up with a good
tale?"

"I
said what I did because I thought it would be easier for you. I didn't want you
hurt any more than necessary, and I thought it best to end the thing quick and
sharp, so there'd be no lingering regrets on either side. And I was afraid for
you, lass—afraid of what Glenkennon might do if he knew you cared for me."
He gave her a rueful smile. "I thought your pride would get you over the
affair quickly enough."

"And
it did," she said, rising unsteadily and starting past him toward the
window.

"But
I overlooked one thing," Francis added, catching her wrist as she passed.
He swung her into his arms. "I hadn't counted on not being able to get
over it myself."

He
gazed at her hungrily, his eyes holding hers in a gaze she could not break.
"You've haunted me night and day— every moment since I sent you away.
Every inch of Camereigh, every foot of that damned beach remind me of you! I
can't escape you lass—you give me no peace." He drew her close, burying
his face in her hair. "For Christ's sake, Anne, I love you," he
breathed, "and in spite of Glenkennon and all the English in Scotland,
I'll have you!"

His
mouth sought hers with an eagerness that sent her heart pounding, making her
forget all thought of resistance—all thought of sanity—as her lips opened
beneath the pressure of his. The kiss was hard, brutal with a passion that
seared her soul. The world whirled around her, then steadied, narrowing until
his mouth, his hands were the only reality. There was no thought of pride or
anger, no thought of prudence or fear as her body arched against his of its own
accord and her arms slid up to draw him closer, touching him, holding him as
her entire body came alive to his caress. He loved her, she exulted. He had
never said the words before, not even that night on the beach.

She
could feel the muscular hardness of his body straining against hers through the
thin cloth of her robe. His powerful hands were strangely gentle as they slid
along her waist then up to cup each breast, shifting the cool satin of the robe
back and forth across each crest until she groaned deep in her throat and
pressed against him eagerly. His questing hand found its way inside her robe,
caressing the satin of her naked hip, pressing her hard against his rigid
thighs.

His
mouth left hers, trailing a line of warm, moist kisses against her throat and
shoulder. "Anne, Anne... I've loved you so long, wanted you so long,"
he breathed. She felt a shudder race through his body, then he swept her up in
his arms and carried her, unprotesting, to the bed.

Laying
his burden down gently on the coverlet, he was beside her in an instant. He
buried his lips in hers, kissing her until she was dazed with passion and
longing. Her robe slid open obligingly beneath his roving hands, and she gasped
with pleasure as his lips traced down the line of her throat to the soft
fullness of her breast. Beneath his knowing hands, she responded as she had
that long-past night on the beach, unconscious of any feeling save the racing
blood in her veins and the flash of desire that spread like a flame throughout
her body at his touch.

She
moved beneath him, aching in a way she could not understand as his mouth took
hers once more and his hands moved over the silken length of her body with an
intimate knowledge of the pleasure a man can give a woman. It seemed as if she
were drowning in his kiss. She cared for nothing save the ecstasy promised by
his touch as the weight of his body pressed her down into the softness of the
bed.

The
tension was building between them to an unbearable degree. Francis paused,
lifting his head to gaze unbelievingly at the beauty of Anne's naked body in
the warm glow of the candles. His breath came raggedly, and he found himself
shaking as he fought to control his own raging desire. She was warm and willing
now in his arms, but he was determined to go slowly. He'd not hurt her for all
the world.

He
began unbuttoning his shirt in trembling haste, pausing in surprise as Anne
reached up and deftly slipped the buttons loose. She looked wordlessly into his
eyes, her hands slipping across his naked chest.

He
groaned savagely, rapidly losing his battle with himself. His fingers caught in
the wild profusion of her hair, which spread like a surging sea across the
pillow. Jerking her head toward his, he crushed her lips beneath his own,
sweeping her mouth with his tongue, unable to get enough of the sweet taste of
her.

A
sharp knock sounded on the door, abruptly rending the haze of passion engulfing
the pair. Cursing softly and fluently, Francis was off the bed and onto his
feet in an instant. Anne gasped and rolled to her feet, pulling her robe about
her with trembling hands as Francis disappeared behind the curtains of the
bathing alcove. She stumbled to the door, trying desperately to pull herself
together and order her whirling thoughts.

What
if it were her father, come with some late-night message as he had once before?
Or worse yet, what if he knew Francis was there? Her heart thudded painfully
against her ribs as she opened the door.

"Did
I get you out of the bath, mistress?" Bess stood in the doorway, her
questioning eyes searching Anne's flushed face. "I saw your candle was
still lit, so I thought it best to let you know I'd returned. I knocked once
before, but you didn't hear."

Anne
sagged against the door in relief. "Ah... yes. I was just getting
dressed... for bed," she said, making no move to step back from the door
to allow the girl inside.

"The
messenger was mistaken. My cousin wasn't sick at all." Bess smiled and
shook her head. "I can't imagine how such a thing happened." She
craned her neck, attempting to peer around Anne. "I know it's late, but
would you like me to finish straightening the room and help you to bed?"

"No!
That is... I'm sure you're tired after your trip to the village," Anne
said quickly. "I shan't need you tonight. I'm ready to put out the candles
now."

Bess
stared at her strangely, then nodded and turned away. Anne closed the door and
leaned against it, her trembling limbs ready to collapse now as the threat of
the moment passed.

Francis
put his head around the curtain. "If you're going to consort with
Highlanders, you'd best learn to be more glib with your lies, lass," he
said with a grin. He moved toward her across the floor, his eyes still warm
with desire. "Since it's my life resting in your hands, I suppose I must
teach you the way. Come here, and we'll begin our lessons."

He
reached for her, but Anne drew back, shrinking away from him against the wall.
How many lies had he told her? Was his declaration of love moments earlier just
another lie to get her into his bed? Hadn't she promised herself she'd not be
made a fool of again? Dear God! Why hadn't she thought of that before her
passionate response?

"What
is it, lass?" Francis asked, halting as she cringed away from him.

"You're
so practiced at lying I can never tell whether to believe you or not," she
blurted, closing her eyes miserably against the sight of him. "Get out!
You should never have come."

"When
have I lied to you, Anne?"

"When
have you what?" she gasped, opening her eyes in astonishment. "How
should I know? For all I know every word you've ever said is false!"

He
frowned. "As God is my witness, Anne, I've never lied to you save that day
I sent you from Camereigh. Every word I've spoken here is the honest truth.
This is no game we're playing—I'm in dead earnest. I love you, and I want you
to be my wife despite Glenkennon and his plans." He paused, but she made
no effort to speak.

"I'll
not beg, lass," he said, drawing himself up proudly though the bleakness
in his face betrayed his pain. "This is the last time I'll ask you, for
Conall and I must soon be gone if we're to keep our heads upon our shoulders.
I've no time to convince you. You must choose to trust me or no'."

Anne
gazed at him as a drowning man stares at nearby land just beyond his reach.
There were so many reasons it was impossible to love him. She bit her lip
uncertainly. In a few minutes he would walk out of her life forever if she
didn't stop him.

She
suddenly knew there was only one answer she could give. It did not matter if he
were lying or telling the truth. She no longer cared about her own injured
pride or even the many reasons she had fashioned for avoiding him.

With
a strangled cry she threw herself across the few feet separating them and into
the haven of his waiting arms.

He
held her tightly, raining gentle kisses upon her face and hair. "I'm still
waiting for your answer, love."

"What
answer?"

"I
asked you to be my wife." He chuckled. "Did you forget a'ready?"

She
closed her eyes, burying her head against his chest and breathing deeply in an
attempt to steady her voice. "You must know my answer a'ready."

"But
I'd like to hear it from you, lass."

She
gazed up into his face, amazed by the tenderness she saw reflected there.
"I love you, Francis MacLean," she whispered, "and I'll marry
you despite all those who'd say us nay."

His
hands contracted against her back in a brief, involuntary movement, and a
flicker of some deep emotion sped across his face. Then his eyes went warm and
bright with laughter, but he pursed his mouth into sober lines. "Then all
that remains is to request your dear father's permission."

Though
she knew he was teasing, she could not resist a startled gasp. "Francis,
don't even joke about it!"

"Well,
that's the way it's usually done," he protested innocently. "Can't
you see me down on one knee before Lord Robert, imploring him to bestow your
hand upon me?"

Anne
choked at the vision his words invoked, and they laughed together as he further
embellished the scene. Finally wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes, she
sobered. "Really Francis, what are we going to do?"

"I'm
going to take you away from here," he said simply, "though I need to
know if you'd object to remaining another month. I've a few things to take care
of before we return to Camereigh and commit ourselves to a siege." He
searched her face. "Is it hard for you here, lass? Has Glenkennon
threatened you in any way." His eyes narrowed in concentration. "It'd
be difficult, but perhaps I could arrange to take you with me when Conall and I
leave."

She
resisted the temptation to beg him not to leave her. "Of course, I'm safe
here. You're the only person at Ranleigh who's ever threatened me," she
said with a smile.

He
laughed and drew her close, dropping his head to kiss her again with a slow
thoroughness that set her blood singing. Finally raising his head reluctantly,
he released her and stepped back. "I must go now. I've been away far
longer than I intended, and Conall will be imagining me with a dirk in my
back."

Turning
to leave, he cast an expressive look at the bed. "I've a strong desire to
strangle your maid, lass. I thought she'd stay in the village."

He
opened the door a slit and peeked into the blackness of the hall.
"Remember, sweet," he whispered, turning back, "you must still
act the shrew tomorrow."

She
blew him an airy kiss. "I'll be as rude as ever!" Her smile faded.
"Be careful, Francis."

He
winked at her, then slipped through the door, and the empty room seemed barren
and cold without the warmth of his presence. She leaned her head against the
bedpost and smoothed the rumpled coverlet. "Oh, please be careful, my
love," she whispered into the emptiness.

Glenkennon
paced the floor of his office, eyes narrowed in concentration. "I tell you
Blake, he'd best not slip through my hands!" he growled, whirling to
confront his steward. "I wonder if we shouldn't take him now, before he
has a chance to play off his tricks."

Edmund
Blake pressed his palms together and studied his thin fingers imperturbably.
"Of course, you, my lord Glenkennon, know best, but I can't help wondering
at the outcry if you were to throw MacLean into prison now— with no proof of
any wrongdoing. The king would hear of it."