The Devil Wears Plaid (5 page)

Keeping her furious gaze locked on his face, Emma began to inch her way to her feet, her back still pressed to the stony wall behind her. As the subtle shift of her weight sent a fresh shower of rubble dancing its way down the side of the cliff, she squeezed her eyes shut against a rush of paralyzing vertigo.

“
Damnit to bluidy hell, woman, take my hand!
” Jamie’s voice deepened on a beseeching note. “Please…”

It wasn’t his roared command but that raw plea that finally swayed her.

She swung her arm upward and slapped her hand into his broad palm, choosing life, choosing him. His fingers closed around her slender wrist with the force of a vise. As the narrow ledge beneath her feet broke away from its stony mooring and went tumbling into the gorge below, Jamie hauled her up and into his waiting arms.

J
AMIE ROSE AND STAGGERED
backward, dragging them both away from the edge of the bluff. As the last echo of the shelf tumbling into the gorge died, reminding her anew that it could have been her fragile bones shattering on those rocks, Emma clung helplessly to him, conscious only of the warmth and solidity of his bare chest beneath her cheek. Her shivering had deepened to a violent trembling she could not seem to control.

He hesitated for a moment, but then his arms went around her, drawing her even deeper into his embrace. Through a haze of blind relief, she realized his heart was pounding nearly as wildly as hers.

“There, there, lass,” he murmured, stroking a hand over her tangled hair. “It’s all right. You’re safe now.”

Although there was some treacherous part of her that wanted to believe she was safe in the solid warmth of his arms, she knew better. Flattening her
palms against his chest, she pushed herself away from him, determined to stand on her own two feet.

He watched through wary eyes as she brushed crumbs of dirt from the skirt of the tattered, filthy rag her wedding gown had become. An alarming amount of pale, freckled skin was beginning to peek through the shattered silk, a fact that did not seem to have escaped Jamie’s heavy-lidded gaze.

“When I warned you about trying to escape, it never occurred to me you’d take some fool notion into your wee head to go running off in the middle of the night and tumble over a cliff .”

“So what do you want from me now?” she asked, shooting him a defiant look. “Should I apologize for trying to escape or for making such a mortifying muddle of it?”

He folded his arms over his chest. “Perhaps the question should be what do you want from me, Miss Marlowe? Do you want me to prove I’m every inch the villain you believe me to be? Are you deliberately trying to goad me into lifting my hand to you? Into forcing you to my will?”

“What I want, sir, is to go home!”
Emma was as shocked as he was to hear the words come spilling from her lips. She’d been choking them back for what felt like an eternity.

Jamie stiffened. The heat faded from his eyes, leaving them as cool and opaque as paste emeralds.
“I promised you I would return you to your bridegroom just as soon as I was able. I’m sure you’ll make a very fine mistress for his castle. And his bed.”

Shaking her head helplessly, Emma backed away from him. She sank down on a stump and rested her chin in her hand, unable to look at him for fear the tears clogging the back of her throat would finally come trickling from her eyes. “Hepburn Castle is
not
my home. My home is a ramshackle old manor house in Lancashire that’s been in my mother’s family for two centuries. The roof leaks like a sieve, the floorboards creak beneath every step, and there’s a family of mice living behind the kitchen baseboards that creep out every night to steal the crumbs left beneath the dining room table. Most of the shutters hang crooked and don’t close properly and when it snows the drafts are so cold a thin layer of ice forms on the
inside
of the windows. The flue in the drawing room fireplace sticks more often than not so you never know when you light a fire if you’re going to end up getting chased out of the room by clouds of smoke.”

She stole a wary glance at Jamie to find his expression even more unreadable than before. “I always know spring is coming because a cheeky robin and his mate build a nest in the holly tree growing right outside the window of my bedchamber. When the babies hatch, their chirping wakes me up
each morning at dawn. The arbor at the edge of the orchard is on the verge of falling down because it’s completely buried beneath a tangle of wild roses.” She could not stop a wistful smile from curving her lips. “And in autumn when the apples start falling from the trees in the orchard, the whole world smells so tart and sweet you’d swear the very air could make you drunk.”

“You speak o’ this place as if it’s heaven on earth, but what about all o’ those treasures the Hepburn can give you? The jewels? The furs? The land? The gold?”

She cast him a despairing glance. “I’d trade them all for a chance to go out foraging for blackberries in the hedgerows on a fine summer morn.”

“If you love this home of yours so well, then why did you agree to marry the earl?”

Emma went back to gazing into the shadows. “Before Papa sent me to London for the Season, we received a notice informing us the house was being seized by his creditors and we had three months to vacate the premises. The earl’s offer was a godsend. Instead of demanding a dowry, he paid my father a generous settlement in exchange for my hand. It’s too much for even Papa to gamble or drink away. My mother will be guaranteed a roof over her head for as long as she should live. And as the earl’s new countess, I’ll possess both the means and the influence to
sponsor my sisters’ London debuts. I’ll be able to find them decent husbands and homes.”

“While you give up your home and any hope of happiness?” Jamie shook his head, a flush of anger touching his high cheekbones. “If your father was the one who drank and gambled away his family’s last shilling, why should you be the one to suffer for it?”

She rose from the rock to face him. “Because I’m the one who drove him to it.”

F
OR THREE LONG YEARS,
no one in her family had dared to utter those words. Yet here she stood confessing them to a man who was little more than a stranger to her—and a dangerous stranger at that. It was such a relief to finally say them aloud that it took Emma a moment to register Jamie’s incredulous smile. It was the sort of smile one might give a gibbering escapee from Bedlam who claimed to be Richard the Lionhearted or a vanilla blancmange.

“
You?
You were the one who drove your father to the bottle and the gaming tables?” His smile escalated into a snort of disbelieving laughter. “Just what turrible transgression did you commit, you wee wicked hoyden? Did you forget to let the cat in or break your mother’s favorite china saucer?”

She lifted her chin a defiant notch. “I broke a man’s heart.”

She half-expected him to dissolve into fresh
gales of laughter at the thought of her as some sort of temptress but as she continued, his smile slowly faded.

“When I was seventeen, I went to London to stay with my aunt Birdie and my cousin Clara for my debut. Everything went exactly as my parents had planned and I was able to secure a proposal from a perfectly nice young curate with excellent prospects for a decent living in Shropshire. After he had obtained my father’s hearty blessing, all of the betrothal documents were drawn up. But less than a month before we were to be wed, I decided I had no choice but to beg off the engagement.”

“Why?”

Emma turned away from him then, biting her bottom lip as an old shame warmed her cheeks. “I realized I was in love with another man. Lysander was the second son of a marquess who flattered me with his attentions each time we met at a ball or while riding in the park. He would deliberately seek out my company and tease me so tenderly I soon found myself thinking of him every moment we were apart. After I went to my fiancé and broke off our engagement, I sought him out to tell him what I’d done. I thought he’d be overjoyed.”

Jamie winced as if already anticipating the inevitable outcome of her tawdry little tale.

Emma’s wry smile mocked no one but herself.
“He was horrified. It seemed he was on the verge of announcing his own engagement to a young American heiress—a very beautiful, very
wealthy
American heiress. He made it quite clear a passably pretty baronet’s daughter from Lancashire could never be anything more to him than a flirtation—and a mild one at that.” She shrugged away the remembered anguish and humiliation of having her fragile young heart ripped right out of her breast. “He was generous enough to suggest I might consider becoming his mistress after he’d been married for a respectable amount of time.”

“What a perfect gentleman!” Jamie declared, his narrowed gaze more bloodthirsty than admiring.

Emma bowed her head. “When I declined, he patted me on the hand quite fondly and urged me to seek out my fiancé and beg his forgiveness before it was too late.”

“But you didn’t,” Jamie said. It was not a question.

She shook her head ruefully. “Perhaps it’s just as well because as it turned out, it was already too late. Little did I know that my fiancé’s pious façade hid a vindictive nature. He engaged a solicitor and sued my father for breach of promise. The settlement came close to casting us all into debtor’s prison and the scandal destroyed any hope I had of ever making a decent match as well as casting a shadow over my sisters’ prospects. No man wanted to risk being publicly humiliated as I
had humiliated poor George. Unfortunately, George’s tongue turned out to be nearly as virulent as his temper. He wasn’t content with the monetary settlement so he spread rumors that my friendship with Lysander was more
intimate
than it had been. He didn’t precisely ruin my reputation but he certainly succeeded in casting a shadow of doubt over it. The sort of shadow designed to discourage all but the most ardent of suitors. And since there were none of those…”

“The unfortunate bastard,” Jamie muttered. “It sounds to me as if you bruised his pride instead of breaking his heart.”

She shrugged. “I’m afraid the result was the same. Papa started drinking more heavily and gambling more frequently. He rarely came home before dawn, if at all.” She closed her eyes briefly, remembering the muffled clatter of her father’s footsteps on the stairs, the raised voices that would come from her parents’ bedchamber while she and her sisters huddled beneath the blankets in mute misery, pretending to sleep. “Papa has always had a fondness for cards, but I think he deluded himself into believing he could restore the family’s fortunes at the gaming tables. Of course the exact opposite was true. He ended up squandering what remained of our meager resources, leaving us at the mercy of his creditors.”

Jamie’s brow darkened further. “And leaving his daughter at the mercy of a randy auld goat.”

Emma turned on him in frustration, surprised to find herself trembling with a passion she hadn’t allowed herself to feel for a very long time. “You have no right to pass judgment on my father! Not when you’ve proved yourself only too willing to trade women for gold.”

“All I know is that I’d never allow
my
daughter to pay off my debts in the bed of a mon like the earl!”

“Regardless of what you believe, my father is not a bad man, simply a weak one,” Emma said, echoing the refrain she’d heard fall from her mother’s lips a thousand times since she’d been a little girl. “He is not to blame for any of this. It was
my
indiscretion that destroyed my family’s fortunes and their good name.”

“Indiscretion? Is that what an English lass calls it when a man winks at her from across a crowded ballroom? Or when he dares to touch her gloved hand while helping her into a carriage? Everyone knows Englishmen have lukewarm tea running through their veins, not hot, passionate blood. Why, I’d be willing to wager this silver-tongued young suitor of yours wasn’t even bold enough to lure you into some moonlit garden so he could steal a kiss!” Jamie’s gaze dropped to her lips, lingering there just long enough to make them feel warm and overripe.

“He most certainly did steal a kiss!” Emma informed him, resisting the urge to cool her lips with
the tip of her tongue. “Not in the garden but in the alcove of Lady Erickson’s town house. When no one was looking, he pressed his lips against my wrist in a shockingly bold manner.”

“Forever ruining you for any other mon, no doubt,” Jamie retorted, the mocking edge in his voice sharpening his burr.

She stiffened. “I was the one who ruined everything. I was the one who destroyed my family.”

“And now you’ve decided to atone for the sin of refusing to marry a mon you didn’t love by marrying a mon you’ll soon despise. You were naught but a child!” Jamie’s green eyes flashed with fresh anger. “A naïve seventeen-year-old lass who mistook a man’s lust for love and paid a costly price.”

Tamping down her passions as she’d done ever since that day, Emma replied coolly, “It was a mistake I have no intention of ever making again.”

Almost as if she’d issued a challenge, Jamie drew closer to her—dangerously close. Although he loomed over her in the moonlight, the threat didn’t come from his height or his superior strength, but from the taunting tenderness of his caress as he reached to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, allowing the pad of his thumb to linger against the silky skin of her cheek. “Once you marry the earl, you won’t have to worry about it. You’ll have neither love nor lust to trouble you.”

There could be no denying the truth in his words. Once she became the earl’s bride, she would never again feel her heart double its rhythm when a man walked into a room. Never feel a blush heat her cheeks at the mere mention of his name. Never feel a yearning ache deep inside her in anticipation of his touch.

Like the ache she was feeling at that very moment as she gazed up into the smoldering frost of Jamie Sinclair’s eyes.

Before she could heed the warning her heart was thundering in her ears, his mouth was on hers, moving over her lips with beguiling tenderness. He might look and behave like a Scots barbarian but he kissed like a prince. He gently feathered his lips back and forth over hers, knowing precisely how much pressure to apply to coax her lips apart, to entice her to relax her guard and allow his tongue to slip inside of her.

Emma had shuddered to imagine her first real kiss coming from the earl’s dry, cracked lips. But it was a shudder of another kind that danced over her flesh as she allowed this stranger to lick deep into her mouth. She had never even dreamed of allowing Lysander to take such shocking liberties, not even when her every waking thought had been consumed by him and the future she had believed they would share, filled with chaste kisses and long walks through sunny meadows spent discussing the books they both loved.

There was nothing chaste about this kiss. As Jamie’s
tongue had its wicked way with her, her hands splayed once more against the muscled planes of his smooth, hard chest, her fingertips tingling as they grazed his pebbled nipples. It seemed she hadn’t run far or fast enough after all. The shadows had finally caught up with her. As their seductive darkness enveloped her, she lost the urge to escape altogether, her body succumbing to a delicious languor that made it impossible to do anything but gently rock in the cradle of this man’s arms.

She felt as if she was right back on that narrow ledge, on the verge of taking a fall that might shatter not only her bones, but her heart.

She might have been able to cling to a ragged shred of her self-respect if Jamie hadn’t been the first to pull away. Or if she hadn’t had to fight the shocking urge to tug him back down for another taste of his delectable mouth.

He gazed down at her, his thick, sable lashes veiling eyes nearly as wary as her own. If he had sought to give her a taste of what she’d be missing if she married the earl, then he had succeeded beyond his wildest expectations. And if kissing her was his way of chastising her for her disobedience, then she had underestimated him. He was far more diabolical and dangerous than she had feared.

A ragged sigh shuddered from her lips. She forced herself to hold his gaze, keenly aware that her hands
were still lightly poised against his chest. “Was that my punishment for running away?” she whispered.

“No,” he replied, the grim set of his jaw making him look even more ruthless. “That was my punishment for being fool enough to come after you.”

Before she could try to make sense of his words, he seized her by the wrist and began to haul her away from the bluff.

“Did you forget your chains or your rope?” she asked, her bewilderment giving way to anger as she was forced to take two steps for each one of his long, masterful strides. “I’m sure you’ve pilfered your share of livestock in your day. I’m surprised you don’t try to slap the Sinclair brand on me like some heifer or ewe that’s strayed too far from its pasture.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he growled.

“Have you even thought about the anguish you must be causing my family? Why, my mother and my sisters are probably sick with worry! And what about my father? What if this drives him straight back to the bottle?”

“Your devoted family didn’t mind selling you to the earl. I’m sure they won’t mind if I borrow you for a few days.”

Emma could feel her frustration—and her temper—mounting. “If you don’t let me go, I’ll just run again. I’m not going to let some silly Highland feud destroy my family!”

Jamie stopped so abruptly that she nearly crashed into his back. He swung around to face her, his expression fierce. For a breathless moment, she thought he was going to kiss her again, or do something even worse. But he simply leaned down until his nose nearly touched hers. “You know nothing of Highlanders or their feuds, lass. You may consider it your duty to your family to run, but I consider it my duty to my clan to stop you. You might want to think long and hard before you go charging off into the wilderness again.” He raked his gaze down her with a bold familiarity that made her shiver anew. “Because if you do try to run again, I just might decide your virtue is of more value to me than to the earl.”

Still holding her wrist fast, he resumed his unrelenting pace, leaving her with no choice but to stumble along after him or be dragged. He couldn’t have made his intentions any clearer. The battle lines had been drawn. If Emma decided to cross them, she would do so only at her own peril.

J
AMIE MARCHED ON, FIGHTING
to ignore the prick of his conscience. Emma had left him with little choice but to threaten her with the worst. It was a miracle he’d been able to pluck her off that ledge before it went tumbling into the gorge. If she tried to run again, he might not arrive in time to rescue her
from some clumsy tumble down a ravine or hungry mountain cat. It made his blood run cold to imagine the sight that would have awaited him had he arrived at the bluff a few scant minutes later.

He gave her hand an impatient tug. If she didn’t step up her pace, he’d soon be hauling her dead weight up the mountain and all of his hopes for making it back to camp and stealing a few precious hours of sleep before the sun rose would be dashed.

When she stumbled into his back, nearly knocking them both off balance, he swung around, his exasperation on the verge of exploding into anger. “Damnit, woman, if you don’t pick up your—”

All it took was one look for Jamie to realize Emma hadn’t deliberately been trying to slow their pace. She was swaying on her feet, her eyes half-closed. Even as Jamie watched, her knees began to buckle.

Cursing his own thick-headedness, he lunged forward, catching her before she could fall. When sweeping her up into his arms like a babe earned him nothing more than a slurred murmur of protest, he knew she was indeed spent and not simply trying to vex him by slowing their progress. Her eyes had drifted shut and her freckles were standing out in stark relief against her pallid cheeks. It was clear she couldn’t continue, either on foot or in his arms. He had no choice but to make camp for the night.

He propped her limp form against a fallen log with painstaking care, then set about collecting enough wood to build a fire. Aside from the dense thickets of aspen and evergreen, there was no shelter on these lower slopes of the mountain, not even an abandoned barn or crofter’s hut. He used the steel tinder he always carried with him to coax a tangle of brush into reluctant flame, then turned to find Emma still huddled there against the log with her eyes closed—plainly too cold, miserable and exhausted to do anything else. Her bonny gown was starting to look like the tatters of a cobweb; the soles of her slippers were worn bare in spots, exposing slender feet that were bloody and bruised.