The Heart Queen (41 page)

“I have a name of a smuggler on the coast. I will make a trip down there and see if I can get passage for your brother.”

He filled the tankard and offered it to her. She took a sip, felt the rich warmth flow through her. She’d often had wine, but she had never had brandy, and she found the smooth rich taste to her liking.

“It is a very good brandy,” he said with half smile.

She handed it back to him. She hadn’t needed the warmth provided by the spirits and the fire. His smile did that. As did his touch as his fingers brushed hers.

“I wish I could go with you,” she said longingly.

“I know,” he said. “But it takes far more bravery to stay when you want to go. Your children need you.”

“Aye,” she said. “And I miss them. This is the first time I have been away.” She was silent for a moment. “I would like to see Alex.”

He sighed. “I will try to arrange something.”

She studied him. She was no longer sleepy and his eyes were alert though guarded.

Janet stood, the blanket falling from her, and reached for his hand, then led him to the bed. She sat while he still stood but he kept her fingers clasped in hers.

His hand was warm. That heat coursed through her. She waited for him to speak.

After a moment, he sat next to her and touched her face in a gesture so longing and so tender, that terror struck her. She knew suddenly that she was not going to like what he had to say. Her fingers tightened around his.

She knew she should feel some kind of shame at being clad only in her thin shift. But even when she’d been so angry, she’d never felt awkward with him. She realized then that they unconsciously shared an intimacy, a bond, an attachment that had never dissipated.

She leaned against him. “What is it?”

His fingers tightened around her hand. “Lass, you are so very bonny.” The words hovered in the air as he hesitated, then continued. “I meant everything I told you eight years ago.” Each word, she thought, sounded painful.

“Then why ... ?”

“When I told my uncle I wished to marry you, he explained something I did not know,” he said.

She did not ask the question. He would continue in his own way, and she feared the coming words. She felt the tenseness in his body, the hardening clasp of his fingers against hers.

“I was taken from my mother when I was but a lad,” he said. “She was ... quiet, always rocking in a chair. I canna remember her ever saying a word.”

She was watching him. She saw a muscle flex in his cheek, the granite look of his face, the agony in his eyes.

“I did not miss her because she had never ... really been there,” he said. “My grandfather was a bitter man, and ill. One day, a stranger simply came and took me. I was trained and educated with the son of the Marquis of Braemoor and told I was to be his companion and bodyguard. It was not until much later that I learned that my father had been brother to the marquis.”

A knot of apprehension twisted her stomach.

After a timeless second, he continued. “The day... I asked for your hand, my Uncle told me my mother had been mad and had killed herself after I left. Her mother, too, had been mad. The ... illness tainted the entire line for centuries.” He paused. “I did not know. I swear it,” he said with a vulnerable catch in his voice. “I could have that taint, Janet. I could well end up mad. And I can have no children. I could not do that to you.”

Her fingers tightened around his. His words slashed at her heart because she knew what they had cost him. And yet... something else lightened in her as she suddenly understood what had happened eight years earlier.

She could not speak for a moment. She had not known what to expect. She had expected an explanation of why he had left so abruptly years ago. A youthful indiscretion. The loss of her dowry when her father refused her hand. So many things. But never this.

And now she knew why her father had been so against the match and had whisked her away.

“Why did you not tell me?”

“Your father convinced me not to. He said you were too loyal. He said you would not accept it, that you might never marry if I could not. We ... both wanted you to wed and have bairns of your own.”

“My papa?” She felt the tears well in her eyes. He had known how unhappy she had been. If only he had explained . ..

“He thought he was doing the best thing for you.,..”

“No one knows the best thing for someone else,” she said painfully.

He was silent.

She swallowed through the lump in her throat. He had loved her. He had loved her enough to make her hate him. “Why did you not tell me when you came to Lochaene?”

“I did not think this would happen,” he said. “I thought... I could try to help, then leave. I did not think...”

“That love lingers?” she finished.

“Aye. At least not on your part, after ...”

She touched his face. There was so much pain in his voice. In his eyes. She knew now how much love he had to give. She had tried not to see it, but it had been there all along. With the girls. With the way he looked down at her son. With the restrained but ever so tender caresses he had given to her.

He had so much love in him, and he’d tried so hard to smother it that he’d isolated himself from everyone. Raw pain twisted inside her and she fought a wave of quiet despair. He was telling her this now for a reason. He was telling her that they could not be together. Ever.

But she didn’t want him to see her pain. He’d had too much himself.

“I have children now,” she said quietly. “I do not need more.”

His gaze sharpened. “ ‘Tis not just children, lass. It is the fact that I might well go mad some day. I could not... inflict that on you. I remember my mother, the bewilderment when I touched her....”

There was a finality in his voice.

“We have
now
,” she said.

“Aye,” he said wistfully. “We have now.”

She lifted her head until her lips touched his cheek. His large hand tenderly pushed a curl from her face and his lips touched her forehead, then her eyes, now awash with tears. His hands had never been so gentle as when he cupped her face in them and lifted it toward him as if trying to memorize everything on it.

“I have always loved you, lass,” he said. “I want you to know that.”

Her heart almost broke then.

Her hands pulled him to her and neither for his sake or her own could she deny the deep aching need to be with him, to feel his heart next to hers, to have him join with her, regardless of the consequences.

His arms went around hers and he held her tight, resting his head against hers. “This is so unwise,” he said in a broken voice.

“I do not care,” she whispered. “We will worry about tomorrow later, and I want tonight.”

“What is left of it,” he said wryly, but there was a rough emotion to his voice. His lips caught hers again, and her mouth opened. Swirling eddies of desire enveloped them both, tumbling them along in a flood that eclipsed everyone and everything except each other.

A whisper in the back of her mind warned her. But it was as a willow in the wind, unsubstantial compared to the power of her feelings, to the need that battered her very soul. It was not physical need as much as the need to bring a smile to his face, to light those eyes that were so filled with anguish.

She felt the tension in his body, the barely restrained passion in his hands, which moved seductively now at the small of her back. Their touch sent sensations shooting through her.

Janet leaned back in his arms, seeking a respite from the emotions battering her, emotions that overruled every sensible part of her. More ... intimacy was only going to make it more difficult to lose him, and she knew she
would
lose him. He had made that clear.

He pushed a curl back from her face. “I will not leave my seed in you, Janet.”

She did not care. Whatever will she had, he destroyed with a touch. Her heart thudded so hard she thought he must hear it. She felt his need and any doubts dissolved into immense longing.

His mouth melded to her and her hands tightened on the linen shirt that molded to his body as he leaned toward her. Then her thoughts faded as his kiss deepened, his tongue roaming and stroking and seducing as shudder after shudder flooded her body.

His hands lifted her shift over her body then caressed her breasts, which she felt swell and tingle and ache. It was a courting of her body, and it responded in magical ways she never knew possible. Her husband had taken his rights. He had never prepared her, nor caressed her, nor touched her with any love.

She had never known that a man could make her body sing. Every touch was like a bow across the strings of a fiddle. It hummed and responded to his slightest touch, each stroke of his fingers leading toward a crescendo.

Her fingers unlaced his breeches. He gave her a small smile and he leaned down, pulling off his boots, then shrugged off his breeches. She saw the still raw ugly scar from the bullet wound, and her fingers ran over it. His body shivered slightly as she did so and she drew them back.

“Nay, lass. It is not pain that made me react.” He caught her fingers and brought them to his mouth, nibbling lightly on them. Then he released them and his fingers went to her face, then her hair. “I... dreamed of this,” he said, his voice barely audible.

She leaned against him, feeling the strength beneath the shirt, the hard muscles of his chest. She could even hear the beating of his heart. She had never felt as close to another human being, had never known that this kind of intimacy existed, had never realized the splendor of it.

His hands guided her down on the bed, then stroked her until she felt as if she would explode with need. She looked up at him, and the same tumultuous excitement glittered in his eyes. His mouth moved to her breasts, first one, then the other, his tongue teasing and leaving hot wakes in its path. Then his fingers moved to the most intimate part of her, caressing, arousing until her body was alive with sizzling fires.

He moved next to her. He angled himself above her and she felt his manhood reach out to her, pulsing with need. Her body trembled with expectation, with wanting, and the core of her was a pool of warmth.

When at last he entered her, he did so with a slow magic. He moved deliberately, teasing every sense, going deeper until the sensations became so thunderous, so fiery, so full of splendor that nothing mattered except this one moment in time. And then the universe exploded; pieces of stars floated down to earth....

He left her then, quickly, pulling away and spilling his seed on a blanket. He then stood and went to the window, keeping his eyes averted, but she saw his clenched fists. Dear God, she wanted to go to him. He looked so alone, standing there. And she felt alone now that he had left her.

His self-control told her he would not change his mind.

He turned around. His face was granite again. He came over to her and sat down, taking her hand. The muscle in his cheek rippled.

“I do not care about your mother,” she said.

“I do,” he said. “I knew what it was like as a child. I would not subject your son to that.”

“You do not know anything for sure,” she argued.

“I know enough, lass.”

Her heart screamed at the hopelessness in his eyes, the gathering sense of loss in herself.

He brushed away a curl from her face, just as he had done earlier, but now there was a resignation about him.

“I had best go and let you get some sleep.”

“Stay with me tonight,” she pleaded. She did not care about pride now; about regrets. She only wanted the warmth of him next to her for a few hours. He would leave tomorrow to do something very dangerous on her behalf and that of her brother. She could not let him leave like this.

His lips turned into a half smile. “I am not sure I can keep away from you.”

“I hope not.”

“You are a wanton lass,” he said as his fingers tightened around hers.

“Aye.”

His gaze met hers. Then he nodded.

He went to the candle and blew it out, then lowered himself into the bed beside her. She moved into his arms and he held her there.

Neither moved the rest of the night.

Neil rode hard the next day. He did so because he had much to do. He also hurried because he needed to throw the devil off his back. Neil imagined he sat there, leering at him.

Janet was on her way back to Braemoor, accompanied by two men he’d hired and a fat palomino pony he’d found the morning before they had left Edinburgh.

He had taken great care in selecting the bodyguards. Both were Scotsmen who had come highly recommended by the innkeeper. He had then checked on them through other sources, and made sure they would receive no money until they arrived safely at Braemoor.

He had not wanted to do it, but he’d had no choice. If he had taken Janet back, he would have lost at least four days. From what his informant told him, there would be a delivery of French goods on the coast this week. He had to be there.

And he could not take Janet with him. She had bairns that needed her far more than he, or Alex, did. It had nearly shattered what composure he had left to let her go alone. He had seen the look in her eyes, the knowledge that last night would be the only one they would have. She had stretched up and kissed him, slowly and wistfully and lovingly.

It was a memory he would always have. He carried it with him now.

He dug his heels into his mount.

He knew he had a day of hard riding to reach Alex’s mountain lair and explain what was needed from him. Then two days to the coast. Finally, three more days to ride back to Braemoor. He could only hope that Cumberland would delay any action on Janet until then. He was almost convinced that the small seeds he’d planted might make him hesitate.

If only Alex could accomplish his part.

He stopped only long enough to rest and water his mount, then traveled on, only too aware of his weariness. He’d had little sleep in the past few days and nearly none at all last night. And he had dropped enough information to Cumberland that the duke might well have sent out patrols. Neil knew he had to skirt roads and be cautious.