The Highlander (16 page)

"I must make my own way."

He pulled her closer. "Oh, I think not."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You cannot leave on your own. Where would you go? You have no idea who you are. You have no money. You are safe with me. Nay, you will not leave. When I return to Monleigh, you will go with me."

"Jamie, I do not think it would bode well for you to return home with me in tow. It is bound to cause problems between you and Gillian, or have you forgotten all about her and your marriage?"

He turned her toward him. A dark scowl cut into his features as he gripped her securely by her upper arms. "I am the chief, the laird, and the law as it pertains to Monleigh and the Grahams. If I choose to bring you there to live, it is for no one to question. Not even you, lass."

"And Gillian? Is she not entitled to an explanation?"

"I answer to no one. Gillian knows this." "And she accepts it?"

He made a scoffing sound. "Gillian wants to keep her talons hooked into the prey she has snared. She may not like your being there, but she knows there is naught she can do about it. Her ambitions do not run overly high. As long as she can become the Countess Graham, and mistress of Monleigh Castle, it is enough for her."

"There is a mean side to every patronizing disposition," she said, recalling the intrigue, the jealousy and the deceit she witnessed while attending court in France. She decided it must be that way the world over.

"Sophie, lass, all of this is no worry of yours. I have come up against worse and survived. It is nothing I want you to be concerned with, nor do I want to cause a frown between those beautiful blue eyes. Have no fear. I can protect you from the enemy, without or within my keep."

"I do not wish to reside in a place where I evoke hard feelings, and incite malevolence between members of your clan. I do not know how it would feel to know I had no friends, or to know everyone whispered behind my back. Malice can cut deep."

"Malice is a petty concern," he said.

"Yet it hath very long arms."

"What?"

"Nothing. It is something my father once said."

"Do you remember your father?"

A trap yawned at her feet. She had allowed herself to forget. "I remember things about him from time to time. Sometimes, I can even see his face, but I have no recollection of who he was, or his name."

"Was? He is dead, then?"

Her heart hammered. She could feel her palms growing clammy. "I have the feeling he is, but nothing more to go on, if that is what you mean."

She saw the hard-as-granite look in his eyes and knew the conversation was over, for it was apparent in the way he dismissed her.

She saw the muscle work in his jaw, only moments before he said coldly, "We will leave for Monleigh as soon as the storm lifts."

The fire sputtered with a flurry of snow that rode down the chimney on a downdraft. Overhead, the wind rattled the small windows that were set higher in the walls. It was as if the elements themselves were trying to warn her away.

Danger, they said. Danger lies ahead....

She knew she should not go to Monleigh with him. Everything within her being told her this. She would be publicly branded as his mistress the moment she crossed the threshold. There was bound to be strife.

Yet, how could she withstand him? Her only option was to leave, and what chance did she have in this strange land, fighting against the bitterness of the weather, the distrust of the Scots, or the English patrols looking for her?

Well, isn't that what you wanted, she asked herself, to bear his child and be branded a trollop? Remember, Sophie, and stay focused. The more maligned you become, the more your chances of being shunned by Rockingham will multiply.

She said nothing more, but simply watched him as he turned and left the room, the laughter gone from his eyes.

Sophie stood motionless after he left, not certain where she should go, or what she should do—not that there was an abundance of choices.

Her days were mostly filled with lovemaking and idleness, and when that did not consume the entire day, she filled in the empty places with playing the piano, and bouts of reading.

She clasped her hands together. Her fingers were cold as ice, and she realized she was not as good at all of this as she thought. Oh, it had sounded fine when she had laid it all out in her mind, but she was having difficulty with the reality of it.

She wished she could go after Jamie and then she would not feel so overwhelmed, but she knew he would not always be the pillar of strength in her life that she could lean on. At some point, she would have to go on alone, to straighten out her life and find her place in the world.

She must be careful now.

This was not the time to be filled with self-doubt, nor was it the time to allow fear to command her thoughts. She must be strong, for she was the one person who could mastermind her eventual undoing.

She wandered aimlessly around the room, picking up a figurine here, straightening a cushion there, until she realized she was unconsciously committing this place to memory. She understood the need to take in each dear feature she saw, for she knew this place would always be a treasure she carried close to her heart, just as she knew why.

She was young here; she had fallen in love here, and Danegaeld is where she had learned what it meant to give herself completely, body and soul, to another. This house would forever be dear to her, and she took great care to study each beloved detail.

This house is where I became a woman, a hideaway where I gave and received to the fullest extent of passion, she thought. This place is where we came together in the frenzied grip of burning obsession; the place where our hearts were consumed by fire. *

There were so many memories here, and she wandered from room to room recalling them all in vivid detail, trailing her hand over the polished pieces of furniture, and along the mantel and the window casements, where she had passed many moments quietly staring at the world beyond this room.

Each thing she touched helped to set fire to the memories in her mind, so they would be forever imprinted there, as warm and real as they had been when they were first made.

Her last stop was the kitchen, where she had bathed two nights ago in front of the fireplace, and Jamie had joined her there. He made love to her with the two of them squeezed in the copper tub, arms and legs going in every direction.

In the quiet hush of twilight, she caught the faint echo of their laughter as the water had sloshed over the edge and ended up on the floor.

Afterward, he washed her hair, combed it dry before the fire and made love to her again, this time on his plaid.

She walked to the door and, as she left the room, she took one last look and wondered how one said goodbye to memories.

' 'Partir, c 'est mourir un pen,''
she whispered. To leave is to die a little...

It was still bitterly cold five days later when they arrived at Monleigh Castle.

Jamie was in a foul humor, cursing the miserable weather, the temperamental nature of his horse Corrie, and most of all, Sophie's apparent indifference toward him and the way she had remained withdrawn for most of their journey.

His one positive feeling toward her was his admiration for the way she had endured the difficult journey without a single complaint. He still could not understand how a woman could sit a horse for as many hours as she had, and manage to keep her back ramrod stiff.

The ride from Danegadd had been a difficult one; especially when riding at the pace he set for them. Even the horses were close to being worn down. He knew she had been uncomfortable, for they had been pelted with freezing rain for hours. He did not miss the sight of her white knuckles while she held on to the pommel.

It was tedious riding along the narrow track that twisted and turned its way through the high mountain passes, where the snow was banked along the edge and made it difficult to see exactly where the trail gave way to nothing but thin air.

Danger waited at every turn, and yet she never uttered a word, balked orYefused to go anywhere he led.

She was a lass with a stout heart, and he admired her for her strength.

When they came down a steep turn and saw the open moor ahead of them, she said, "I pray this is the last of the mountains. I long to see nothing but flat land."

He laughed. "Then ye willna be living in the Highlands, lass."

He saw the sad look on her face that his words had put there, and he cursed himself for being such an insensitive lout. He wanted to say something to ease her discomfort, but the words seemed out of reach.

At last, she took the initiative.

"You know, we never talked about your family, aside from your telling me you had five brothers and one sister. Tell me more about them."

"Where should I start?"

"Since you are the earl, that means your father is dead. Why not start there?"

"Aye, my father is dead...ambushed by English dragoons. I was studying in Europe and had just left Italy the year before to study in France. I had barely finished my first year in Paris, when word arrived that both my uncle and my father were brought home with the blood of their wounds not yet dried."

"How long ago was that?"

"Ten years ago. I was nineteen."

And I was thirteen, she thought, and my father was still alive. "I wish you could have been spared that grief," she said. "The loss of a parent is a grievous wound that heals slowly. I understand why you hate the English."

He did not say anything, and she continued. "I am sorry you were not here when it happened," she said, "for I know it has added to your pain."

"Aye, I have always wished I had been here. The fact that I was not bothers me still."

He fell into silent contemplation after realizing she was the first, and only, person to ever indicate an understanding of how he felt about being denied this rite of separation. He should have been here.

"Yet it was your father who sent you to France to study, was it not?"

"Aye, when he caught me in the courtyard one day waving his sword around and shouting I would kill all the English single-handed, he tapped me on the noggin and he said, 'If ye learn to use this, then ye willna have so much need for this.' He touched the sword, then took it away from me, and said, 'Only the man with no brain must depend upon brawn.'"

"And you went to Italy."

"No, he sent me to Edinburgh the following year, and when I finished there I was sent to Italy, and then France."

"And your mother?"

"After my father's death, she married the Earl of Lanshire."

"Lanshire...it sounds English." "It is English."

"Your mother is married to an Englishman?" "Aye, only she is no longer my mother." "Oh, Jamie, you cannot feel that way. No

matter what she has done, she is still your mother."

"She has made her bed, now she must lie in it."

"You never see her or communicate with her?"

"None of us ever see her, or have anything to do with her. Her letters go into the fire, unopened."

"How did it happen?"

"After my father's death, she was so broken she said she had to go away for a while. She went to visit her aunt who lived in Kent. She met Lanshire. She never came back."

"Ah, she fell in love."

"The bastard is English."

And you are a Scot, I am French, and love does not respect borders, she thought. "Who are we to question love that can only be seen through the lovers' eyes?"

"Stay out of it. It is not your concern."

Before she could reply, he kicked Corrie and rode ahead, leaving Sophie to follow.

Later, when they were riding together, she said, "I still have some questions about your family."

"Ask them then, as long as they are not about my mother."

"But I want to know why she—"

He cut her off. "I would rather tell you about the rest of my family. My brother Tavish you have met. The other four are Bran, Calum, Niall and Fraser. Arabella is my only sister. There are also various members of the Graham clan, all relations in one way or the other, who reside at Monleigh."