The Highlander (24 page)

At last, she felt the spiraling coil and knew she would at last find her release, but he lifted his head and watched her as she lay open to him, her breath coming in short pants.

She could not speak. She could not move. She could only lie there, with her legs spread, feeling as though he could read all she was thinking by looking at her eyes, and still he did not touch her.

Her breathing was almost back to normal when he lowered his head. She pulled her legs together, and he began to place kisses along her stomach and down one leg, then up the other.

By the time he reached the juncture of her thighs, she was insane with wanting him again, and she dug her fingers in his hair and pulled him hard against her.

He seemed to lose control after that, kissing her hard and fast until she panted. She was mindless now and completely out of control. He brought her to her shattering release, and again, and then one last time, before he moved up her body. He covered her mouth with a groaning kiss, he drove himself into her, and they went over the edge together.

Exhausted, she fell asleep in his arms, surrounded by his presence, and the scent of their lovemaking.

She had no knowledge of how long she slept, but when she awoke, she saw he was dressed and sitting on the bed beside her, one hand ca-
Kang
her breast until the nipple was hard and protruding.

He lowered his head and tasted her, swirling and drawing her into his mouth.

Suddenly he stopped and she saw his eyes were already dilated, and heavy with desire. His hand slid slowly over her belly, and lower, until she felt her legs open to him.

"It is never enough, is it? This yearning for ye...even when I take ye again and again, I know it will never be enough."

She said nothing, but lay there watching him. He studied her face for a moment, leaned forward and kissed her gently on the mouth. "Do not ever tell me that you don't want me, lass. I will not tolerate another lie."

_Sixteen

When my love swears that she is made of truth,

I do believe her, though I know she lies. —William Shakespeare (1564-1616), English poet and playwright. Sonnet 138

(1609)

Jamie lay abed, enduring another wakeful night. He longed for the sweet spirit of sleep that sheltered a man like a cloak, but neither poppy nor mandragora, nor any other somniferous calmative would usher him into the twilight of drowsy sleep.

For a few hours' slumber he would gladly entertain the supernatural soliciting of battalions of phantoms, or the terrors of nightmares galore. Yet the repose of the night would not come to him to set his soul at rest.

It seemed eons ago that he had gone to Sophie's room to settle things between them, so they could move beyond suspicion and distrust.

He began to doubt he would ever get enough of her if she slept in his bed and he took her each night for the rest of his life. He realized now that the first time he saw her something in him branded her as his. He did not realize it at the time, of course, and now that he had, things were much more complicated.

He was no longer plagued by the thought that she might be an English spy, but neither did he trust her completely. He knew she still withheld information from him and that she remembered far more than she admitted.

Question was, how could he convince her of his feelings for her—at least enough to make her want to tell him the truth?

He hated to be the one to doubt her, but too many things had happened, and too many slips on her part had reinforced the belief that she suffered no loss of memory, except the loss she imposed upon herself because it was easier than telling the truth.

Unable to fathom what she could be hiding, he hoped she would come to care for him suf-ficientiy so that she would, of her own accord, trust him and reveal what secrets she kept. Did she not understand that by refusing to

confide in him she was forcing him to play the game of seduce and conquer? Could she not see that there was a tender side of him, one capable of loving her the way she wanted, and deserved, to be loved? Was she unable to recognize a heart able to love one woman for all time, or a man who would court her until the day he died?

He had never wooed a woman and he knew naught about it, but for her he was willing to learn that, and all the other silly little things a woman needed from her mate.

Time was unbalanced. The moon was out of phase. His heart melted and emotions poured out of him like water. No matter how much he desired her or cared for her, he could not allow her lies and deception to continue indefinitely.

This was the wedge driven between them, the block that that kept them apart. He had declared that he would tolerate no lies, and yet she had done the opposite and lied to him three times.

He could not allow her to lie to him again. If she did, it would be over.

Trapped in a labyrinth, he stood between the icy shadows of inescapable duty and fealty to his clan. He tried to cope with the paradox of being the Earl of Monleigh and Chief of Clan Graham, and honoring the obligation and responsibility he owed the woman he loved.

In the quietness of thought, the weight of loyalty and desire settled over him. The leader in him clamored for a solution, and the man within searched for one as simple as the rod of reproof to an errant child.

Duty came before devotion, and he knew his task would not be an easy one.

His heart must be of marble, impartial and pitiless. If she lied once more, God help him, he would have to end it. It would tear his heart to tatters to send her from him. He did not want to lose her, but he would have to let her go.

Sleep...hypnotic and mesmeric come to me and, on the morrow, I will deal with the sweeping out of shadows.

In the fog-shrouded mist of early morning Jamie went hunting, accompanied by a few men and his brothers Bran and Fraser. They rode out of the castle hoping to stalk a red deer somewhere in the desolate hills.

Infinitely silent, infinitely gray, the Highlands were melancholy today, and Jamie felt the saturated weight of them. There were too many mountains, too many streams, too many questions from his brothers, and too many decisions awaiting his return.

The fog was gone by the time they killed two stags. Jamie sent some of the men to carry one stag to the village, to give to the clansmen there. The rest of his clansmen carried the other one back to Monleigh Castle.

"Why did you send the men on with the stag?" Fraser asked, since it was rare for Jamie to do this, because he always preferred to ride with his men.

"I wanted to talk to the two of you." Bran and Fraser exchanged looks. "Aye," Bran said. "I have been wondering when you would get around to realizing ye are going to have to address yer problem with the lasses. You canna court two women at the same time and have any peace of mind." "I have figured that out for myself." "Weel then, what will ye be doing about it?" Fraser asked.

"I will speak with Gillian." Fraser nodded. "You intend to cry off?" "I hope to give her the opportunity to end things between us...before it gets to that point."

"And if she doesna choose to do so?" Fraser asked.

"Then I will end it."

"You have no official betrothal agreement between you," Bran said, "so ye dinna have to
fash yerself over the doing of it. I ken Gillian already knows where yer heart lies."

"Aye, there is no' a betrothal, but I ken the right thing to do is to tell her I have no intention of marrying her. Once that is said, I will offer her my apologies."

Bran snorted at that. "Och! Yer apologies, is it? Ye can save yer breath, brother. She will no' be wanting yer apologies. Tis yer hide she will be after."

Jamie nodded. "Aye, I understand that, and I am willing to let her extract her pound of flesh... but no more.''

' 'Are you going to tell her of your intentions to marry Sophie?" Fraser asked.

Jamie grimaced. "That would be premature since I have not, as yet, decided what to do about Sophie."

"Gillian won't believe that," Bran said.

Fraser agreed. "Gillian only believes what she wants to believe."

"Not everything hangs upon Gillian," Jamie replied. "What she chooses to believe or disbelieve is not my main concern."

Fraser's face was grim. "Then I would sleep with one eye open from now on, if I were you. She will be angry enough to cut your heart out and eat it for breakfast."

Bran laughed and spurred his horse. As he rode off, he called back over his shoulder. "I will pray for you, brother."

"A prayer wouldn't be a bad idea," Fraser agreed. "Och, I wouldn't want to be wearing yer trews."

"Aye, they are becoming a wee bit tight," Jamie said, and the two of them spurred their horses and rode at a gallop to catch up with Bran.

Jamie was never one to let something that needed to be done hang over his head, so he rode over to Gillian's home trie next afternoon.

"I was thinking bad thoughts about you and now you are here," she said, when she walked into the room and saw him waiting for her.

"Yes, I am here. I want to talk to you."

She ignored that. "You dinna come when I want to see you, and then you show up when I dinna expect it. No wonder I am always in a state of confusion when it comes to you." She sat down and indicated a chair for him. "Do sit down, Jamie. We can be civil to each other, at least."

He nodded and sat down.

"Would you care for something to drink?"

"No."

Something about the way her eyes narrowed when she looked at him told Jamie she had an idea why he was here. "This isn't a social call, is it?"

"No, it isn't."

"I
thought not." She smoothed her skirts and shifted her position in the chair. "So, what bad news have you brought me? Let me see if I can guess. You want to cry off and end our betrothal."

' 'We were never officially betrothed, Gillian, and you know that."

"A mere technicality, but if you push the point..."

"There was never anything legal drawn up if you recall," he said.

"No, but God's blood, Jamie, everyone has known we would marry since we were children. Our families have never considered anything else."

"I know. It is as if everyone had everything all arranged for us without ever considering how we felt about it."

"I never had a problem with it. You were always the one who—"

"I accept the blame," he said. "The fault is mine."

"Yes, it is all yours. You should have told me before now. Why didn't you?"

' 'I never had any real plans to marry anyone, and then after I became the earl it was apparent that marriage was expected of me. I let things go, hoping that I might come to love you... something beyond my feelings for you as a childhood friend. Later, when those feelings did not emerge, I thought that perhaps we could marry in order to provide me with an heir, and then we would each be free to indulge ourselves elsewhere. Before long that also lost its appeal."

"I would have agreed to that. You know I would. It is still not too" late."

"Gillian, I dinna think ye love me any more than I love you. Like me, it has been a part of your life for so long you simply let it carry you along, to see where it would all end up. We are not suited. You deserve more. And so do I."

"Like your French paramour?"

"I had hoped we could handle this betwixt ourselves without malice and without casting stones about. However, if you choose anger and vindictiveness I will warn ye that I will not tolerate it.

"So, you warn me, and that is it?" "Aye, that is it, at least for now. You will need time to settle into all of this. If you decide to accept it in a manner becoming a lady then I am proud to continue to call you my friend, and the gates of Monleigh will always be open to you."

"And if I do not?"

He stood. "I would not choose that option if I were you."

"Get out!" she screamed.

"As you wish," he said, and turned away.

"You have ruined my life, you bastard. It may take me a long time, but I will find a way to make you sorry."

Arabella was on her way to her chamber when she passed by Jamie's study and heard the rattle and shuffling of papers, followed by loud bellowing. "God's eyeballs! How can anyone be expected to handle things by correspondence, when they canna read it? I seem to be the only man in the Highlands with a legible hand."

"Do you want me to try?"

Arabella recognized Niall's voice.

"Aye," Jamie said, "see if you can decipher that chicken scratching. I have work to do. I do not have time to waste on that."

"I will work on it and bring it back when I finish," Niall said.

Jamie grunted but said nothing more.

Niall almost ran into Arabella when he left. "I wouldn't go in there just yet, if I were you," he whispered.

"He will be nice to me," Arabella said.

"You are a saucy wench today. Want to help me with this?'' He thumped the papers under his arm.

She glanced down at the stack of papers. "No, I don't think so. That sort of thing gives me a headache."

"Why not? You should be good at this. You speak three languages."

"And I know how to say no in all of them. Enjoy your day," she said, and rose up on her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek.

Although the door was still open, she knocked lightly and stepped into the room. "I'm not bothering you, am I?"

Jamie looked up, gave her a half smile and jabbed the quill into the inkstand. "Today, everyone is bothering me, and I can tell you that there is nothing more irritating than to find yourself feeling generally angry at the world without having anyone or any specific cause to blame it on."

She laughed. "Then I shall try to cheer you up."

"Just seeing you here brings me cheer. Sit down and I will try to hold back my tendency to grumble."