The Intended (26 page)

Her eyes spilling over with tears, Mary stood
gaping at her cousin.

“I love him,” she whispered before turning
and running from the room.

As the door slammed shut, Jaime sank to her
knees beside the table. The noisy tears that Mary was shedding en
route to their bedchamber bore little resemblance to the silent
sobs that were wracking the frame of Jaime Macpherson. Burying her
face in her hands, Jaime finally unleashed the pent-up power of her
sorrow. Tears fell onto her dress as she huddled in that music
room.

Jaime turned her eyes toward the windows. The
rain continued to beat mercilessly against the glass, and her heart
began to sink under a crushing weight of misery, the like of which
she had never before known.

As he pulled open the window, the wind and
rain abated momentarily, and the Highlander stepped silently into
the room.

She neither raised her head nor moved, but
remained as she was—huddled on her knees with her back to him.
Jaime continued to cry; he could see her shoulders hunched forward
and quaking a bit. Without taking his eyes from her, Malcolm
reached behind him and pulled the window shut. The wind and the
rain picked up again, and the sound of the drops beating against
the diamond-shaped panes, along with the dropping of the latch
penetrated her solitude, and her head snapped around to face
him.

Her look of surprise quickly gave way to
relief and—dare he even think it!—happiness as recognition set in.
But there was also something extremely vulnerable in her attitude,
in her face. He took a step in her direction and then stopped as
Jaime came quickly to her feet and glanced nervously at the music
room door. Though he had certainly given her every reason to fear
him, the last thing Malcolm wanted now was for Jaime to run away
from him.

With a quick look over her shoulder, Jaime
crossed the room to the door. Malcolm nearly called out to her, but
hesitated, suddenly uncertain about what to say. He had been
waiting outside the window, wishing Mary Howard out that very door,
but he knew that if Jaime truly wanted to go, there was nothing he
could say that could stop her.

She reached the door in a moment, and then
paused. Jaime dropped the latchbar in place as Malcolm felt a sense
of relief wash over him. She wasn’t running from him. She wasn’t
going for aid. She wasn’t afraid of being alone with him. He
watched as she turned around and rested her back against the
door.

“I had to see you, Jaime,” he said
finally.

Her voice was husky from crying. “You came
down the wall—you could have continued on into the night. You could
have escaped.” She quickly wiped away the streaks of tears from her
face.

Malcolm knew the truth would sound hollow and
false after what he had done to her, so he held his tongue. How
could he admit that for him, there was no leaving this place,
unless she left with him. “How far would I get on a night such as
this.”

“True,” she whispered. “And with no one to
help you to get onto the north road.”

The feel of the stiff parchment inside his
boot reminded him of those who would help him, but this was not the
time to bring that up. In truth, he’d only brought the letter in
the event that she would reject his presence outright. He certainly
didn’t want her to think that the letter had anything to do with
why he’d climbed down the wall to see her.

“Are you unwell?” he asked quietly, looking
at the dark circles under her eyes.

She shook her head, clearly unenthusiastic
about dwelling on herself. For the first time, she lifted her eyes
to his wet hair and drenched clothes, and whispered her concern.
“You are soaking wet.”

Malcolm looked down at the pool of water
around his boots and pulled the wet linen of his shirt away from
his skin. He grinned sheepishly. “‘There’s a wee bit of fog out
there. Made the climbing a bit of an adventure, as well.”

“You’ve...you’ve been outside for a time,
then,” she said, looking down at her tightly clasped hands.

The Highlander could see in her face that she
was trying to remember all that had occurred, all that he might
have heard of the earlier conversation between her and Mary.

“Aye, a lovely night for a stroll...but for
the howling of the wind and the rain, and the occasional clap of
thunder to rattle about in a man’s head. Though ‘tis a poor excuse
for the real storms we have in the isles, wouldn’t you agree,
Jaime?” His words were a lie, but he hoped they would ease her
discomfort. “But I must admit, I was thankful when at last I saw
that silly cousin of yours departing from the room.”

The Highlander could feel her gaze upon him
as he moved in toward the crackling fire in the hearth. He turned
his head as she pushed away from the door and took a couple of
steps toward him.

“I’m sorry,” Jaime said, casting about the
room for something to offer him. “I have neither wine...nor
anything else to offer you.”

The civility in her tone, Malcolm was quite
certain, would tear his heart out. He wished she would be more
angry—curse him and revile him. He would have felt better about
treatment such as that.

“I need nothing more, lass, than what is in
this room already. I only came down that wall with the hope of
seeing you.”

Jaime stiffened slightly as she moved toward
the fireplace, but Malcolm could see no other response to his
words. Wordlessly, she crouched before the fire and began to add
pieces of wood to the warming blaze.

Malcolm admired the flickering glow of the
rising flames on her pale profile. Standing only a couple of steps
away, he fought the urge to reach down and pull her into his arms.
To hold her until she granted the forgiveness he sought. In the
light of the fire, Jaime appeared so beautiful, and yet so
distant.

She held her hand out to feel the heat. Her
eyes were focused on the crackling wood.

“I don’t know what you want, but I am
finished with what I was doing here.” Jaime gestured vaguely toward
the pile of instruments by the door as she straightened up. “So I
should be leaving, as you should as well, before you’re caught
here. Of course, you are welcome to stay as long as you wish. Just
unbar the door, if you please, before you take your leave.” Jaime
found herself talking aimlessly, so she stopped and eyed the
door.

Malcolm’s hand on her elbow stopped her from
moving away.

“Don’t go, lass,” he said gently. Her gaze
was locked on his fingers where they rested on the sleeve of her
dress. “I didn’t risk breaking my neck, Jaime, to visit an empty
music room.”

The quick flash of her eyes, the sudden blush
on her cheeks, reminded the Highlander that Jaime just might think
he’d stolen away for another moment like the one they’d shared two
nights earlier. He shook his head to the unasked question.

“Do you think, Jaime, that we might just stay
here and talk?” Malcolm suggested, trying to ease her obvious
concern. “It seems that we’ve not had a chance to spend even a
moment together without...without something getting in the
way.”

Jaime hesitated—silent and unsure. There were
so many things that she wished to say—a moment such as this was
exactly what she had hoped for when she had scaled the walls to his
room. But now...something in his soft words confused her. She
wanted to trust this offer of peace. She wanted desperately to be
near him.

“Stay, lass.”

She saw the way his hand dropped from her
arm, reluctantly, slowly. She knew he had the power to force her,
the ability to charm her. She knew he could do whatever he wished
with her. But instead, he was allowing her to decide.

His soft voice struck at the heart of her
concerns. “About what happened between us that other night...”

“Don’t!” Her gaze snapped up to his face. She
couldn’t do this. Her face burned with embarrassment at the mere
mention of her foolishness. “I’ll stay, but only so long as...”

Her words trailed off, but his slow and
solemn nod told her that he understood—he would not broach that
subject. At least, not now.

She watched him glance about the room and
then stride over to two heavy carved chairs sitting against one
wall. She watched his powerful shoulders, the confident steps as he
carried the chairs back to her with ease. He’d climbed down the
palace wall in the pouring rain as if it required no more effort
than walking in a garden. And his face showed no fear. She wondered
at his lack of concern over the possibility of being discovered in
this room. But then, perhaps she herself needed to be reminded that
in climbing up to his chamber, she had acted as foolishly herself.
In spite of herself, she smiled at the thought that perhaps there
was something in their childhood so far to the north that had
taught them to defy such dangers.

“I have an idea,” he said with an easy smile.
“Shall we pretend we are at Dunvegan Castle, m’lady?”

She glanced at Malcolm’s handsome face as he
held one of the chairs for her to sit in. He certainly had the
ability to charm her, she thought as she began to sit.

“Nay!” she burst out, leaping out of the
chair again. “What are we doing? Malcolm, you’ll be put in chains
if you’re discovered here!”

“Don’t even think it, lass!” he scoffed,
patting the chair. “Not a soul is up and about but us. Who but two
hardy Highlanders would be roaming about on such a night.”

“I know that Surrey and Lady Frances have
retired.”

“True enough.” Malcolm smiled. “Sit down,
Jaime, and let us imagine ourselves at Dunvegan, with the seabirds
wheeling about in a dance overhead, and the gray seals barking and
courting in the loch. ‘Tis early summer there, too, my dove, and
the season for wooing is hard upon the happy beasts. Here we sit in
the Great Hall of Dunvegan.”

“Perhaps it would be safer if we are at
Benmore,” she answered, keeping an eye on him and cautiously taking
her seat. Dunvegan Castle, ancient fortress of the MacLeod clan,
stood on a rock overlooking sparkling blue waters and guarding the
western reaches of the Isle of Skye. But Dunvegan was Malcolm’s
castle—a place that Jaime would never go unless she were
accompanied by her family. A place that now held memories for her
of humiliation and sadness. On the other hand, Benmore Castle,
sitting high above the River Spey, had been the Macpherson clan’s
stronghold for centuries. Jaime had been raised there. It was the
place where she had first set eyes on Malcolm MacLeod.

“Nay, lass. Not Benmore,” the Highlander
replied, shaking his head as he sat down, drawing the other chair
close. “I am afraid that cannot be so.”

“And why not, I’d like to know?”

“The silence,” he whispered, looking about
the room. “Have you
ever
known Benmore Castle to be so
silent and still?”

She cocked her head as a smile stole across
her face. What Malcolm said was true. There wasn’t a sound.
“Never!” she answered. “Benmore is a far noisier place than
Kenninghall.”

“Have you ever come across a room at Benmore
so empty?”

There always seemed to be—at any time, day or
night—a dozen or so children running through the friendly interiors
of Benmore Castle. Perhaps this had been the reason why she had
originally opened the music room to the younger, lower-born
students. She looked about the small chamber. Active or silent, the
room was her favorite place of refuge in this palace.

But Malcolm was right. It was empty. And for
the first time, she realized that it wasn’t the charm of the room
or its warmth that drew her here, but its solitude. It was a place
where she could be alone—it was a workroom, a place of instruction.
A place for her to practice her music and dream of happiness.

“Never,” she whispered, her eyes drawn to
his. “Nay, Malcolm. I cannot imagine Benmore like this.”

“Then ‘tis settled,” he answered. “Close your
eyes a moment, and...here we are in Dunvegan Castle.”

Jaime closed her eyes and conjured a vision
of the MacLeod stronghold. In her mind’s eye, she could see clearly
the thick stone walls, the towers and chambers added over the
centuries. She thought of the last time she had sailed into Loch
Dunvegan, but then she stopped, quickly pushing from her mind the
recollections of that last visit. That day, as she’d gazed on the
great structure looming over the water, she had thought that she
was about to become the wife of the laird of the MacLeods. That
day, he had wed another, and Jaime forced the thought from her
consciousness.

“In some ways, though,” Malcolm continued
after a pause. “I think Dunvegan Castle may be a far more dreadful
place than here, even. You’re correct, Jaime. I don’t think...”

“It isn’t,” she interrupted quietly, seeing
the light gray walls rising above her. “The Isle of Skye is wild
and beautiful from the crags and peaks of the Cuillens to the
breakers off Rubha Hunish. Truly, Malcolm, you must be a barbarian
to think it dreadful.”

“Ah, but it is, lass,” he pressed, affably
baiting her. “Dreadful, indeed. Why, don’t you remember the way the
heavy mists can settle in for days, only to break out in the end
with a sky so blue it’ll hurt your eyes?

She could almost feel the gentle brush of the
sea breeze against her face. “Aye, I can see your point.

“I knew you would agree.” He shook his head.
“You certainly cannot have forgotten those contemptible knaves who
inhabit the isles—with their rude tongues and unmannerly ways?”

“Aye, the whisper of their heavenly accent
comes to me even as you speak,” she answered, looking at him with
an air of mild accusation. “And to walk down the paths of Skye only
to have every crofter, fisherman, and herding lass smile with
pleasure at the sight of you is a disconcerting thing, indeed. Aye,
and to think—from the time of the Great Flood, these folk have
survived in the face of it all—thrived, even, against the evils of
both man and nature. There’s something very wrong in their being so
good-natured.”