The Passionate One (30 page)

A surprisingly
strong hand grabbed a hank of his hair and jerked his head back. “Damme, witch!
Are you seeking to tear my head off?” he gasped.

“I dunna want it,”
Gunna spat in disgust. “Many more days on yore present course and yer head will
be so far pickled it’ll be useful only as garnish. Ha!” She cackled.

“You’re a witch,
Gunna.”

“Aye, and you’re a
knave. What are ye thinkin’, Mr. Ash? Destroyin’ yerself like this isn’t going
to win the lassie’s good opinion.”

Ash went still.
Gunna had always had uncanny insight into his mind and motives.

“I don’t want her
good opinion.”

He heard Gunna
click her tongue. “Her heart then, lad. And dunna bother to contest that,
’cause I’ll not believe a word of any denial.”

“You’re getting
cursed mawkish in your old age, Gunna.” His ire had spent itself, leaving only
overwhelming weariness. He smiled slightly. “Though you always did insist on
finding the good in a thing. Surprising since you’ve spent so many years in his
employ.”

“He’s not all bad,”
Gunna said and then added with the flat practicality that Ash had so needed
during his early years, “though I’ll allow he’s
mostly
bad.”

He laughed weakly.
Gunna regarded him with something like fondness. “You’ll do, Mr. Ash, if you’ll
just give yerself a fair chance. You’re strong and hard, hot-forged and bright
shining like that dirk ye carry. A passionate man. But there’s no shame in
that.”

Her words
eviscerated his laughter. “God! Look at me; think back on what you know me to
have done. I am
not
‘bright shining’!”

“Aye, ye are, Ash,”
Gunna said softly, and touched her hand to the back of his head.

In reply he moaned.

“You probably think
Raine a saint, too.”

“
Too
?”
Gunna echoed. “I dunna recall naming you ‘saint,’ Ash Merrick. Far from
it. And no I dunna think Mr. Raine a saint. He’s just reckless is all, as
willing to let his emotions sweep him away as you are to keep yours hidden.”

“Raine is a devil.”
He craned his head around and peered up at Gunna. She stood primly at the foot
of his bed, her hands folded neatly at her waist, the ravaged side of her face
composed. “If one pledges one’s life to protecting a devil,” he queried
interestedly, “what does that make one? A demon?”

Gunna ignored him.
“It’s Miss Fia I fret most about. She’s so vulnerable.”

Ash rolled fully
over. “Don’t waste your time worrying about Fia. She’s as self-possessed a
little mannequin as ever I’ve seen. In a contest pitting my little sister
against the world, I’d wager on Fia and give the world a ten-point lead. Carr
dotes on her.”

“Aye,” Gunna
murmured. “She’s yet to see him for what he is. When she does, I fear what it
will do to her.”

“Give her a
newfound appreciation of sin, I suspect.”

Gunna’s lopsided
mouth creased in lines of disapproval. Though it was hard to gauge expression
on that ruined mien, he’d long ago learned to read it in her eyes. He’d hurt
her. She cared for Fia, honestly and deeply. Sometimes, however, a kind heart
saw only what it expected to see.

“You might ask
Rhiannon Russell about perception and reality,” he muttered, flinging his arm
over his eyes.

“Might I?” Gunna
padded closer to the bed. “What did you do to her, Mr. Ash, that has you in
such pain?”

Why bother to deny
it? Gunna would only ignore any protestations to the contrary.

“Oh, destroyed a
few of her illusions,” he said. “You know, seduced her then trumped up some
fantasy about her groom trying to kill her. Abducted her on the eve of her
wedding. Dragged her here.” He shrugged. “That sort of thing.”

“Mr. Ash.”

“Quite the
bright-shining blade, aren’t I, Gunna?” he asked calmly. He was not surprised
when he heard her shuffling step carry her from the room.

“Come, lass.
There’s naught for it but to obey. Carr’s made an edict and you’d best not
cross him,” Gunna said.

“I don’t want to
meet his guests,” Rhiannon said, shaking her head.

It was late
afternoon and Rhiannon had spent the day wandering through the seaward-facing
bedchambers on the third floor. Most of them were unoccupied, draped in cobwebs
and sheets.

Gunna had found her
there, in the oldest part of the castle, a turreted tower that had been
untouched during Carr’s renovations. The walls were bare and the floor
uncovered, but the cushioned window seat was soft and dry and the sunlight
warmed Rhiannon’s skin.

“Ye canna to hide
up here forever, lassie,” Gunna said gently.

“I’m not hiding,”
Rhiannon protested, knowing full well that she was. She could not see Ash
again. Not as she’d last seen him. “Why should I hide?” she added weakly.

“There’s been some idle
gossip about the servants’ hall.”

“Really? And what
do these gossips say?”

“You don’t want to
know it.” Gunna took her hand and tried to pull her up. “Idle blather. I should
know better than to open me mouth and spout such.”

Rhiannon remained
seated. Outside the sun sparkled on the sea. “I should like to know.”

The sunken,
drooping eye exposed by the draping of her veil regarded her cautiously.
Rhiannon had the distinct impression the old Scotswoman was deferring judgment.

“They says in the
servants’ hall,” the old woman finally began, “that Mr. Ash did ruin you and
that’s why ye’ll have naught to do with him and that’s why ye keep here by
yerself. For fear of him.”

Rhiannon drew back
from Gunna’s hold. They all knew. They all knew so much and so little.

“Others, however,”
Gunna continued carefully, “says yore breaking yer heart over him. I don’t mean
to be forward, miss, but I know how it can be. My sainted sister loved a man
who broke her heart. He took from her everything a woman can offer and then he
cast her aside. Is that what Ash Merrick has done to you?”

Rhiannon stared at
her. Gunna’s sister and she shared similar histories, but the man who’d used
Rhiannon had not abandoned her. He’d done worse; he’d stolen her—and her heart.

With a start
Rhiannon realized how much she wanted to confide in Gunna. She missed Edith so
very much. Even though she’d never fretted Edith with her problems, her beloved
foster mother had comforted Rhiannon just with her presence. Rhiannon glanced
at Gunna. It had been long years since she’d confided in anyone. Ash alone had
been the closest to breaching the high walls she’d built to keep others out and
herself safe from her past.

“Did he, dearie?”
Gunna repeated softly.

Perhaps it was
time.

“If by ‘ruin’ you
mean physically force me,” Rhiannon said slowly, “no. He disguised his true
nature, though, and I would not see past his beauty to his treachery. I
betrayed myself.”

Gunna’s deeply
lined forehead furrowed. “You could not... forgive him, of course.”

“He doesn’t
ask
for my forgiveness,” she replied. “He’d do the same again. He told me so.”

“Would
you
?”
Gunna asked. “Would you be deceived a
second time?”

Rhiannon stared at
her hands, fingers lacing and unlacing, unable to answer. Would she? She’d like
to have said “no, of course not,” but her tenacious core of honesty did not
allow equivocation.

The truth was she
was deceived every time she looked at him. She still felt the pull of his
attraction, the overwhelming lure of his masculinity.

“Do you love him?”
A query so hushed it might have been Rhiannon’s own heart asking the question.

“I don’t
know
him. He fascinated me. But he was not what I thought.” Was she telling Gunna or
reminding herself? Gunna tugged on her hand and she stood up.

Leaning on
Rhiannon’s arm, Gunna began tottering toward the steep tower steps. “How’s
that?”

“He’s cruel. And
ruthless. He obtains what he wants and he wanted me. For one night.”

Gunna began a
cautious decent, leading Rhiannon. Her eyes stayed fixed on the stairs but
after a moment she said, “I been here many years, lassie, and I dunna claim to
know Ash Merrick well. He was more man than boy when I came to take care of
Lady Fia, but while I might allow that he’s ruthless, it’s in my mind that
that’s what he’s had to be. If he’s ever wanted something, I have never seen
him admit to it. He’d never give Lord Carr that sort of advantage. Carr already
has too many ways to bend Mr. Ash to his will.”

“Why?” she asked,
trying hard to understand this man who’d so much power over her.

Gunna paused at the
landing. “Carr’s guests talk. They say that Ash Merrick is the best gambler in Scotland, England, or anywhere in between. And you must ken that Mr. Ash knows how to use that blade
he carries. People are afraid of Mr. Ash.

“Now, lassie,
wouldna such a man be useful to whisper a threat into an enemy’s ear? Or issue
a challenge? Or do any bit of a deed in London that Carr cannot because he’s
been made to live here?”

Despite the heat in
the narrow spiraling stairwell, Rhiannon shivered. “I knew Ash was ruthless. I
did not name him evil.”

“Evil?” Gunna’s
lopsided mouth twined. “Mr. Ash isn’t evil. Think on him as a fine Spanish
blade and having about as much choice in where its owner plunges it.”

“Carr.”

“Aye,” Gunna
agreed. “And Carr would not like to lose that particular weapon.”

Yes. She could see
Ash as a weapon. Yesterday, storms blowing in from the ocean had kept her
indoors. She’d been coming down the stairs to the main level searching for some
way to occupy her time when a door had swung open.

Ash had reeled
through it. He wore neither waistcoat nor jacket. His shirt was open halfway
down his chest. A soiled stock fell like a noose about his neck.

He’d lifted his
head, squinting against the weak light. His black hair fell across his
soot-fringed eyes. He stumbled forward and only saved himself from falling by
bracing his hand against the wall.

Then he’d seen her.
His eyes had narrowed as though he had trouble focusing them and she realized
he was drunk, debilitatingly drunk. “You,” he’d said hoarsely. “Get out of
here. Now!”

She’d needed no
further encouragement. She’d fled like a hind from the hounds but she hadn’t
been able to flee the image of him. Yet she found herself deliberately thinking
back over those few moments, just so she could evoke them.

“Best hurry, lass,”
Gunna said.

They’d come to the
landing on the floor where her rooms were located. Impulsively, Gunna smoothed
her hand down Rhiannon’s cheek. Rhiannon flushed, deeply moved. “You’re too
good a listener, Gunna,” she said.

“And you’re too
good a mute,” Gunna murmured. “Now, Carr wants you and that’s nothing to take
lightly. Especially as his valet says he’s been in a vexatious mood these past
few days.”

Rhiannon smiled
ruefully. “I doubt Carr has even noted my absence.”

“I would not count
on that,” Gunna said, opening the door to the stairwell and leading Rhiannon
out into the wide, sunlit corridor. “Carr must fair dote on a beauty like you.
What is it he plans for you, do you think, lassie?”

“I don’t know,”
Rhiannon replied honestly. “I haven’t spoken with him since my arrival.”

“Ha!” Gunna
straightened, her one exposed brow lifting in surprise. “Carr’s not bothered
with you at all?”

“Not a word.”

“There’s a wonder,”
Gunna murmured. “Why is Carr wanting you to be present today of all days?” She
worried the slack portion of her lip with her teeth as she shuffled quickly
toward Rhiannon’s room. “Why would he want you to see Ash Merrick in such a
state? Or maybe it’s Mr. Ash he’s wanting to do the seeing—”

“What are you
talking about?” Rhiannon asked, scurrying to keep up with her.

The single eye
gleamed with inspiration. “Carr might be using you to regain the use of his...
Spanish blade. He knows Mr. Ash is taken with ye.”

Rhiannon’s
curiosity faded. The old woman was a romantic after all, building fairy tales.
Rhiannon would not make that same mistake. “Ash doesn’t love me.”

Gunna spared her a
brusque glance. “Fa! He wouldna lay with you lest he had feelings for ye,
lassie.”

An image of Ash’s
face stark with longing filled Rhiannon’s mind’s eye. Beltaine night. What she
remembered may not have existed at all. She shook her head, willing it away.
“He takes whatever appeals to him.”

Gunna pulled her
along. “He doesn’t bed any of the ladies here. Last night Mrs. Quinton give me
the key to her chambers to slip in Mr. Ash’s hand, and he slipped it right
back,” she said impatiently. “There’s somethin’ in ye calls to him and I’m
thinkin’ he may not like it any more than ye.”