The Perfect Stranger (29 page)

He took his blankets over to her and thrust them gruffly at her.

She turned on him like a cornered vixen. “What you want? Because I tell you now I not fack with you! You try, and I kill you!”

Mac darted a glance at where Faith and Nick were and said in a low, angry voice, “Shut your trap, girl, I never bloody well asked you, and in any case, we don’t use that word here!”

“What word. Fack? You do, too. English soldiers use word all the time, want all girls do it with them—and French soldiers, too, but I not do it with them. I not fack for no man!”

He clamped a hand over her mouth. “Hush up, I said! We don’t use that word, and if you keep saying it, I’ll throttle ye!”

He held her till she gave a sulky nod, then released her. “What word I can use then? What word Scotsmen use?”

“You don’t need a word for it!”

She made a scornful sound. “I need when every man I meet want me to f—” She made a loud blowing noise instead.

A hunted expression on his face, Mac thought for a moment. “Um…diddling. We say diddling.”

She considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, I not diddle with you, English, so do not be thinking I will!”

“Will ye get it through your skull I am no’ English! My name is McTavish, woman.”

“How do you do, Tavish. I am Estrellita. And I diddle with no man. Understand that, and we can be friends!”

“God save me!”

“I hope he does,” she said politely. “Now why you try to drag me away if you not try to diddle me?”

Mac gave a long-suffering groan and said, “I brought you blankets! The night is mild, but it will be cold on the earth.”

She sniffed. “Do you think I not know what is like to sleep on the ground? I no some delicate flower!”

“No, I ken well ye’re a bloody wee thorn thicket!”

Faith was watching the exchange tensely, ready, Nick thought, to jump up and defend the gypsy girl from Mac’s apparent hostility.

“Don’t worry,” Nick whispered in her ear. “She will be all right. She has the look of a girl well used to battle.”

“Yes,” Faith whispered back. “But it is very hard when one has to battle alone.”

McTavish towered over the girl, looking like a great, angry bear. “Now, I dinna care whether you’ve slept up a tree or down a pixie hole, tonight ye’re going to use these blankets!”

“They are your blankets,” she retorted.

“Aye, ye stubborn wench, but I’m on watch! I’ll not be needing blankets! Besides, I have ma greatcoat! Now get into them. If I find ye’re not using them when I come off watch, ye’ll not relish the consequences! I’ll no’ be trying tae diddle ye, but I’ll no’ promise not to spank ye!”

With that threat, he tossed the blankets to Estrellita and stomped off to a place where he could see the camp and also up the road.

Estrellita watched him go. She stirred the blankets with a disdainful toe, glanced again at the large man standing like a rock at the edge of the camp, and tossed her hair back defiantly. With reluctance in every movement, she picked up the blankets and shook them out fastidiously. She folded one and left it in a neat pile where Mac would be sure to see it, then wrapped the other one around her and curled up on the ground. Beowulf padded across the clearing and stood staring at her.

Faith wondered if she should warn the girl that the hideous hairy beast hated women, but even as she opened her mouth to speak, the girl grabbed a handful of the dog’s fur and pulled the huge beast down next to her. Faith gasped, but the dog just heaved a great sigh and closed its eyes. Amazing!

Faith relaxed after Mac stomped away. She watched Estrellita settle down for the night and whispered to Nick, “It’s a shame those two dislike each other so much. It’s going to make the journey rather awkward for us all.”

Nick wrapped an arm around her and drew her toward the bed he’d prepared. “On the contrary, my innocent, it’s going to make the remainder of the journey extremely entertaining.”

She gave him a puzzled look but did not pursue the question. He’d made up one sleeping space for both of them. She raised an eyebrow, just to tease, but he pokered up and explained in his officer’s voice, “As Mac said, it might be fine and mild now, but it will get cold later on. It is only sensible to sleep together. For warmth.”

“Yes, of course, for warmth,” Faith agreed, a small bubble of happiness rising inside her. It was not simply desire he felt for her. There was no question of marital congress here, but he still wanted to sleep with her and hold her through the night.

She sat down on the blankets to remove her boots and outer clothes, and Nicholas sat down beside her to do likewise. He had just pulled off his boots when she turned to him and kissed him impulsively. “Thank you for the music tonight. It was just what I needed after the ugliness in that village. It made everything beautiful again.”

He cupped her chin and turned her face gently to the moonlight. “I’m glad.” He lifted a corner of the blanket. “Now, slide in. You look exhausted, Mrs. Blacklock.”

She slipped into the cocoon of blankets he’d made, and he followed. Their bodies curved together so naturally Faith felt a small jolt of pure contentment. This was the way she wanted to sleep for the rest of her life; well—not on the ground—but curved together like two halves of a whole, with Nicholas Blacklock wrapped around her.

Realizing the direction of her thoughts, she resolutely pushed them out of her mind. Worrying couldn’t help the future; it only poisoned the present. She had promised to live in the moment, and she would.

Right now she lay beneath a velvet dark sky scattered with a million bright stars, with a warm fire crackling gently nearby. And best of all, she had the warmth and strength of her husband’s arms around her. Why worry about nights of the future when she could enjoy what she had now?

She heaved a big sigh.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing. Just that I must thank you for this…this…”

Oh God, here it comes, Nick thought. The declaration.

“This whole notion of living in the moment, looking neither forward nor back,” she said. “You cannot imagine what a difference it has made to me.”

Nick felt his tension subside. With relief, he decided. “What sort of a difference?” he asked cautiously.

“Look at those stars. Have you ever seen so many stars, and sparkling so bright. A night so velvet and peaceful? Just to be here, safe and warm and well-fed—it’s enough for the moment, isn’t it? Enough for a moment of perfect happiness.” She sighed again. “In fact, a whole string of perfectly happy moments.”

Nick didn’t reply; he couldn’t. There was a lump in his throat. She never failed to surprise him, this wife of his. Not many gently bred young ladies would slide happily into a makeshift bed on the hard ground, let alone with a smile of pure delight. And then lie on the cold, lumpy ground and rapturize about how perfect it was.

She went on, “I used to worry so much, before you.” She half turned her head and nuzzled his bristly jaw with unconscious sensuality. “Before you taught me about living in the moment, I mean. I used to brood about the past and plan exhaustively for the future. I used to dwell in that imaginary future.” She paused for a moment, thinking. “That was why I fell so easily for Felix, I think…”

He waited. He wanted to know what appeal the bastard had. For a moment it seemed as though she wouldn’t continue, so he squeezed her gently and said, “Go on.”

“My twin and I dreamed of our future husbands and future lives, and they were filled with music and laughter and sunshine and love and happiness—all the things we’d never had as children.”

She grimaced. “You have no idea how I yearned for that future. It was the summit of all my dreams, to find a love like Mama and Papa had, like my sisters Prudence and Charity have. Even my twin, Hope, found love with such an unexpected man…I’ve never seen her so happy.” She was silent a moment. Nick thought there were probably tears in her eyes.

Nick didn’t know much about dreams these days. He knew how easily dreams could be crushed. He wished things could be different for her, but he had a terrible conviction that his interference was only going to make it worse for her in the end. He should have sent her back to England at the start. His arms tightened around her. He would send her back, only not just yet.

He’d thought he could face this trip alone. He was used to being alone, managing alone…but now…since Faith came into his life…He buried his face in her hair.

“And when Felix came along, he was the most brilliant musician I’d ever heard, and so very handsome and, well, I never really looked past that. I simply imagined him into the role. I didn’t know the difference between reality and dreams.”

She leaned back against him and sighed again. “And now I know. This is reality…”

Nick felt bleak. He wished he could give her that life—what had she said?—filled with music and laughter and sunshine and love and happiness. But it was not possible. Not for them. She had no part in what lay ahead for him, and Nick vowed to keep it that way.

“And reality is studded with small, perfect moments, if you let yourself see them.” She turned in his arms and gazed into his eyes. “It’s a priceless gift you’ve given me, Nicholas Blacklock, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Thanks to you, I know that whatever the future brings, my life need never be as cheerless and unhappy again.”

Nick couldn’t speak. Nor could he bear to meet the tender honesty of her gaze. He pulled her against him and kissed her, seeking oblivion from the turmoil her words had caused in him.

Nick woke at sunrise to find the gypsy girl standing over him, hands on hips.

“It is you!” she accused him in a belligerent voice.

Nick sat up. “Well, who else would it be?” he said irritably.

“You are The One!”

“What one?” He scratched his head. The woman made no sense. He wished she would go away. Beside him, Faith was stirring, sleepy and beautiful.

“The one who come to take the life of The Old One.”

“What old one?”

“The Old One—my great-grandmother.”

Nick stared at her. “You think I’ve come to kill your great-grandmother? What a load of rubbish!”

“It is true. I know it here!” And she thumped a fist between her breasts, over her heart.

Nick snapped, “Look, you foolish chit, I’ve never harmed a woman in my life, and if you think I’m going to start now—and on an old lady—well, all I can say is, you’ve got rats in your attic!”

“Rats in…?” Puzzled, she turned to Mac for enlightenment. He tapped his temple, and she turned back furiously to Nick. “I not crazy. You are The One. I think it last night when I see your eyes cold and gray as stone, but last night I dream all again, just as it was foretold.”

“Foretold by whom?”

“By The Old One. ‘Three foreigners will come; the first, his blood in the earth at my feet, the second a man of fire, blood of my blood, and the third with eyes of ice, whose blood will take my life,’ she say.” She glanced significantly at Stevens, at Mac, and at Nick. Three foreigners, and one, a man of fire. She nodded at Mac’s red hair and beard.

“What nonsense!” Nick declared. “Prophesies before breakfast! Enough to give anyone indigestion. Look, you foolish girl, I’m not going to hurt your old granny, and you can see for yourself Mac is not made of fire—though I admit, with that red beard of his, he could be confused with a burning bush!”

Estrellita said in a low, throbbing voice, “I warn you now,
Capitaine
, I not let you kill The Old One.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Take her away, Mac, before I lose my temper.”

Mac took Estrellita by the arm and marched her away, still muttering and casting malevolent glances toward Nick.

Nick lay back and groaned. Just the traveling companion they needed, a demented gypsy girl. As if he didn’t have complications enough on this trip.

He glanced at his sleepy complication, planted a light kiss on her nape, and rolled out of bed. He gathered a few things and headed for the stream. A swim was what he needed to shake the irritability out of his system.

Chapter Twelve

But at my back I always hear

Time’s winged chariot hurrying near.

A
NDREW
M
ARVELL

T
HE COFFEE WAS BREWING BY THE TIME
N
ICHOLAS RETURNED
from the stream. Seeing him return, barefoot and only half-dressed, Faith regretted not following him to the stream. He wore just his breeches and shirt, which was still unbuttoned, and both clung to every muscle, as if he’d pulled them on over a damp body. His hair was wet, and his chin was scraped clean of whiskers. She had a vision of him standing naked in the stream, shaving. Her own personal Greek god.

She hurried to greet him, her “wifely duty” to perform.

“Good morning, Mr. Blacklock.” She rose on tiptoe, put her arms around his neck, and kissed his firm lips. He wrapped his one free arm around her waist and kissed her back. His skin was cold from the stream, and he smelled of soap and Nicholas.

“Good morning, Mrs. Blacklock, I hope you slept well on the ground last night.”

She gave him a sunny smile. “I always sleep well with your arms around me, even on the ground.” And it was true, Faith thought with wonder, and not just about the ground. She hadn’t had a nightmare or a bad dream of any sort since her marriage to Nicholas. “Marriage to you agrees with me, Mr. Blacklock.”