The Scot and I (28 page)

“Tell that to my granny. No. Listen to me, Mahri. I knew what I was doing when I claimed your innocence for myself. Marriage is the only way for us. You’re not cut out for an affair, and neither am I. Besides, think of Dugald. He will kill me when he catches up to us.”

“Dugald will never know. I won’t tell him, and I’m sure you won’t tell him either.”

He laughed softly. “He’ll know without our telling him. He’ll see how I look at you and how you look at me. I won’t be able to keep my hands off you.” He warmed to his part. “Can you keep your hands off me? We’ll be tiptoeing along dark corridors to each other’s bedchambers—”

“I don’t think that’s funny!” She chewed her bottom lip. “Anyway, I won’t be here long enough to tiptoe along dark corridors.”

His brows rose. “You’re thinking of going somewhere?”

A guilty blush ran under her skin. “We’re fugitives, aren’t we? We can’t stay in one place for long.”

He was serious now. “Yes, but that’s not what you meant. You’re still thinking of finding a safe place to hide from Demos. I know Demos, Mahri. They won’t give up until they find you. You have something they want, don’t you? What is it? Why won’t you tell me?”

“I told you. No one is ever allowed to resign from Demos. They want to make an example of me for foiling their attempt to kill the queen.”

Her eyes never lied to him, and he could tell that she had told him a half-truth. He didn’t belabor the point. An argument was the last thing he wanted. “All the more reason,” he said, “for us to be married at once. I know how to take care of my own. They’ll have to remove me before they can touch you.”

He was winning her over. He could read it in her eyes. Then her eyes went blank, and she gave a derisive snort. “It may have escaped your notice,” she said, “that you’re a fugitive, too, not only from your own people but also from Demos. A fine pair we’d make, running from two packs of bloodhounds. If we separate, we’ll even the odds. Demos will come after me, but they’ll leave you alone.”

“I don’t care whether they leave me alone or not. Don’t you understand anything? It’s
you
I want to keep safe.”

If only it could be that simple. She had no doubts that he wanted to keep her safe, but he was even more resolved to crush Demos and see all its members go to the gallows. He couldn’t do both.

She swallowed the tightness in her throat. She was totally sunk in love with this man, and because she loved him, she had to send him away.

But not yet.

When she shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, he held up a finger, silencing her. “We’re going to do this my way,” he said.

“Now just a minute!”

“Better get this through your head. I’m not giving you a choice. Do you think I would have a moment’s peace knowing that you were in danger? I feel responsible for what happened to you. If I hadn’t interfered, you would have been long gone by now. I can’t change the past. I don’t want to change the past, but I’ll be damned if I’ll wash my hands of you. We stay together, Mahri, come hell or high water.”

He used his weight to carry her back against the pillows. “Trust me, Mahri,” he said. “Our being together is in our stars.”

She thought he was making a joke at her expense, but when she looked into his eyes, she saw that the humor was mixed with an equal part of gravity, and the hands that were pushing him away gradually relaxed. Someone to watch over her and someone to watch over. It felt so right, so good.

Against her lips, he whispered, “Will you do right by me?”

“Always,” she said.

“You’ll marry me?”

“That wouldn’t be doing right by you.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Say yes.”

She managed a wobbly smile. “Oh, Alex,” she said and shook her head, then added impulsively, “I need time to think about it.”

His eyes narrowed on her face. “I know what you’re thinking, and you couldn’t be more wrong.”

“What am I thinking?”

“You’re thinking that this marriage may never take place, that we’re on the run and don’t know where we’ll lay our heads from one day to the next. We won’t have time to find a minister, let alone say our vows.”

“It may have crossed my mind,” she allowed.

“If you think that, you don’t know me. I’ll have my ring on your finger before you can say your own name.”

She laughed. “Mahri—” she began and fumbled. Recovering quickly, she finished, “Mahri McGregor. See, you were wrong!”

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and reached for his clothes. “Get some rest. We have an early start tomorrow.”

She should have left it at that. That was the trouble with love. It made you weak when you should be strong.

To his back, she said softly, “My name is Mahri Scot. I’m sorry, Alex. I should have told you right out.”

He stilled. With shoulders hunched over, he inhaled a long breath, then he turned and cupped her chin in one hand. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Her voice was husky. “No. I suppose not.”

He came down beside her again. “You’ve given me a priceless gift.”

“And what might that be?”

She sounded sulky, and that made him smile. “Your trust.”

She swallowed hard. “There are others who trusted me. I can’t hurt them. You see that, don’t you?”

“I’ll only hurt them if they try to hurt you. I’ll never ask you to betray them.”

“But—”

He stopped her words with a kiss. The sudden jump of her heart had his pulse jumping in counterpoint, but there was no frantic haste to possess her. He wanted to touch and savor. He wanted to imprint himself indelibly not only on her body but on her mind. So he told her that she was light to his darkness; he told her that she’d brought beauty into his world; he told her that he would never let her go now. And he meant every word.

Their breathing grew thicker. She became bolder, restless. With her hands on his shoulders, she urged him to cover her. When he filled her, she let out a keening cry of pleasure. At the end, she buried her head against his chest and wept.

Twenty

They didn’t make an early start in the morning. They wakened at noon to the bellow of bagpipes outside their window. Mahri shot out of bed. Alex groaned and shoved his head under a pillow.

After slipping into her nightgown, she ran to the window and looked out. “Oh, what a braw sight!” she exclaimed. “Highlanders in kilts! It’s a long time since I’ve seen so many different tartans all together. Do you think there will be dancing?”

Alex could hardly think for the racket of the pipes. “Dancing, throwing the caber, putting the stone—but above all, eating and drinking.”

He reached for another pillow to block out the din, remembered the events of last night, and dragged himself up. One quick, comprehensive glance made the hard knot of tension inside him relax. Mahri looked clear-eyed and happy. He didn’t know what he had expected. Tears? Blushes? Fireworks?

He loved watching her—the way she moved, the way she looked at him, the way she laughed. He was struck again by the contradiction in her character—the odd blend of innocence and worldliness. He knew now where the worldliness came from; Master Thomas Gordon had a lot to answer for.

“Well, get up.” She came to stand over him and did a little jig on her toes. “I want to wash and, well, you know, use the facilities, so make yourself scarce.”

Alex dragged a hand through his hair. He knew what that meant. He had to go down to the cold, cold, wash-house, euphemistically called a bathhouse, on the main floor, and wash himself there. The privy, naturally, was outside, a good hike from the hotel itself.

“How did you manage to preserve your modesty when you were Thomas Gordon?” he asked.

“Use your imagination.”

“Never was my strong point. Look, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll cover my head with the covers, and you won’t even know that I’m here.”

“Alex,” she said quietly, seriously, “if you don’t take yourself off, I may disgrace myself.”

He grinned. “I’ll think about it.”

The next thing he knew, she had stripped off the covers and was pelting him with his boots, coat, and trousers. Then she marched to the door and held it open. A chamber-maid stood frozen in the corridor. She took one look at the naked man trying to dress in a hurry, squealed with fright, and took to her heels.

“Out!” Mahri commanded and pointed as though he needed a signpost.

When he came level with her, he said, “Don’t I get a kiss?”

He was through the door before she could do him bodily harm. The door slammed behind him. A moment later, her laughter rang out. He smiled, on the edge of a laugh, and traipsed downstairs to speak to the innkeeper. A few minutes later, he had fresh towels and other bits and pieces he needed to complete his toilette.

The beaming proprietors, Mr. and Mrs. Crimmond, watched Alex as he sauntered down the corridor to the bathhouse.

“There goes a happy man,” said Mr. Crimmond, and he sighed.

His wife punched him in the ribs. “You have nothing to complain of, Andy.”

“You must be joking.” There was a twinkle in his eye. “I thought the ceiling was going to come down around our ears last night, and if the slats on that bed are not broken, my name is no Andy Crimmond.”

“Aye,” said his wife, smiling and tucking her head to the side, “there’s nothing quite like young love to warm the cockles of your heart. It brings back memories.”

“Memories be damned!” said her husband. “There’s life in the old dog yet. But maybe no as much life as in that young spark. At any rate, they’re staying on for another night.”

“Why is that?”

“He said that they didna want to travel in the dark, not after what happened to them on the road here.”

“And you believe him?”

He swatted her on the backside. “What do you think? They’re newlyweds. They won’t be going anywhere in a hurry, except maybe to bed.”

Laughing together, they entered the dining room to see to their customers.

 

 

When Alex started up the stairs a short while later, there was a spring in his step. He felt as though he had shed ten years. Everything was new to him. The sun was brighter, his senses were keener, and the sound of the bagpipes . . . No, he couldn’t go that far, but at least he could say that the noise was less grating. It was enough to make a man think he was falling in love.

He entered the room he shared with Mahri and came to a sudden halt. The insane smile on his face died. There was no Mahri. Though there was nowhere for her to hide in that small chamber, he looked inside the wardrobe anyway, and called himself all kinds of a fool when he found it empty. Her nightdress was draped over a chair, but the clothes the landlady had given her were gone. She had no money. The purse was still in his coat pocket. How in hell’s name did she think she would manage? Cursing fluently, he turned on his heel and thundered down the stairs and out the back door.

It was mayhem out there in the stable block, with a crush of gigs and ponies belonging to contestants and their families who had come for the day. He soon learned, however, that no one had borrowed or taken out a pony. People were arriving, not departing.

He returned to the inn and strode through the length of the corridor, barely glancing at those he passed, and pushed through the front doors. What met his eyes was a sea of people navigating booths and tents that were set up on the village green. Beyond the green the road rose steeply toward the field where the games were taking place.

He didn’t know where to begin to look for her. He felt angry, helpless, and alarmed, all at the same time. Overriding these emotions, however, was a sense of wounded pride. He’d been taken in by her empty promises yet again. How could she do this to him after last night?

“Alex!”

His head whipped round.

“Over here.”

Mahri was waving to him, Mahri, as pretty as a picture in her cast-off blue gown that might have been made for her. On her head, she wore a tartan tam with an eagle’s feather perched on top. She looked as jaunty as a young cockerel.

He clamped his teeth together. He was ready to blister her ears when he crossed to her, but the first words out of his mouth surprised him. “You didn’t run away.”

She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and urged him to one of the booths. “I’m ravenous, and they’re selling Forfar Bridies. I haven’t had one of those in years. I hope you’ve money to pay for them.”

He stopped her in her tracks and turned her to face him. Ignoring the jostling crush, he said, “I think I deserve an answer, Mahri, after what happened between us last night. So, I repeat, you didn’t run away.”

She had no quick retort, no glib response to avoid giving him a direct answer. All she knew was that something fundamental had changed between them. It wasn’t only that they were lovers. She’d told him more about herself than she’d told anyone. He hadn’t tricked her. He deserved the same honesty from her. Anything less would cheapen what had happened between them.