The Witch Of Clan Sinclair (26 page)

For a few minutes the four of them watched the fire brigade at work. He knew they should move back, just in case another explosion occurred. When he stood, however, his legs nearly buckled.

He gave himself a minute, bent over with his hands on his knees.

Once he was breathing better, he left them, returning to the building and the fire brigade. As large as the fire was, they could use extra help.

L
ogan strode back to the fire brigade. Allan and James joined him, all of them helping by grabbing the handles of the pump and working it while the other men manned the hoses.

She went to help distribute tea a few kind ladies offered, grateful for the support of neighbors. She answered questions, accepted condolences, and on more than one occasion was brought to tears.

For hours she sat at a safe distance, watching as the fire was slowly extinguished. From this moment on, she knew she would smell smoke and recall this night. The sound of bells would make her remember the fire brigade, the shout of men, the cackling, malevolent laughter of the flames.

When she finally saw Logan, she walked toward him, holding out her cup. He drank the rest of the tea, handing the cup back to her with a smile.

Reaching up, she placed her fingers on his cheek, gently wiping at the soot.

“I should go home,” she said.

The fire was finally extinguished: the fire brigade was packing up their equipment. Nothing further could be done.

“You could have died,” he said, his tone rough.

“And you as well.”

She owed him so many thanks. How could she possibly express everything she felt? She ought to at least try.

“Without you, they would have died,” she said. “Thank you for saving them.”

“Allan is seeing if there’s anything that can be salvaged and James is helping him. You’re coming with me.”

How very pompous he sounded. Did he realize she didn’t have any energy to oppose him? She could barely blink her eyes.

Logan Harrison, Highlander of old and now, startled her by picking her up in his arms and striding toward his carriage.

“People will talk, Logan. Your constituents will be shocked.”

“I find that I don’t much care,” he said.

That comment surprised her so much she remained silent and allowed herself to be abducted.

Chapter 28

H
er face was still, her blue eyes swimming with tears. He wanted to protect her from the sight of the ruins of the Sinclair Printing Company.

Let the world think what they would. Let those people standing in the street fascinated by the sight of a destroyed dream turn their heads and see him. Right now, his political ambitions faded beneath a very real need: to comfort her, and to ease her pain however he could.

“I can’t go home with you again,” she said once they entered his carriage.

He didn’t answer.

She closed her eyes and sighed. “You’re the most stubborn man.”

He bent his head down and kissed her nose.

“Do you want me to promise to leave you alone? I will, if that’s what you want. I’ll install you in one of the guest rooms, and you’ll be a chaste woman in the morning.”

She sighed. “That would be best, don’t you think?”

“Do you always do what’s best?” he asked, knowing she didn’t. Mairi was often improvident and rash, but her heart could expand to hold all of Edinburgh and probably Scotland.

“Yes,” she said, turning away from him.

He smiled at the lie. She was right, though, he had to give her that. He shouldn’t be taking her to his house. He should tell his driver to turn around and go a half mile in the other direction. There, he’d escort her to the door, wait until he was certain she was settled in, then return to his home. He would congratulate himself on his wisdom as well as his restraint.

He wasn’t going to do any of those things.

T
hey entered his home from the rear, the first time she’d seen this approach. His garden, draped by night, was much larger than hers. She had the errant wish to see it, wanted to return in the daylight.

Instead, they crept through the back like thieves.

The tip of one finger skimmed along the top of her hand, a gentle guide.

Logan stopped in the shadow of a large tree, now denuded by winter. He grabbed her hand, his fingers resting between her knuckles, a curious pairing and one that was surprisingly intimate.

He wrapped his arms around her. She sighed into his hug, winding her arms around his waist. She still wore his coat. He must be freezing.

Before she had time to voice her concern, he bent his head.

His kiss was deep and terrifying, leading her to a destination she knew only too well. He fisted his hand in her hair. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on.

He smelled of smoke and fire and death and destruction and life and promise.

“Mairi.”

She shivered at the sound of her name. Closing her eyes, she allowed him to sweep her from the garden, inside the house and up the stairs.

Once in his room, he closed the door, shutting out the world.

She should leave. She should remember her reputation and his. She shouldn’t be here, wanting more than a kiss.

But she’d been without him for weeks. He was here and she could touch him as she’d wanted for too long.

She grabbed his hand with both of hers, pressing her lips against the base of his thumb.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she said, dropping his hand to wrap her arms around his waist and press her cheek against his chest. “I should be wise and sensible and demand you take me home.”

Leaning back, he tilted up her chin with his hand. “Shall we be neither wise nor sensible tonight? There’s a lot to be said for being unwise and rash.”

A glow started deep inside, brushing aside her sadness.

She should leave but she didn’t want to be anywhere else but here, with him, with his soot-covered face and his reddened eyes. She wanted to tend to him, to care for him, to cradle him in her body, and feel the joy of possessing and being possessed.

“I have no choice,” she said, and it was the truth.

Here she would stay because with him she felt safe, protected, and just for tonight, loved.

H
e should have bathed, washed the soot and stench of fire away, but he didn’t want to step away from her for a minute.

Her eyes widened with each garment he unfastened. When he removed her bodice, her hands fluttered in the air but remained at her sides as if she couldn’t decide whether to flee or fight him. She did neither, merely stood like a sacrifice, each successive item of clothing causing her to tremble more. Next was the corset cover, he thought it was called, a gauzy thing that only served to veil her.

He wanted her naked beneath him. Or naked above him, it didn’t matter. He wanted Mairi naked and joyous, her lips curved in a smile.

Above all, he wanted to banish the look of sadness from her face, offer her passion in exchange for grief.

He unfastened the busk of her corset, separated it by the simple matter of placing his hands beneath it and widening them. Her skin was so hot that he could feel it even with her shift in the way. She was still trembling, and that made him question whether he should hasten the task or slow it further.

He really had no choice. His body urged completion at the same time, strangely enough, his mind sanctioned it as well. He wanted to bring her joy. Have her recall him each day, each hour, for the pleasure he brought her, if nothing else. If she didn’t think of their discussions, if she wasn’t interested in his arguments, then let her remember his loving.

Let her hunger for him as he did for her.

He got to his knees in front of her. He had never acted this way in front of any woman, but then she was not like any other woman. He reached up and unfastened her skirt, coaxing the button free, then working on the tape of her petticoats. She hadn’t worn a stiff hoop, but then she wasn’t a doyenne of fashion. Most of the time she didn’t wear a bonnet.

“I missed you,” he said. “All those days you were away.”

She didn’t speak, but he didn’t expect her to respond. When she was feeling vulnerable, Mairi retreated to silence, a condition otherwise alien to her.

“I thought about all of those things that I would have told you if you were here,” he said.

“Council matters?” she asked, a sparkle in her eyes. “To think that I might have overlooked a great source all along.”

Her fingertips danced along his cheek, rested beneath his chin in a tender touch.

His heart swelled at the curve of her smile.

He slid her skirts and petticoats over her hips and down her body, taking his time.

She was trembling more now, clasping her hands before her, her gaze on his face. From time to time he would look up to find her eyes intent on him.

“What are you thinking when you look at me that way?” he asked.

Would she answer him?

Surprisingly, she did. “How I feel like a maiden before you,” she said. “How you, a braw Highlander, seem from medieval days.”

“Do I?”

She nodded. “It’s your fault, you know. That first day, in your kilt. Was I supposed to ignore the sight?”

“Or that day you touched my truss,” he said.

“Your holster,” she said, correcting him with a smile.

He had never known a time like this, torn in two by lust along with amusement. Then there was the tenderness that nearly swamped him and stole his breath.

He bent to unfasten her shoes, slowly unlacing them with the same care he’d taken for her garments. Now, he rolled one stocking over her perfectly formed knee and then down her beautiful leg. She placed her hand on his shoulder as she lifted her foot. He repeated the action with the other leg, both of them silent.

Kneeling there, sitting back on his heels, he studied her. Clad now only in her shift, she looked like a pagan goddess.

“Let down your hair, Mairi,” he said, wanting to complete the picture.

Without questioning why, she did, slowly removing the pins and letting them drop to the floor, while he remained still and silent and in awe of her beauty. When she was done, she threaded her fingers through the mass of her hair until it hung below her shoulders.

“Not a pagan goddess,” he said. “But Aphrodite.”

“Are you my shell, Logan?”

He would be anything she wanted, anchor, helpmate, or supporter.

She shivered, and he realized she was cold. Standing, he took her hand and led her to the fire. Then he bent and grabbed the hem of her shift, pulling it over her head until she stood there revealed and simply Mairi.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?”

“I’ve never been called beautiful,” she said.

“Then I can only think the world is foolish, and I’m the only wise man alive.”

She smiled, shaking her head.

“I want to hold you in my arms all night,” he said.

“Please make sure all my garments are in the same room this time,” she said.

His grin widened.

“I have no intention of going through your house gathering up my clothing.”

He laughed. “I don’t remember your doing that,” he said. “I seem to recall that was my task.”

He pressed himself to her, feeling a tenderness for Mairi that he’d never before felt for another human being. He thought he’d understood passion in his infrequent encounters, but being with Mairi was different. He didn’t want her surrender as much as her complicity.

In this, she was his partner, his other half, his separate match that had been missing all these years.

Her breasts were beautiful, full and tipped by eager nipples standing erect like a beacon for his lips. He loved the sound she made when his mouth grazed them, when his tongue licked first the one then the other.

He took her to his bed, placed her on the mattress, covering her not with a sheet but his body. Slowly, he touched her everywhere, anointing her with his mouth, kissing each curve, relishing her moans.

When it was time, he entered her slowly. He paced himself, raising up on his forearms, bending his head to kiss her gently and inhale her gasps.

He wanted to stretch the moments thin, drive her insensate, until she begged him to bring her to fulfillment. Her hands flattened against his shoulders, then clutched him before trailing down his arms.

Her long, slow moan accentuated his next thrust. When he pulled out of her, her legs widened, her hips arched up to keep him nestled there.

She was driving him mad.

But it was a reciprocal madness, because her hands were on his buttocks now, nails digging into his skin. Again and again she arched upward to meet him and subsided reluctantly.

Had she experienced enough to know how wondrous this was? This was a perfect pairing, bliss so exquisite that his vision grayed.

Just when he thought he couldn’t take any more, she shivered in his arms, tightening around him, milking him. He came in a gush of release, uttering a prayer of thanksgiving that he had brought her to fulfillment first.

Chapter 29

“O
h come quick, miss,” Abigail said, shaking her shoulder.

Fenella roused slowly. It felt like someone had hung weights from her lashes, because it was very difficult to open her eyes.

She blinked as the maid lit the bedside lamp.

Abigail was fully dressed, if haphazardly so. Her bodice was buttoned incorrectly, and it didn’t look as if she’d done more to her hair than simply wrap her night braid around the top of her head.

Fenella raised herself up on her elbow and glanced at the window.

Arrows of pink streaked across a midnight blue horizon.

“What time is it?” she asked, yawning.

Her dream had been so pleasant that it was difficult to surface from the dregs of it.

“It’s early, miss, but there’s been a tragedy.”

Memories of the dream abruptly vanished.

Abigail went to her armoire, withdrew a dress and placed it on the end of Fenella’s bed.

She sat on the edge of the mattress, putting her feet on the floor. “A tragedy? What’s happened?”

Abigail’s face was as still as stone, her lips compressed until they looked bloodless.

“Oh, miss,” the maid said softly, “the
Gazette
’s burned down.”

She blinked at Abigail, the words not making any sense. “The paper’s burned down?”

Abigail nodded. “Gone to rubble, miss. Nothing left of it.”

Allan lived above the paper.

“Tell Mairi I’ll be right there,” she said. Her cousin was going to be disconsolate.

“She’s not here, miss. Just the men, looking as if they’re half burned.”

She was suddenly wide-awake.

M
airi blinked open her eyes to find Logan asleep beside her. In the faint light of a winter’s dawn, his lashes were impossibly long; she wanted to test them with her fingertips to see if they were as feathery as they looked.

He opened his eyes, making the transition from sleep to wakefulness with a smile.

She felt her cheeks warm the longer they watched each other. Should she say anything? Thank him for making her feel so wonderful? Chide him for being a barbarian and whisking her away from the scene of destruction to his home?

For a few hours he’d effectively banished all thoughts of the fire from her mind. In doing so, he’d also given her another problem to face. Or perhaps she had this problem ever since meeting him.

What was she going to do about Logan?

The relationship couldn’t be allowed to continue. She was no fool. She might become pregnant at any time. There was no guarantee that she was exempt from that state after last night, being loved not once but twice.

They’d bathed together, then loved again, laughing with abandon and delight.

His warm breath brushed her temple. She closed her eyes, wishing to elongate the moment and, at the same time, magically transport herself somewhere else.

Logan had induced conflict and chaos into her life from the beginning.

She rolled away to sit on the edge of the bed.

He stroked a finger down her bare back, inciting her shiver.

“Cold?” he asked.

She shook her head. Susceptible. Yearning. Wanting something that danced out of range from being identified.

“The fire wasn’t an accident,” she said, looking up. They’d been so frenetic a few hours ago that neither of them had closed the curtains. The world was a flower, and dawn the center of it. Gold stamens radiated from a pink sun. Dots of vermillion and blue speckled the horizon.

She glanced at him when he raised up on one elbow, the sheet falling to expose his chest and more. A line of hair pointed to his crotch, as if to advertise his attributes.

His smile buttressed her resolve to be gone. Otherwise, she’d fall victim to his charm once again.

She’d already been foolish enough.

“What makes you think so?” he asked.

“The letters,” she said.

“You think they’re connected?”

“I think they might be,” she said. “Someone thinks I shouldn’t run a paper. What better way to stop me than to burn it down? What better way to punish me than to take away what I love?”

“You can’t love a building, Mairi,” he said gently.

“You can love an idea, Logan. And the
Gazette
was an idea. A way of communicating thoughts from one mind to another. A way of spreading news, inciting conversation.”

She glanced away, then forced herself to look at him directly. He knew her body. He needed to know her mind.

“I can still see my father standing beside the press, his fingertips stained black from years of setting type. He always wore a half smile as he worked, as if his task gave him joy.

“He was the best reporter I’ve ever known; the person who taught me the five rules to any story: what, where, when, why, and how.”

She stared down at her hands, flexed her fingers as if to find them stained, too.

“I always wondered what he would have thought if he knew that I had taken his place and not Macrath.”

“I think he would have been very proud of you and perhaps amazed.”

She looked at him. His gaze was direct. He wasn’t trying to be charming now, only sincere.

She cleared her throat, determined not to weep.

“But you were there. Why? It was very opportune.” Without him, James and Allan might have been lost.

“Because I’d gotten into the habit of checking to see if you’d returned to Edinburgh,” he said, rising from the bed with not a care for his nakedness.

She really should have looked away, but the sight was too entrancing. Even his backside was lovely.

“Did you really?”

“I was missing you, you daft woman.”

He turned and faced her.

“Do you think I had something to do with the fire, Mairi?” he asked, his face carefully expressionless.

The amusement she felt was welcome. “No, Logan. You’d be more direct in your criticism.”

His answer was to shake his head, go into the bathing chamber and close the door behind him.

She pulled the sheet off the bed and moved around the bedroom, gathering up her smoke-stained clothes. She would miss her cloak, now just one more bit of ash in the building’s ruins.

Logan opened the door to the bathing chamber as she was buttoning her bodice. He came and sat beside her on the bed, still naked, still supremely unconcerned about it.

She smiled at the evidence of his confidence. Although, if she looked as good as he did, she’d probably want to strut around without clothes, too.

His chest was well defined. Her fingers had played down the center of it, parting his hair there and tracing around his nipples. She’d felt each muscle and trailed her hand down lower, causing him to gasp.

What kind of woman was she to want to remove her clothes and join him in the bed again?

She pushed that thought away, looking around for her reticule. Was that gone, too?

“I have to go to the paper,” she said. “I need to see it for myself in the light.” She sighed. That was one task she didn’t want to do, but it couldn’t be left for anyone else.

After that, she had to find a way to let Macrath know. She really should tell him in person; that sort of news shouldn’t be delivered in a letter.

“I’ll go with you,” he said, standing.

“Not like that.” She sent a quick glance in his direction.

He only smiled at her, his eyes intent on her face. “No, not like this,” he said.

Before she could speak, say something inane or foolish, something that didn’t mirror what she felt, he came to her, placed his hands on her shoulders and smiled down into her face.

“It’s going to be all right, Mairi.”

How did he know? How did he know that she was suddenly unsure, uncertain, and too close to tears?

She should tell him that she didn’t want him to accompany her, that it wasn’t necessary, that she could cope well on her own. But that would be a lie because she wasn’t at all sure she could be strong right now.

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, silencing her thoughts by giving her a rainbow. The explosion of color behind her lids was matched by the taste of him. She melted into the kiss, brushing the tip of her tongue against his.

Passion had another dimension to it, a tenderness that made her want to slow him down. He wrapped his arms around her, and she sighed into his embrace, feeling her heart expand.

She wanted him again, just as she had last night, just as she would later. She wanted to talk to him, tell him her secrets, hear his. She wanted to ask his opinion, argue with him, and attempt to change his mind.

She wanted him with her, a friend dearer than anyone, a companion of her heart.

The kiss went deeper and she moaned.

He answered with a growl, pulling her closer until she could feel every contour and ridge, every muscle and bone, as if their two bodies were fused together.

His hand was in her hair; her hands around his neck as she stood on tiptoe.

Just as quickly as she was dressed, she was naked again.

F
enella flew down the stairs, hesitating at the bottom. Where were they? The parlor? The kitchen? The stable?

“They’re in the kitchen, miss,” Abigail said, following her at a slower pace. “Mr. Robert is looking them over.”

Robert? What skill did Robert have? The physician must be called this minute. They must have something for pain. Cool water, she remembered, could take away the fire of a burn. She remembered a recipe her mother had made for a poultice.

Pushing open the door, she nearly sagged to the floor on seeing Allan sitting at the table. Robert was examining his hands, and as she watched, he turned her beloved’s face to the lamplight.

“Does it burn?”

“It stings more,” Allan said. “I was just too close to the fire.”

“Stubborn arse,” James said. “Begging your pardon, miss,” he added, glancing over at her. “But if it hadn’t been for the provost, the fool would have died.”

Going to Allan’s side, Fenella placed her hand on his shoulder, trying not to gasp aloud at the condition of his clothing. What wasn’t burned was tinged yellowish brown. James’s clothes looked as bad.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“A fire,” James said. “It began in the storeroom, I think.”

“Or the pressroom,” Allan said.

James shook his head. “Mairi was in there. She would have noticed something.”

“How did it start?” Fenella asked.

Each man shook his head.

Fire had always been something they feared, especially when living above the paper. They were all careful to check up on each other. Was the stove banked? Had the chemicals they used been put safely away? She couldn’t imagine either Allan or Mairi being lax in that task.

“Is there much damage?”

“It’s gone,” Allan said, staring down at his hands. “All of it. The whole building.”

She turned away, began to make tea, helping Abigail with the chore to keep from throwing herself into Allan’s arms or sobbing in relief. He was in one piece and other than the redness of his face didn’t look injured. James looked to be untouched as well.

“What about Mairi?” she asked, ashamed that she hadn’t asked before now. “How is she? Where is she?”

“She was well the last time we saw her,” James said, glancing at the other servants.

Cook was making breakfast and two of the maids were bustling about arranging plates and silverware. If they were sleepy from being awakened before dawn, they didn’t look it. Or perhaps the excitement of the news of the fire had simply burned away their fatigue.

What was James not saying?

“Let’s have tea in the parlor,” she said, “and give Cook room to work.”

She glanced at Abigail, who nodded.

A few minutes later, after helping Abigail with the tea tray, she entered the parlor.

When Allan joined her, she touched him on the arm, wishing she could find something comforting to say to him. How many hours had he complained about the press, trying to make it work better? How many modifications had he made? She’d listened because it was Allan, but anyone could see his pride in his job.

Robert entered the room, mumbling something under his breath. Another complaint, no doubt, which was normal for the older man. With the paper gone, he would have more to grouse about, more warnings to issue, more about which to grumble.

She wished there was a way to meet with James and Allan without Robert in attendance, but if there was, she didn’t know it. Biting back her impatience, she watched the men settle into comfortable places. James and Robert took opposite ends of the settee, while Allan sat in one of the chairs.

When he coughed, she frowned.

“A lingering effect of the smoke,” he said. “Nothing to worry about.”

She wanted to put her hands on him, make sure he was well, and examine him from tiptoe to the top of his head. Only then would she feel reassured.

He could have died. That thought kept running through her mind.

After they were served, she dismissed Abigail, sat on the chair across from Allan and faced the men.

“Now, what’s all this about Mairi? Where is she?”

Neither James nor Allan would look at her.