There was no one within shouting distance. She tried to think of a way out, but it seemed hopeless. No matter how much she pulled, her arms were too weak to lift herself from the current sucking her down. The tip of one of her fingernails broke as she clawed at the bark. She clung for dear life as the cold froze her to the bones. Her already tired arms wouldn’t hold out long. Tears choked her as her fingers started to slip over the log anchoring her. Just when she thought all hope was lost, a hand gripped her wrist.
Someone yanked her from the rapids, and before she could register who… or what was happening, was dragged to the safety of the boulders. Disoriented, wet and panting, she fell against the strong muscles of a broad chest. Her hands fumbled for stability and sank into a damp linen shirt. When she finally looked up, she blinked in shock at her savior.
“Are ye alright, lass?”
Deep blue eyes, shades darker than the river, stared down at her with concern. It was the man she’d seen in the fields earlier in the day. His strong arms cradled her close. Rosalie became aware of the intimacy of the position, which seemed to scare her more than the rapids. She tried to yank herself away, but her balance was still off, and she almost fell right back into the water.
The man was a foot taller than her, taller than anyone from her community. He made her feel small and fragile, and his hands kept a firm hold on her. A warmth seemed to surge from every place he touched.
Rosalie’s cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment. Her sudden feeling of vulnerability in this stranger’s embrace ignited her temper.
“Let go o’ me,” she snapped.
The man obeyed and sidestepped. His hands remained outstretched to catch her if she fell. She could not look at him as she tried her best to scramble back to solid ground. Her body shook violently beneath her heavy, soaked gown.
“What were ye thinkin’?” His brows furrowed in both concern and slight anger. “Were ye tryin’ to kill yerself? To think if I hadn’t heard ye scream—if I hadn’t been ridin’ by—”
Rosalie felt tears burning at the corners of her eyes. She could hardly breathe, and looking at him was almost blinding. The fact that he was attractive made it worse.
He must have seen how shaken she was because his features softened. “Sit down.” He took his coat from his back and spread it over the grass.
“Don’t tell me what to do!” The words rushed out. She didn’t want to seem rude, but she was overwhelmed.
“Aye, nice way tae thank me for savin’ yer life. Sit down.” The tone of his voice carried authority she could not protest. It sent shivers through her that weren’t from the cold. She looked at the jacket and decided to sit on the grass beside it instead.
“Yer stubborn, ye ken?” There was nothing cruel in his voice—merely amusement as he pulled his coat back up from beside her. “Mos’ people would say thank ye for comin’ to their rescue.”
Being so shaken in the presence of a stranger made Rosalie madder than ever. She considered storming off and heading back to camp, but the thought of Magda’s response to a drenched Rosalie bereft of laundry, kept her glued in place and shivering to the bone. Her teeth chattered, and she was both relieved and dismayed to see the man walk off into the tree line. Rosalie immediately set to removing the wet clothes from her body before she froze to death.
The fabric stuck to her arms, tangling her. In her frustration and panic, she tried desperately to free herself, fighting against the wet cloth. Her heart froze when she heard something drop behind her.
“Please tell me that’s not you,” she squeaked. She swallowed hard, hoping it was just an animal snapping twigs in a hurry to get away.
“I-I’m sorry, lassie. I didn’t mean tae—I was jus’ gettin’ wood. I didn’t ken, I swear it.”
Rosalie groaned in embarrassment. She peeked over her shoulder, and some of it melted away when she saw the shocked look on his face. Her people didn’t hold the same shame of the human body as outsiders did. Modesty was expressed through intention and action, not from a complete aversion to nudity, even when the situation required it. He was dumbfounded, and the control it gave her mingled with nerves enough to awaken her playful mischief.
“Excuse me.”
The few sticks he still held in his arms tumbled out. “S-sorry, lassie.” Crimson flooded his cheeks. His eyes fell to the ground, shielded by one of his hands. He turned away. “I meant no ‘ffense.”
Rosalie freed herself from her dress, and with brazen confidence, walked across the open expanse to where the clothes dried in the sun. The dress she pulled on was still damp, but not nearly as soaked as the one she’d pulled off. She was surprised to see he wasn’t peeking and took a moment to admire his broad shoulders and strong frame.
“Ye act like you’ve never seen a woman before,” she teased, fishing for more information about him.
“I have, jus’ not one so…” His words dried in his throat.
“Naked?”
“Aye.” He let out a heavy sigh and nodded in a way that made Rosalie giggle.
Her voice came out like the tinkling of glass blown in the wind, light and delicate.
“Ye can turn around now if you like.”
The demure way he peeked over his shoulder, making sure she was decent, made her heart skip a beat. He couldn’t look at her directly and melted any nervousness or anger from moments before. The young man scrambled to collect the wood and set to start a fire, avoiding her blazing emerald eyes. She sat down across from him and openly admired his curly red hair and pronounced jawline, enjoying the way her ogling made him visibly nervous as he attempted to light the fire.
When the spark caught, he cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. “Ye shouldn’t be dressin’ like that out in the open. What if it wasnae me, lassie?” His words simmered with authentic anger.
“An’ who are you to tell me what I can and cannae do?”
He looked at her, mouth hanging open, aghast. He started to defend himself, rattled by the chain of events, but then he saw the smile twitching at the corner of her mouth. A great, contagious laugh burst out.
“Yer cheeky, lass, ye ken that?” He shook his head. A single dimple revealed itself as he smiled, feeding sticks into the growing flame, “I cannae say I’ve met anyone like you ‘fore.”
“Oh, aye? An’ is that a bad thing?” Rosalie was genuinely curious but tried her best to cloak her insecurities. She pulled at the sleeves of her gown and rubbed the cold from her arms.
The way he looked at her then made her feel more naked than she was before. Those sapphire eyes met hers, and she felt her heart race to twice its usual speed. “No,” was all he said. It made her blush, and heat rose in her cheeks. She tucked a strand of wet hair behind her ear and looked down, trying to hide the flame blossoming in her stomach and warming her heart.
Silence passed between them. It was alive with the sounds of the rushing river, Rosalie’s heartbeat roaring in her ears, and the crackling of the open fire. She tried to think of some way to break the silence, the nervous tension building between them. The chattering of her teeth only seemed to intensify instead of subsiding.
“Yer still cold.”
Although relieved for the break, she didn’t like to see him frown. It was new for her to have a stranger, or any man for that matter, be genuinely concerned with her wellbeing.
Rosalie rubbed her arms and nodded. “I best get o’er it. Magda’s goin’ tae kill me.” The young woman sucked in through her teeth and shook her head, noticing the dusk stealing color from the world around her.
The stranger stood. Rosalie remained glued in place as she watched him walk around the campfire, slipping his jacket off once again. “Please,” he said. She pulled back from him, as much afraid of giving him the wrong idea as afraid of the way her body would react to his touch. Still, with each gust, she felt as if the wind cut her to the bone. She nodded her consent.
She did not look at him as he slipped it over her shoulders. It was heavy leat
her and instantly shielded her from the cold. His fingers grazed her shoulders, and the touch sent rippling waves down her spine.
“Thank ye,” she whispered, glancing up at him. He paused for a second, as though losing his stream of thought. As though it had crashed somewhere behind them, he snapped back to the present, cleared his throat, and took a seat next to her—so close… it almost felt as if they were touching.
“I don’t even ken yer name.”
“Nor I, yours.”
“Declan,” he said, and tossed a small twig into the shrinking flames. “Declan o’ the Gregor clan.”
Rosalie nodded. She had many names. One only her community knew, ones she used in different towns, and then the common one, which seemed to be the public catch-all. For a moment, something about him made her want to tell him her real name. It was a foolish thought.
“Rosalie. No clan.”
“Yer different than the other gypsies.” He said it with an innocence that kept Rosalie from taking offense.
“Aye,” she nodded. “I was adopted. An no,” she smiled, knowing all the rumors whispered about her kind, “I wasnae kidnapped by ‘gypsies.’”
He looked relieved to see her smiling. “Why were ye adopted? If that’s nae too personal.”
“I think we’re past personal, Declan,” she winked. His name tasted sweet on her tongue. She paused for a moment, the cheer slipping from her as she weighed whether to tell him the truth or not. She looked at his calm, strong features, and felt a pang in her heart as she realized it didn’t matter what he thought of her. This was the closest they would grow. She decided to tell him the truth. “If ye didn’t judge me a‘fore, here’s somethin’ tae scare ye off. I’m a bastard.”
Rosalie thought she saw embarrassment in his features. She stared at him, waiting for a response.
“None o’ that’s yer fault, lassie. An’ I dinnae think it makes ye who ye are.” And then, when he looked at her, she could feel their heartbeats sync. “Do ye ken who yer parents are?”
“No.” Their eyes deadlocked. “I’ve ne’er asked.”
“An’ why is that? I’d be curious, if it were me.”
“It seemed taboo, I guess. Scared Magda might take it the wrong way—think I weren’t grateful.” Maybe it was the knowing that they would never see each other again, but something about Declan opened her up. “I used to dream me mother were a lady, though, when I was a wee bairn. Silly, ain’t it?” She only gave a half-smile before breaking away from his mesmerizing blue eyes.
“No,” Rosalie startled as his fingers touched the side of her face, guiding it toward him. “Ye look like a lady.”
She closed her eyes as his fingers grazed the globe of her cheek. It first soothed her like a balm, but then her heart pattered with nerves. Part of her wanted to push into the palm of his hand, savoring how safe and accepted she felt in that moment, but couldn’t set aside reality. He touched one of the tight-wound curls. Rosalie squeezed her eyes tight and took a deep breath. She could smell sweat and dirt on him, mingling to create a unique, pleasant musk.
The young traveler slid her fingertips over the top of his hand, taking in the marks of hard work carved into his skin. She could hear his heartbeat quicken, and his breath shorten. If she let this go any further, all hope of coming out unscathed would vanish. As she pulled his hand away, a floodgate burst in her mind. A million thoughts drove her back to reality. If she let this go any further, it would only hurt her.
Besides, she didn’t even know this man. Enoch’s retelling of his conquests, how he seduced such maidens as herself, came to the forefront of her mind. When she opened her eyes, she couldn’t imagine he could play such treacherous tricks—yet fear would not let her forget.
“Still, we shouldn’t be doin’ this,” she said. The young woman withdrew, pulling her knees up to her chest and tightening the leather jacket around her shoulders. “I shouldn’t even be talkin’ to ye. If Magda found out—”
“What? If she found out I saved ye…” His brow wrinkled, but his voice remained calm. “She’d be relieved, no?”
Rosalie bit her lip and shook her head. “Please,” she begged with her gaze, “please don’t tell anyone we’ve met. If ye see me ‘gain, ye cannot know me.” She gripped his hand tight.
“I’ll see ye, though?”
“Not like this.” Rosalie shook her head. “Nothin’ good ‘ill come of it.”
“I ken ye feel it too. There’s a connection here. Ye cannot deny it, lassie.”
“Which is why if ye like me at all, you’ll stay away from me. There is no future fer us. Not o’ bein’ friends, or, or…” she did not want to say it out loud. It was presumptuous of her, a fantasy she couldn’t afford to entertain.
“Meetin’s like this don’ jus’ happen ev’ry day, ye ken.” He went to touch her hair again, but she pulled back.
Laughter came up from within her, partially from nervousness and partly from disbelief. “Like you don’ have plenty o’ appropriate women to pursue.”
That did it. It was clear she offended him. Color rose from his neck, reddening his face about as much as his hair. He just looked at her, and his expression said it all—his feelings were sincere.
A stick broke from somewhere within the darkening forest. Both of them tensed and looked back. Panic froze her.
“Rosalie!” It was Enoch.
He was further down the river, looking for where she’d been working. Rosalie looked around at the darkness and was shocked time had slipped by as fast as it did. Her eyes flew open.
“Ye have to go.” She stood and presented his jacket. “Please, if ye like me at all, ye have tae go ‘fore he sees ye.”
The anger subsided into concern. He looked towards the sound of Enoch growing closer, yelling her name, and trudging through the brush. “Tell me I’ll see ye ‘gain.”
Rosalie shook her head. “Please,” fear threatened to make her cry. Enoch was closer. “Please, jus’ take yer horse an’ forget aboot me.”
“I cannot. Promise me I’ll see ye, an’ I’ll go.” He stood, towering above her, making her feel small.
“Rosalie! Answer me!” Enoch screamed. Any second, he would appear and be able to see them together.
“All right, all right, I promise.” She slammed the jacket into his chest and started towards his horse, “Jus’ get outtae here. If they knew—” she held out the reins for him and looked over her shoulder again.
Chapter Three
Rosalie jumped as Enoch’s hand clasped her shoulder. She let out a sharp cry of surprise. All of her attention focused where Declan silently slipped into the woods. She wished she could have said goodbye. She hoped she hadn’t offended him right before shooing him off. Most of all, she regretted promising she would see him again. As much as she wanted to, she knew no good would come from it. Not with how she felt.
“What’s wrong with you? Why didn’t you answer me? I’ve been lookin’ for you damn near an hour now.” Enoch was cross, the legs of his pants wet from trudging through the underbrush in search of her.
“I-I’m sorry.” She pushed her thoughts away and forced a weak smile. “I couldn’t hear you o’er the river.”
Enoch looked at the river and eyed her suspiciously. “That’s a different dress than you were wearin’ earlier.” He pointed at her in accusation.
Her eyebrows flew up. “Oh, aye.” She looked down and then at the wash hanging around her, wondering how she would explain it all away. She eyed Enoch a moment. “Promise not to tell Magda?” She raised an eyebrow, wondering if he could keep any confidence.
He shrugged and gestured as if to say, “Get on with it.”
“I fell in tryin’ to cross o’er there.” She pointed at the log.
“Are ye crazy?” He walked to the river’s edge and looked at the rapids, his features tight with anger. “Ye couldae been killed! How the hell did ye manage to get out?”
Rosalie ran her fingers through her hair, focusing on the ends to avoid his
gaze. “I was lucky, is all.” She didn’t like lying. It was difficult for her, and she feared he could sense it.
“Ye should o’ come straight back. Magda’s about to send the dogs after ye.”
This annoyed Rosalie. She hated how tightly leashed everyone kept her. Right now, after having to send Declan away, it bothered her more than ever. So much of her life and happiness was out of her control. She started pulling the clothes down and stuffing them into the willow basket.
“Jus’ don’ tell Magda, aye?”
“She’s goin’ tae know, jus’ like I did. Ye changed clothes. She’s a sharp bird, Rosalie.”
Her heart sank. He was right. Magda would see it as recklessness. If she had an alright day, she might have to endure a few hours of screaming regarding her selfishness and thoughtlessness towards how she affected her family. If Magda was in a bad mood, she could look forward to a light flogging and more pressure to marry Enoch, securing her place in the clan.
Highlander’s Gypsy Lass (Highlander's 0f Clan Macgregor Book 1) Page 2
