“You said he had some news about your family?”
“Only a message for me.” Isabella’s voice quavered slightly, but she cleared her throat and continued. “He said, tell the doctor the lasses have been moved, and they’re safe.”
“Where were they moved? Who took them?”
She hugged her hands around her middle. “He didn’t say.”
“Why trust anything he said?”
“The man was a Highlander, Jean said, and no Englishman. He told her he was one of those who’d chased off the blue-backs on the coach road near the Stoneyfield House. They followed us here.”
A dozen questions arose in his mind. No one helped anyone here, unless they wanted something in return. Cinaed’s weapons smuggling was beneficial to the clans. He was worth keeping alive. But no one knew to connect him with the trade, and they couldn’t have known he had anything to do with John Gordon. He’d given no name at the inn. They couldn’t know he was involved. It had to be Isabella they were interested in.
The most troubling thing was that they knew she was a doctor. They knew her identity, which meant they also knew about the reward. And now they knew where she was staying. But if the reward was their motive, why had no one shown up to take her? And why move the two young women to a “safe” place?
He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m grateful for what they’ve done. But I don’t understand why they’re doing it.”
“Neither do I,” she admitted. “Tonight, I decided to stay by the window and watch for them.”
“Are they out there?”
She shook her head and glanced at the window. “If they are here, I haven’t seen them.”
He stood, and for a moment the room swung around his head. He put out a hand and she was there to take it.
“You’ve hardly eaten anything for four days. You need time to regain your strength. I can call for one of the servants if you need to use the water closet or—”
“Just help me to the window.”
The dizziness went away as quickly as it came, but Cinaed put an arm around her shoulder, savoring the feel of Isabella against him.
She helped him pull the blanket around him as they walked.
The lane below was quiet. In the shadows, a movement drew his eye. And then another. “They’re still out there.”
“I don’t see anyone.”
“Beyond the cart toward the river. A man is crouching by the stack of lumber, watching the gate.” He pointed up the lane. “Look in the shadow of the deserted cottage halfway up the lane. Two more.”
Isabella’s body went tense and her hold on him tightened. “This is what I feared. If they simply wanted to deliver that message, then why are they still here? What do they want?”
He didn’t know. He didn’t have much faith in faceless informants, even those who seemed to know so much. At the same time, he didn’t want to destroy Isabella’s confidence that these men might be protecting her family. Something was amiss. They could be the same ones who’d come to their rescue, but he couldn’t be sure. And even if they were, Isabella’s question echoed in his head. What did they want?
The news of a British soldier being shot while members of his regiment were run off by a gang of rogue Highlanders had to have spread far and wide. But the reward of a thousand pounds for handing Isabella over was even bigger news.
“For as long as we stay here, you must never venture outside these walls.” He took her hand and drew her away from the window. “And don’t worry about the decrepit and tumbledown look of the house. Because of his business, Searc has made this place a fortress. The walls and doors are thick and the window shutters on the lower floors are reinforced with iron bars. He’s built an underground tunnel that leads to a dockyard downriver by the old pier, and another that leads to a stable inland beyond the ropeworks. At any time of the day or night, he could snap his fingers and have more than a dozen armed men here ready to fight off any invasion of the law. The city authorities know this, and the British are aware of it. He lines their pockets handsomely to leave what is his alone.”
“What is his,” she repeated. “Unfortunately, I have yet to prove to him I’m worth protecting.”
“Then we need to change that.”
“How?”
“Let me show you.” Taking Isabella’s hand, he led her wide-eyed to the bed. “After tonight, Searc will never question that you’re my wife.”
CHAPTER 14
Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright
As in that well-remembered night
When first thy mystic braid was wove,
And first my Agnes whispered love.
—Sir Walter Scott, “To a Lock of Hair”
As Cinaed seated her on the bed, expectation surged within her, and Isabella’s insides warmed and then liquefied. Although she’d been married for six years, her marriage to Archibald was one of convenience, not passion. He was twenty-six years her senior, but as a widower in perfect health, he wanted to enjoy the physical side of the marital relationship. She tolerated their occasional time in bed. It was her duty. But thinking back on it now, she recalled no anticipation. No excitement. No glowing aftermath. None.
Tonight, she had no idea what Cinaed intended to do when he eased himself down on his knees beside the bed, but she felt light-headed imagining the possibilities. The blanket had slipped from his shoulders, and the muscles of his back rippled in the flickering light of the candle. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself reaching out, boldly grasping the curls of his dark hair, and guiding his face to her …
“Candle. Would you kindly bring it closer? And hand me my knife?”
Isabella realized her daydreaming was for nothing when he turned to the bedding on the floor and tossed it to the side. She did as she was asked and crouched beside him.
“What are you looking for?”
He was running his hand over the wide floorboards until he found what he was looking for. Slipping the blade of his knife into a nearly invisible slot, he pried gently. The board popped up, and he reached into the dark space beneath.
A satisfied smile lit his face. Cinaed withdrew his hand and held up a small box, covered with dust. He must have concealed it there a long time ago.
He sat against the bed and patted the floor next to him. She sat beside him, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, their legs stretched before them. She put the candle on the floor as he wiped away the dust from the box.
“When did you hide this?”
“When I was nine years old.”
Cinaed and Searc were both Mackintoshes. And although they looked nothing alike, he’d called the older man kin.
“Were you visiting Searc then?”
“Not exactly a visit. I had nowhere else to go. I was essentially dumped on his doorstep. And he took me in.”
Surprised, she turned to him. Cinaed was studying the grain of the wood on the small box. He was in no hurry to open it. His beard was getting long, hiding much of his face and chin. His hair was wild as a lion’s mane. Despite the recent days of being bedridden with fever, he exuded strength and energy. But he’d not always been the man beside her. She thought of the boy that no one wanted.
As the silence settled around them, Isabella heard the mournful call of an owl. A moment later, a second one in the distance answered. Cinaed rubbed the box with his thumb, and she could see him traveling back in his mind over the years. She tried to recall her own life at nine years old. She and her father were living in Wurzburg. By then, her mother was a cherished memory she clung to. It would be three more years before her father married again.
Isabella had already become his shadow. When he’d met with his students at the university, she was there at his heels. When he’d traveled to visit his patients, she stood beside him. He’d allowed her into the operating theater, and she’d trailed after him when he went to consult with the anatomists in the dissection rooms. At nine years old, she could already read German and French as well as English, and she�
�d pored through his medical journals, devouring them like adventure novels. It was during those years that she decided to become a physician. She’d led a very different life from Cinaed.
She put her hand on top of his. “Why did no one want you?”
“I had no parents.”
“What happened to them?”
“I was told my father went to sea eight months before my mother gave birth to me and never came back. My mother passed away when I was six years old.”
Isabella tried to imagine this man beside her a forlorn orphan waif, and her heart began to ache. “Who raised you after your mother was gone?”
“Aunts. My uncle. The folk in my uncle’s castle and in the village brought up not only their own bairns, but all the clan children. This was the way of things in the Highlands then. I suppose it’s the same now.” He tapped the lid of the box but didn’t open it. “I lived at Dalmigavie Castle, and I was no distant relative of the laird. Lachlan Mackintosh was my uncle, the brother to my mother, but one day he decided I was no longer welcome there.”
Many boys were sent away at such a young age on the continent and in the south of Scotland to be educated. But this didn’t seem to be the reason for Cinaed’s expulsion.
“Were you trouble to them?”
“Not more than any other boy my age.”
“Did Lachlan see you as a threat in some way to his position as laird?” she asked. She wasn’t familiar at all with clan society or rules of inheritance.
“I was only nine. I was no threat to anyone.”
Isabella’s fists clenched involuntarily as the anger in her flared at the injustice done to that boy. She took a breath to calm herself. “Did Searc raise you then?”
“Nay. I lived with him over the fall and winter of that year, and in the late spring, he signed me on to a merchant schooner going to Halifax. I worked as a ship’s boy.”
“Did you have family there?”
“None,” he told her. “But it was time for me to learn a trade and become a man.”
Searc was no better than the uncle. And what was the purpose of family if they didn’t take care of their own?
Cinaed had to sense her frustration as he pushed a strand of hair gently out of her face and looked into her eyes. “I don’t care to talk about my past anymore. I made myself the man I am today and am obliged to no one.”
Isabella’s heart still stung for the boy who’d had to grow up too fast.
“What I left, however, better be here still.”
She watched the slow and deliberate movement as he slid open the top of the box. Inside, a woman’s embroidered handkerchief lay neatly folded. He felt for whatever it was hidden within it.
“This is all I have left of what belonged to my mother.”
If she’d been hurting for him before, the feeling became ten times worse now. At the same time, she thought of her own life and what little she had left of it. What she wore and traveled with were all she possessed.
He unfolded the handkerchief. A silver ring lay at the center. He held it up for her.
The ring was elegant and demonstrated the work of a master craftsman. Within a delicately wrought heart, two leaves surrounded a thistle in bloom. At the top of the heart rested a crown.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “Breathtaking.”
“My mother wore it on a chain around her neck and gave it to me on her deathbed. She told me it had been a gift from my father.”
“A thistle and a crown.”
“That’s the reason I named my ship Highland Crown. I hoped it would be a fitting tribute, though I knew but little about him.” His thumb ran across the emblem. “He was a seafarer like me.”
There was so much that she wanted to say to comfort him, but words failed her. She began to understand Searc’s defense of him now. No matter how short the time he’d sheltered Cinaed, there seemed to be a protectiveness that still ran in the man’s veins.
He took her hand and spread her fingers across the palm of his hand. A tingling sensation raced through Isabella’s body. She stared at the contrast of her pale skin against his darker hue. She was still wearing her wedding ring.
“Would you mind wearing this, instead?”
Emotions churned inside of her. She was no fool. She understood what was behind the offer, just as she’d known why he’d kissed her in front of Searc that first night.
“I promise to give it back to you the day we leave here.”
She pulled off her wedding ring and tucked it into the pocket of her dress. As she reached for his mother’s ring, he took her hand.
“Searc knows I left the box in this chamber. And I warned him that I’d kill him if it went missing. He knew this ring was intended for my wife.”
He tried to slip the ring onto her finger, but it got stuck at the knuckle.
“I guess it was not meant to be.”
“Give me a moment.” His eyes danced with mischief as he brought her hand to his lips.
Isabella let out a gasp when his mouth unexpectedly closed around her fourth finger. His lips and tongue laved her skin. Warmth and excitement pooled in her belly and moved lower. She didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until he ended the delicious torment and slipped the ring on her finger. The fit was snug but perfect.
“Be my wife?”
Her throat was dry. She nodded. “In name. Of course.”
His blue eyes caught the candlelight as he pressed a hand to her brow. “Now you’re the one who is feverish.”
“I…”
He kissed her. Or was it that she kissed him? Isabella’s wasn’t too sure. What she knew was that she did not pull away, but rather leaned into him and clutched his shoulders gently. His weathered lips were surprisingly soft and giving. He angled his mouth over hers and was about to deepen the kiss when sanity quickly returned, and she dragged herself away and sat back. The heat in her face was scorching, her hand pressed to her mouth. Her lips tingled.
Kisses weren’t supposed to undo people. Or at least this was the way she’d always lived her life.
“I … you’re not well enough for such things. I should wrap your shoulder and arm again. Jean will be coming up soon. She warns me when the kitchen is hard at work and the rest of the household is stirring.”
She didn’t wait for him to say anything but picked up the candle and put it on the table. Grabbing the blankets off the floor, she became a whirlwind of movement, folding her bedding and storing it away, trying not to look at him. Cinaed said nothing, but she heard him push to his feet.
Going to the table, she chose the cloths she needed to bind his shoulder and turned around. He sat on the edge of the bed, exactly as she’d found him before. She thought he must be Adonis, sent by the gods to tempt her with his beauty and fan her desire.
She forced herself not to admire his body and stared at the dark beard. The long lashes framed the blue eyes that looked so dark in the candlelight. Her gaze fell on his lips. She ran a hand down the front of her dress and wondered if he would ever kiss her again.
“I’m ready.” He tilted his head and smiled. “Whenever you are.”
Oh, was she ever ready, Isabella thought, approaching him. She went to work on his arm first.
“Your wounds are healing nicely. But to be safe, I’ll wrap them for another couple of days.”
He caught her hand, and the bandages dropped onto the bed.
Their gazes locked. Isabella didn’t know what was happening to her, but she was uncontrollably drawn to him. He pulled her between his knees. Her fingers were on his skin, working a slow path up his neck. They were eye to eye, lip to lip. The memory of the kiss from a few moments ago filled her mind. She wanted it again. Now.
Wordlessly, she brushed her lips against his—once, softly, gently, and then again. His lips were warm, inviting. He patiently waited, leaving Isabella in charge of what she wanted to do.
Summoning her courage, she let her mouth linger a bit longer. Her tongue hesitantl
y teased the seam of his lips.
His hand slipped around the back of her head. Isabella felt his mouth open beneath hers, drawing her in. Enthralled with her position of control and by the heat that was spreading through her, limb by limb, she deepened the kiss. Their tongues danced and mated.
A hungry groan escaped Cinaed’s lips, and his fingers delved and fisted in her hair. She answered and matched his urgency with hers.
He inched back farther on the bed and she followed, climbed up and moved on top of him, straddling him. Her hands caressed his face, and she threaded her fingers through his hair. She was lost in the play of their lips and tongues and the power of a kiss that continued on and on.
Thirty-four years in age, six years of marriage, and she had never kissed anyone like this. The joy of this one act far exceeded any physical encounter she had yet experienced in life.
Her head tipped to deepen the kiss, and Cinaed’s passion surged. Suddenly his arm tightened around her. He was cupping her breast, feeling the nipple hardening through the dress. Her body and her hips moved restlessly, instinctively seeking a better fit. His hand found the hem of her skirt and slid upward along her bare leg.
The tap on the door was sharp, and Isabella, breathless and mortified, tore her mouth away and jumped off the bed.
An instant later, the door swung open and Jean came in.
“Yer fever’s gone only a few hours, and here ye are restless as a salmon running upriver,” Jean declared, seeing him sitting up in bed. “Damn me, but I’m thinking yer a man who can’t wait to be up and going.”
Carrying the pitcher of water she’d brought up, she disappeared behind the screen.
Cinaed’s attention was only on Isabella. She had her back to him, her hands busily cutting strips of linen while more of it was scattered across the bed. But he knew her mind was caught up in the same excitement that had taken hold of him. Her body had to be as affected as his. If Jean had come ten minutes later, the two of them would have had more than their mouths to untangle.
He pulled the blankets across his lap. Watching Isabella, he took a deep breath, remembering the scent of her hair. He wanted to taste the sweetness of her skin, feel the texture of her willing mouth. Her tempting blend of innocence, experience, and desire drove his need. He wanted her. He wanted to make love to her. He couldn’t recall ever wanting a woman so much.
Highland Crown Page 14
