by Candace Camp
“I canna imagine Faye digging into one of these graves to bury the gold.”
Violet nodded. It was a macabre image. A cold wind tugged at her cloak, and Violet shivered, reaching up to pull her hood forward. Coll glanced at the sky.
“Rain’s coming. We’d best go back.”
Violet nodded, and they started down the hill. The wind off the loch grew stronger, the dark clouds massing above them, casting a deeper gray over the landscape. Violet wrapped her cloak around her, but she could not keep the wind from blowing the hood back from her face and whipping at her hair. They had not yet reached the path to Duncally when the first fat drops of rain plopped on their heads.
Coll grabbed her wrist and broke into a trot. Surprised, Violet ran with him as he cut through the cottage garden and flung open the low wooden door of Meg’s cottage. She hurried through the door and Coll shoved it closed behind them. Violet shivered as she glanced around her.
The place was dark and small, but wonderfully aromatic. Tall cabinets covered most of the walls. An open doorway on the right led off into an even smaller room. A low rocking chair was beside the fireplace, and a table and two chairs were near the door. Directly across the room from them, only partly concealed by a folding wooden screen, stood a high, soft bed covered in a homey quilt.
Violet went still, her mouth dry. It was absurd, but suddenly it seemed as if the bed were the only thing in the house. She glanced up at Coll and saw that he, too, was staring at the bed.
He turned aside abruptly. “I’ll just, um, light the fire.” He strode away, his movements jerky, and knelt at the hearth, laying out bricks of peat and kindling.
Violet turned to examine the rest of the room. Pots, jars, and boxes filled the cabinets, and the variety of scents issued from them, mingling in an indistinguishable but compelling way. It smelled somehow comforting. Her hair was straggling down all about her head, torn from its moorings by the wind. With no hope of tucking it back into place, she pulled the rest of the hairpins from it.
The fire caught at last, licking up and consuming the twigs. Coll rose to his feet in a smooth motion and lit the oil lamp on the mantel. Drawn by the light and warmth, Violet walked toward the hearth, combing her fingers through her tangled hair. Coll turned and went still. His eyes remained fastened on her as she joined him in front of the fire.
“Your hair . . .”
Embarrassed, Violet separated the thick mass into three strands and began to weave them into a single, fat braid. “I know, ’tis a frightful mess, but I’ll—”
“No.” He reached out to stay her hand. “Leave it.” His fingers drifted from her hand to her hair. He pulled back sharply. “That is, I mean, no need to worry about it.” He cleared his throat.
Violet moved closer to the hearth, and Coll took a quick step back, his leg coming up sharply against the rocking chair.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Coll!” Violet snapped, goaded beyond politeness. “I’m not going to ravish you!”
“What?” He stared at her blankly.
“I realize how you regard me.”
“You do?”
“It’s obvious. You pulled your hand back from me last night as if I’d laid a hot poker on it. You cannot bear to be near me. I understand; I’m not an idiot. You are afraid I will push myself upon you, maneuver you into a romantic entanglement. But I assure you I won’t. I have never flung myself at a man, and I would not dream of placing you in such an uncomfortable position.”
“That is what you think?” Color flared in his cheeks and he loomed over her, his body taut as a bowstring. “That I stay away from you because I dinna want you?”
“Of course! What else am I—”
“Good God, Violet!” He grabbed her arms. “For an intelligent woman, you are remarkably hen-witted.” His eyes blazed. “You fill my mind. You plague my dreams. I canna sleep or eat. All I can think about is you.” Heat poured from him, more searing than the flames that danced in the fireplace. “Your scent. Your hair. Your skin. Could you not see? I pulled away from you because when you touched me, I thought I would die from wanting you.”
Fingers digging into her arms, Coll jerked her to him, and his mouth came down to seize hers.
15
Coll’s arms went around her, crushing Violet to him as his mouth consumed hers, fierce with longing. She could scarcely breathe, and she did not care. All that mattered was the feel of his hard male body pressing into her. His lips, his tongue, his heat. Violet trembled, digging her fingers into his jacket. The days of confusion and uncertainty fell away, leaving only the passion that throbbed in her.
She wanted him. She was not experienced enough to even be sure what she desired, but she knew it pulsed through her, seeking Coll and the matching storm inside him. She had not been mistaken. What she had seen in his eyes was this—a need and ferocity that drowned out all else.
Violet curled her fingers into his jacket and clung to him as he kissed her again and again. A primitive hunger was in him, a barely leashed wildness that stirred her, and she moaned softly as his hands swept down her body and over her buttocks, fingers digging in as he pressed her hips hard against him. She could feel the hard length of him pushing against her.
Coll let out a low groan that could have been torment or pleasure and pulled her down to the floor with him. Laying her back against the rug, he covered her with his body, supporting his weight on his elbows, one leg thrown across hers. He sank his fingers into her hair, holding her head still as he ravaged her with kisses. Violet moved her hips against him instinctively, and he shuddered.
His mouth moved down her neck as his hand roamed over her body, caressing her breasts and stomach. Impatiently he fumbled at the buttons that fastened her dress, opening it to his questing hand. Slipping his fingers beneath the edge of her chemise, he caressed her naked breast. The feel of his touch on her sensitive skin excited her almost past bearing, and Violet twisted beneath him, hooking one leg around his.
Coll shoved down the top of her chemise and his mouth followed the path his fingers had taken, kissing the soft, quivering flesh. His tongue moved inward in delicate circles that brought a gasp of pleasure from her, until it centered on the hard point of her nipple. He took her into his mouth, pulling with a soft, insistent suction that drew hot, liquid pleasure from her depths.
Violet tangled her fingers in his hair, the silken feel of the strands mingling with the myriad other sensations tumbling through her. Coll mumbled something incoherent against her skin as his mouth worked its way across her chest. Anticipation of what was to come coiled inside her, building to the final little fillip of satisfaction as his lips closed on her other nipple. She could not hold back a soft moan, and at the sound, his skin flared with heat.
Roughly he shoved up the skirts of her gown, and his hand slipped beneath them, traveling up her leg until his fingers found her hot, damp center. Violet jerked in surprise at the intimate touch. She realized, embarrassed, that she was flooded with moisture. She had a moment’s worry about what he would think, but Coll only made a noise deep in his throat, almost a purr, and his fingers stroked over her, making her forget all else.
Passion swirled and coiled, and Violet ached for more. She wished the obstructions of their clothes were gone. She wanted to see him, touch his naked skin, but the thick fabric of his jacket thwarted her. Shoving her hand beneath the jacket, she caressed his chest, but still his shirt lay between her fingers and what she desired. Finding the top tie of his shirt, she tugged it open, and then at last her fingertips were on his smooth, bare skin, searingly hot.
Coll went up on his knees, yanking his jacket off and flinging it aside. He pulled the ends of his shirt from his trousers and started to whip it off over his head, but his gaze went to Violet lying there before him, and he stopped abruptly. The only sound was his breath pumping in and out of his lungs as he gazed at her.
“Christ!” He released the ends of his shirt with a groan and sat back on his heels. “What am
I doing?” Coll shoved his hands into his hair, pressing his fingertips hard against his scalp.
“Coll?” Violet stared at him blankly, her mind befogged with passion, her body thrumming.
“Get dressed.” His voice grated like iron. “I will not do this to you.”
She was too astounded to move or think. Then anger flooded up, and she shot to her feet. She tugged her bodice back into place, fingers shaking as she fastened the buttons.
“Again? Now I am abhorrent to you once more?” Humiliation and frustration churned in her, and she had to fight to hold back tears. She would not let him see her cry.
“Abhorrent! Don’t be a fool. Of course not! Surely you realize that I want you.” He, too, surged to his feet and faced her, every line of his body taut with frustration and anger. “You could not have thought I would pull you down and . . . and all but consume you if I did not desire you?”
“Then why!” She clenched her fists, her arms tight at her sides. “Why do you keep kissing me, then pushing me away?”
“Do you think I am the sort of man to treat a woman lightly? To take you without a thought to your honor?”
“My honor?” She gaped at him. “That is what’s important? What about me? Did you give any thought to that?”
“Of course! Who the devil else would I be thinking of? If all I had thought about was me, I’d be buried so deep ins—” He broke off and swung away, drawing a deep breath. “Well, I wouldn’t be standing here talking with you.”
“I don’t suppose it occurred to you to ask me if I wanted you to protect my honor. After all, it’s scarcely any concern of mine, is it? No doubt you know far better what I should or should not do.”
“It was not about you.”
“What?” Her brows soared up. “Now my virtue is naught to do with me?”
He made a noise very much like a growl. “Dinna try me, Violet. I am not talking about your virtue or deciding anything for you. I am talking about what I do. I am not the sort of man to treat a woman that way.”
Violet’s jaw dropped. “Do you mean—then you have never, um, been with a woman?”
He stared at her. “What? No! Of course I’ve lain with a woman. But not one like you. A lady. A lass who’s untouched. Whose reputation would be harmed.”
“You lie only with trollops? With women you pay?”
“I would not take a maiden. I would not seduce a young lass and ruin her reputation.”
“I told you!” She ground out the words. “I don’t care about my reputation.”
“ ’Tis easy enough to say, but you dinna know what it’s like.”
“Oh!” She narrowed her eyes, her hands again tightening into fists on her hips. “I suppose you know better than I what it is like for a woman to be an outcast? To have her family turn away from her or to be treated with scorn?”
“People think you are a bluestocking. Perhaps even eccentric. It’s hardly the same as being deemed a jade. You have no idea what it’s like to be looked upon with contempt, to be whispered about. I know how people regarded my mother. I know the sort of gossip that followed Meg all her life, though she had never done aught to warrant it. I will not have people treat you like that.”
“You will not have it! Of course. That is what matters. What you will have. What you decide. What you want. I have nothing to say in the matter. No doubt I cannot be trusted to make decisions about the course of my life. I am only a weak female and must have a man tell me what to do.”
“I never said that.” His jaw jutted mulishly.
“You did not have to. I understand the message quite well. I have heard it all my life!” She whirled and grabbed her cloak. “I will not bother you any longer with my shameful behavior.”
“Violet! Stop. You canna go out there—the weather.”
“I don’t care about the weather. I’d rather be out in the rain and the cold than stuck in here with a sanctimonious, overbearing prig!” She strode for the door, tying her cloak around her.
“Wait.” He picked up his coat and began to pull it on. “Let me put out the fire, and I’ll go with you. You should not be out in this by yourself.”
She spun back, fixing him with an icy gaze. “No. I will do what I want. There is no ‘should’ about it. I am sure we will both be happier if you stay here and take your pleasure by yourself, as you prefer it.”
Violet marched out, slamming the door behind her.
The foul weather suited her mood. Her anger took her down the path to where it split off to the castle before she realized that, in fact, the weather was no longer so foul. Though the gray sky still drizzled, it was not pouring down rain, and the wind had also died down, making it possible to keep her hood covering her head and her cloak wrapped around her.
She climbed the sloping path to Duncally at a good pace, her mind in a stew. Of all the insufferable men! To decide what was best for her! As if she were a child who did not realize the consequences of her actions!
Gradually her steps began to slow—and her mind as well. She remembered him sitting with his back to her, his fingers gripping his bowed head, his whole body taut. However frustrating and aggravating his rejection had been to her, it had not been easy for him. A faint smile touched her lips. He was not disinterested in her. His desire had not been illusory nor had it been fleeting.
She walked on, recalling Coll’s actions the last few days. Viewed in this new light, they did not speak of indifference. Had he really thought of her so often? Wanted her? Was it unfulfilled hunger that had brought the shadows beneath his eyes, the tension in his face? She thought again of that moment in front of the fireplace when his face had flamed with desire. The faint trembling of his hand when he slid it along her skin.
Violet paused, thinking of that hand, those supple fingers as they moved beneath her gown, the delicious texture of his skin as he touched her sensitive nipples. It was not a terrible trait to have concern for her reputation. She could not revile him for treating her with honor. He would not be a man she could respect if he callously dismissed such things. But, blast it, she should be the one to make the decisions about her life.
A snap came in the trees behind her. Violet tensed. Had Coll followed her? She turned, her eyes scanning the woods. She could see nothing on the path, and the shadows beneath the trees revealed little. It was not Coll; he would not hide.
She started forward again. Her back prickled between her shoulder blades; she could not dismiss the idea that she was being watched. The leaves rustled, and she was not sure if it was the wind that had sent them skittering on the ground or a person’s feet. More likely some small animal, running off at the sight of a human.
She spun around. The scene was the same, empty but for trees and shrubs and shadows. She was being fanciful. It was simply the gray afternoon and her own jumbled feelings that plucked her nerves, merely the unaccustomed aloneness after spending the day with Coll.
Holding her head high, she strode forward with purpose. With a sigh of relief she saw the stone steps of Duncally ahead of her. She took the flight of stairs to the lowest garden, then turned and watched the trail she had just traversed. There was no sign of anyone.
She felt foolish. There was no reason for her uneasy feeling. Yet she could not help but think of the time last week when she had had the same itchy sense that she was being watched. She had seen nothing to indicate that the idea was warranted either time; she knew it was illogical. It had been born out of her being generally on edge the last few days, that was all.
Once she was back in her room, her first instinct was to spend the rest of the day there. She could have her supper brought to her on a tray and not have to face Coll. But that would be cowardly. Violet refused to run away. She had dealt with exclusion and rejection all her life; she could deal with this. It would be awkward at first, but they would move past it. Coll had certain beliefs, and she had others. They would accept that and remain colleagues.
She went down to the evening meal at the usual
time, both relieved and disappointed to see that Coll was not there. Footsteps sounded in the hall. They checked for an instant at the door, then came closer.
Glad that she had had a moment to prepare herself, Violet turned with a carefully polite expression. “Good evening, Coll.” She quelled the small pang of regret. That, too, would pass.
“Violet. I was not certain I would see you here tonight.”
“Really? I hope I am not so petty as to fault a man for adhering to his principles. Indeed, I commend you for holding yourself to the same standard of conduct you expect of women. So many men believe that what is loose behavior in a woman is acceptable for a man.”
His brows drew together. “I dinna say that your behav—”
“Please.” She raised her hand with a cool smile. “Let us not quarrel. I hope that we can put what happened this afternoon behind us and move forward without animosity.”
“Of course.” His tone was less certain than his words.
“Good. Then you agree that we should continue to work together on deciphering the clues to the treasure?”
“Yes. I dinna want to stop.”
“I am glad.” Violet ignored the fluttering in her stomach. If she applied herself to the task, soon she would be able to look at Coll without thinking of his hands sliding over her. She would converse with him without focusing on his mouth. Someday she would mean it when she praised him for holding to his morals, without wondering if he would have broken his rules if only she were more desirable.
She picked up her fork. “There must be some sort of marker wherever Faye buried the sacks. Or a further clue.”
Coll fiddled with his cutlery. “I agree. We aren’t even sure that the Munro graves are what she meant. She said ‘our ancestors.’ Perhaps she meant Sir Malcolm’s ancestors as well or a general group. The graveyard in the village.”
“There’s also that statement about ‘guarding it as we have guarded them.’ That could be a hint about a specific area.”
