"I can imagine. Have you known Miss MacCarran a long time?"
"We've known Katherine and her sister and brother since they were bairns." Mary narrowed her eyes. "Just how well do you know her, sir?"
He cleared his throat and dipped his spoon into the soup again. "Not well enough," he finally said.
"Och, all the lads want to know her well. And so her kinsmen have to protect her from them." She watched him thoughtfully.
"Seems to me," he murmured, "that they could have protected her a little better than they did."
"Aye well, it may seem so. But with that fairy blood in her, they could either lock her in a tower or make the most of that charm she was born with. I suppose you might know that she has the fairy way about her, Captain."
He laughed ruefully. "I've heard something about it. Sounds like a delightful family legend."
"Och. there are manv stories about the fairv eift of
the MacCarrans. Some have the glamourie about them so that they can charm and conjure, and some have a way wi' growing things, and some have the Sight, and some have a healing touch ... oh, there are so many stories in this clan. They have their fair share of magic, these MacCarrans." She smiled, eyes sparkling.
"I'd have to agree," Alec said, chuckling.
"Eat your soup, Captain Fraser. Katherine made that for you. She's been devoted to you these days—even slept over there on that wee sofa at night." She pointed across the room.
"I know," he said, remembering vague, comforting memories of her constant presence during his brief, fierce illness. "Where is she now?" He lowered his gaze, remembering their passionate, dreamlike encounter the night before, and he realized how very much he wanted to see her again.
"I sent her to her room to get some rest. She's been doing all this for you as if she were your own devoted wife. So what I'd like to know," Mary Murray went on, "is how like a husband you've been to her."
He frowned. "Husband?"
"You know what I mean. The girl has a magic about her that makes men fall in love with her. They carina resist her if she turns that glamourie on them."
"Glamourie?" he asked curiously.
"A fairy enchantment. She bedazzles men when she wants."
He nodded and dipped his spoon in the soup.
"But I've never known her to return the interest."
"No?" Alec met the woman's serious elance.
"There's something different about you, sir, and I think she knows it. I think you've become verra important to her, Captain."
"Madam, I assure you I have no ill intentions toward her."
"I believe it," she said after a moment. "But you'd better hope that her brother and kinsmen believe it, too."
"I have nothing to hide from them, Mrs. Murray."
"Good. You know, you could make this situation better for all concerned, sir."
"Aye?" He waited, expecting her to tell him to clear out of Duncrieff as fast as he could.
She leaned toward him. "Marry the lass," she whispered. She took the empty bowl from his hands. "Marry her, and make it right for both of you. For everyone. That's my advice. And dinna tell a soul I said so. It's just for you to think about."
Dumbstruck, Alec stared at her.
"If you've bedded the lass, then you should wed her. You're gentleman enough to know that yourself."
He did not know if he was being reprimanded or encouraged. "And gentleman enough to make no comment about it to anyone other than the lady herself," he murmured.
"You dinna need to, I can see it for m'self. There would be a kerfuffle over her marrying you, but you can get 'round it."
"I'm sure her kinsmen would object," he said, folding one hand over the other.
"They would at first, but once they see she's happy, there would be a chanee of heart in the matter. This
clan believes strongly in their fairy legends, and tradition says those who have the fairy ways, as Katherine and Sophie do, must marry only for true love—or the whole clan will suffer if a wrong choice is made. So they say."
"True love?" He blinked, startled. Was it possible? Suddenly, surely, he knew that it was.
"I think it is a bunch of blether, m'self, this MacCar-ran need for true love. Though Sophie did well by her Connor," she added thoughtfully. "Well, I say, just marry the one what makes yer heart flippit, the one who makes you laugh and knows you like no other. Marry the one you want to see on your pillow for all your life. That's good enough for me. But they will have their legends here at Duncrieff."
"Mrs. Murray," Alec said, "you are a woman of wisdom."
"I know." She grinned. "And if you do wed that lass, you can protect her when she goes to Edinburgh to face the courts."
"She does not intend to face the courts, from what she tells me," he remarked.
"Och, but if you're with her, you'd keep her safe, and the threat of it all would be lifted." Mary nodded as if she were certain that would happen. Taking the bowl, she bid him farewell and quietly left the room.
Alec frowned to himself, thoughts racing. Dear God, he realized, Mrs. Murray was right. He had not seen it quite that way before. He sat up, shoved a hand through his hair.
He had let the MacLennans believe that he and Kate
were married at the inn. At the time he had done it to keep the girl with him. But he had loved her, held her, as if she were his bride—she deserved his respect. He ought to marry her—he wanted to do that, though it stunned him to realize it fully.
Now he knew—now he felt sure that whatever charm Kate possessed could only enhance what he felt for her. Love could not be created by intent—it came from a far greater magic to blossom of its own accord.
Love or not, it was unthinkable for a custodial officer to marry his female prisoner. And marriage had been the last goal on his mind for years, ever since he had lost it so tragically.
Yet suddenly, wildly, marrying Kate made perfect sense.
Chapter 22
T
apping lightly on the door before entering the room, Kate was surprised to see Alec awake. He looked strong and healthy, if ill at ease, for he perched on the edge of the bed with the thick ivory coverlet, embroidered by her mother years ago, wrapped around him. His torso was bare, his left arm held by a cloth sling against him. One leg and foot stuck out beneath the coverlet, toes pressed to the floor.
"I've nothing to wear but this, apparently," he said, indicating the coverlet.
She crossed the room toward him. In the firelight, his bare skin was sheened smooth, and his hair, freed of its queue and black ribbon, swept softly over his shoul-
ders, glinting like dark whiskey in the light. His gaze, blue-gray as a stormy sea, compelled her toward him.
Thinking of the way he had loved her, touched her, the other night, she caught her breath. "I've come to save you, then," she said, "for I've brought a clean shirt." She set the bundle down on the bed. "Your plaid and jacket are being cleaned and mended."
"I'll need more than a shirt if I'm to walk out of this room, my lass," he murmured with a wry smile.
She nodded, swallowed, did not want to think about his leaving Duncrieff. He would expect her to go with him to Edinburgh; she was, after all, still under arrest.
Remembering what she carried in her pocket, she drew out a thick envelope. "This was in your jacket."
He accepted it and set it aside. "It's a letter from my aunt in Edinburgh."
"It smells heavenly," she said. "Like chocolate."
"Now and then she sends me a wee sample of something my uncle is working on—an eating chocolate, something like a wafer, but it is meant to be eaten like a small pastry, all of chocolate."
She smiled. "That would taste wonderful!"
He grimaced. "It might, but my uncle is fond of chocolate in the traditional Spanish style. With pepper," he emphasized. "Believe me, it is not too pleasant when you bite into it in solid form. His experiments continue, and the sample in that letter could have
hot peppers in it. It's the way the cacao powder was mixed in the Americas, where the Spaniards first learned about chocolate from the savage tribes there," he explained. "Xocalatl is what thev called it there, and thev
drank it cold and unsweetened, sometimes with very hot peppers added."
Kate wrinkled her nose. "I cannot imagine that—it's such a lovely, rich drink. We've always made it with lots of thick cream and sugar—it's the only way I've ever had it prepared."
"You're fortunate," he said, and she laughed a little.
"So you were taking me to their house in Edinburgh?"
"I am planning on that, aye," he said, in a careful tone.
She glanced away to pick up the shirt and hand it to him, but he looked askance at it. "I'll need my plaid with that."
"A shirt is all you need for recuperating in bed."
"All I need for bed," he murmured, touching her arm, "is you, Kate ... my God, I do." He seemed surprised by his own words.
Her breath caught in her throat, and shivers plunged through her as he drew her toward him, opening his knees, coverlet draped generously over him, to bring her close, circling his uninjured arm around her waist, and he slid his hand along her back so that she leaned inward.
She could not help herself, wanted to pull away and could not. His nearness took her breath away, and as his lips met hers, she simply melted. This was what she wanted—tender touching, shared passion, and love. She wanted only to be with him.
And what must be said, what must be done, seemed only to interfere with what felt most real to her, what she most desired. She did not want to think, to argue, to bareain anymore.
His lips brushed over hers, yet she could not allow him to dissolve her will further. She pulled back, stepped away, picked up the shirt, and dumped it in his lap.
"You should be resting," she said, while his hand slid away from her waist.
"I've had more than enough rest," he growled, his voice hoarse with what she knew was desire. "I'm mending quickly now. And we've got to be away from here, you and I, and off to Edinburgh." With one arm in the sling, he began to pull the shirt awkwardly over his head.
"I'm not going with you," she said quietly.
Thrusting his head through the neck of the shirt, he paused, then slowly drew the cloth down over his torso, empty sleeve hanging. He stared at her. "I cannot leave without you."
"I will stay here, with my kinsmen about me. You must go," she said, drawing back farther, away from his spell. "My kinsman Allan thinks so, and our friend Neill Murray."
"I do not doubt they want me out of here, but you must come with me. I have yet to meet your brother and speak with him."
"He will say the same."
"You're expected in Edinburgh. If you intend to hide from that, you would have to put yourself into exile and leave Scotland altogether."
"My father was exiled nine years ago," she said. "We lived away from Scotland and Duncrieff for years because of it. He never saw Scotland aeain. for he died at
James Stuart's court in Rome. I'll stay here." She folded her arms.
Alec tipped his head. "Once you make up your mind, you never give in, do you?"
"Rarely. And I'm safe here. Duncrieff is remote enough. After a while, Katie Hell would be forgotten. Only you," she said, "would know the truth of my name outside of my own kin. You and Jack."
"So you expect me to just walk away from you?"
She glanced down, her heart aching so that she pressed her crossed arms against herself. "I would have to ask your promise ... to keep my identity a secret."
"Another bargain? What would you give me in return?"
She raised her gaze to his. "My trust."
"That's a fine reward, lass." He reached out, took her arm and pulled her toward him again, so that her hip met his thigh, coverlet draped between them. "But I cannot leave you."
"Can you not?" She could hear the soft sound of her breathing as she waited.
He pulled her so close, then, that she leaned against his chest, so close she could feel his heartbeat under her hand lifted between them. So close that his cheek brushed hers. "There are other matters to consider," he said, as his lips grazed over her cheek to touch her mouth.
"Oh," she breathed, feeling her legs wilt. "What?"
He nudged her nose with his, slipped his tongue along her lower lip, so that she sucked in a breath and melted further, leaned aeainst him. felt his arm encircle her.
"You are still under arrest," he murmured, his deep voice resonating through her. She began to pull away, and his hand tightened at her back, his lips and breath warmed her, thrilled her, even as his words threw her into turmoil. "And you remain under the legal custody of an appointed agent of the government."
"You," she said.
"Me," he breathed, and his lips took hers again. She moaned in surrender, then in protest, and pushed away.
"Do not do that," she said. "I cannot think when you—"
"When I what?" he asked. His eyes were so very blue, she thought. Had she fully noticed their extraordinary beauty before?
"When you ply that magic over me," she said breathlessly. "When you touch me, kiss me, I cannot help myself. Do you know that you are the only man who has ever made me feel like this? And yet you are the one who would take me away from here." She felt a sob rising in her throat.
"Kate," he whispered, reaching out to take her hand.
She shook him off angrily. "You had better leave."
He shook his head, sighed. "Listen to me. You are to appear before the Court of Justiciary within a few days, and I am to bring you there. If we do not—"
"You said you do not always follow rules." She glanced at him. "What would happen if you went back without me?"
"I might be arrested, I suppose, on a charge of treason, or aiding a spy. Grant would see to that. He wants
you brought to justice, not for spying, but for humiliating him."
"Oh, God," she whispered, shaking her head. "I did not really think—what then, if you were arrested because of me?"
"I suppose I would have to find some way to escape—Jack would help me—and would come looking for you here."
"And then?" Her breath faltered.
"We would flee into exile, you and I."
She admired the ability he had to add a wry touch, now and then, to make even serious situations seem manageable. She was often too serious. "But you have family to consider."
"So do you." He reached for her hand again. "Kate," he said, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, "marry me."
She put a hand to her bodice, feeling a sort of panic. She thought of the Fairy Cup, of the legends, of her own determination never to marry. What if this love was not true, what if this red soldier was not trustworthy after all, what if her clan suffered for her choice? "I cannot. I must not."
"Do you need a finer proposal?" He indicated the coverlet. "I would look silly kneeling in this, or in my shirt alone. You'll have to take me as I am. Marry me, lass." His thumb moved over her hand, making little warm circles.
Her breath was coming in gulps. She wanted to throw her arms around him, tell him that she loved
him, that she did not care about legends or arrests or what her family would say about a redcoat, or his about a spy. For so long she had not been able to do exactly as she wanted. There were more constraints on fairy-blessed Katie Hell than anyone realized.
"We hardly know each other," she finally said.
"I could better protect you in Edinburgh if we were wed."
Shaking her head, she looked away, her arm outstretched, hand in his. "My kinsmen would never allow it, so it does not matter if it would help or not."
He tipped his head. "Since when do you go by what others say?" He lifted her hand to his lips, kissed her knuckles. She closed her eyes for a moment. "There are more than enough reasons. We've shared the same bed, and what we've done there ... and elsewhere ... certainly obligates me to marry you,
if nothing else."
Again she shook her head. "Not enough basis for a marriage. Look at Jack and Jeanie. And she still refuses to marry him."
"Jean is very stubborn. And she's not sure she trusts Jack."
"Then she and I have a good deal in common. I release you from any obligation you might feel. There," she said, lifting her chin high. Pride was the only defense she had against her stubborn heart, which desperately wanted this. But she was afraid that if she made the wrong choice, her clan would suffer.
She loved Alec, she was sure—but she was not sure if he loved her, or whether he had decided to marry her
out of a sense of responsibility because they had shared abed.
She did not know if what she felt was true love, and she did not know how to tell. How did one know such a thing?
Alec drew her closer. "Listen, Kate. Our marriage would give me a better means of protecting you. But I will not beg at your feet like a pup."
She frowned, and did not answer, glancing away.
His fingers gripped hers. "I... care about you, Kate."
Startled, thrilled, she stared up at him. Cared about her ... was that enough to fulfill the demanding legends of her clan? She thought not, and shook her head. "I cannot marry you."
"When you were sitting by my bedside," he said, "weaving your bit of lace—and in my fevered state, I thought you wove a spell—what did you tell me, then?"
She remembered exactly what she had said spontaneously, when he had been so ill. "I said ... that I love you," she whispered.
"Do you?" He held her hand.
"Why ask me this now?" she asked. "Was it... what happened between us? You do not need to marry me because of that."
"Hush." He touched a finger to her lips. "Sometimes ... fever burns away what we do not need, so that we can see what is most essential to us."
She leaned forward, kissed his lips. "Alasdair Callda, with all your rules and orders. With all your thinking."
"I am not an impulsive man, true. I am a staid sort. But you have whirled me 'round and 'round, Katie Hell. Life looks different to me now than before. I am trying to find my bearings again." He half smiled. "With you."
Sarah Gabriel - Keeping Kate Page 20
