Highland Rogue

by Deborah Hale

  “Get one thing through yer fuddled head, Claire Talbot.” Ewan hurled his answer at her as he swept out the door. “It’s not ye I find repulsive. It’s yer damn money!”

  The rain had eased to a fitful spatter by the time Ewan strode back out the side door and headed for the village on foot. He could have taken the pony cart or saddled up one of the horses from Strathandrew’s stable, but the explosive mixture of feelings inside him demanded some physical outlet. Walking was the safest one he could think of.

  Besides, he didn’t want to be beholden to the Talbots for any more favors. He’d had about as much of their hospitality as he could stomach.

  The whole humiliating confrontation with Claire ran through his mind again and again. To think she’d had the gall to be angry with him! Accusing him of leading her on, the way some women in America had enticed him, trying to get their greedy hands on his money.

  Just thinking about it made him feel dirty.

  He was far from proud of his conduct in the past week, to begin with. He had left Tessa with an unspoken understanding that he would propose to her as soon as she broke her engagement. Even if his feelings had changed, which he now questioned, he shouldn’t have kissed another woman—especially not her sister!

  A noise on the road ahead shook Ewan out of his guilty reflections. A small procession of bobbing lights moved toward him, accompanied by the sounds of people laughing and talking in louder than usual tones. Damn! It must be the rest of the Strathandrew folks returning from the ceilidh.

  Ewan froze in his tracks for a moment, then jumped the ditch and scrambled up a bit of a hill to find cover behind some bushes. He felt like a rank coward, sneaking off without a word to any of them, but he couldn’t abide the prospect of having to dodge their questions about where he was bound at this hour of the night, and why.

  With a pang of regret, he listened as they passed by, picking out Rosie’s voice, Glenna’s and Jock’s. What sort of gossip would there be among them when he was discovered missing? How would Claire explain his abrupt departure?

  Once the sound of their passing faded in the distance, he got back on the road again and continued toward the village. With no sounds but the wind in the leaves, and little to see but shadows and stars, there was nothing to distract him from the tribunal of his conscience.

  What in blazes had made him imagine himself in love with Claire Talbot, of all people? Could it be the time they’d spent together? Or perhaps some perverse reaction to their old friction? Or could it be that she represented the kind of challenge he’d never been able to resist?

  Whatever it was, he’d made a fine fool of himself over the whole business. Now, for the second time in ten years, he was leaving Strathandrew in disgrace. The power and fortune he’d accumulated in the meantime did not ease the heartache of his going one bit.

  Few hours in Ewan’s life had ever passed so slowly as the long, dark ones while he waited for the train station to open. When the stationmaster finally appeared, he was running late, perhaps having overslept after the ceilidh.

  “When’s the next train south?” asked Ewan, unfolding banknotes from his wallet.

  He hoped it would not be long. He wanted to be well away from here before his doubts and regrets about last night overwhelmed him.

  “There’s only the one a day,” said the stationmaster, “for this is almost the end of the line. The northbound train should be coming through anytime now. It’ll go on to Mallaig, then turn and come back this way, heading for Fort William. That’s when ye’ll get on—around three this afternoon.”

  Three!

  “Can I just get on when it comes through the first time?”

  The stationmaster looked at him as if he’d sprouted green hair. “And go all the way to Mallaig and back for nothing? Why on earth would ye want to do that?”

  “Maybe I’d just like to see the country up that way, all right?”

  The stationmaster’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know. It’s not included in the fare, and if all the carriages were full …”

  “Have ye ever seen the train full on the way to Mallaig or back?”

  “Well, no … but—”

  Ewan unfolded another banknote. “Then give me a return ticket to Mallaig.”

  “Ye mean, besides yer single to Glasgow?”

  “That’s right.” Ewan shoved the notes under the wicket.

  The stationmaster shook his head. “It’s yer money, I reckon.”

  “Aye, it is.”

  Off in the distance, a whistle blew.

  “Early,” grumbled the stationmaster. “Wouldn’t ye know it.”

  “Can ye just hurry with those tickets?” Ewan glanced out the station window at the approaching locomotive. “I don’t want to miss that train.”

  After a few anxious minutes, he found himself on the platform, ticket in hand, ready to put plenty of distance between him and Claire. When the door of one of the carriages opened, Ewan hurried to climb aboard.

  Just as Tessa Talbot disembarked and threw herself into his arms. “Ewan! How did you know I’d be on this train? Have you been coming here every morning to meet it? You dear, dear man!”

  “I … well … that is …” He was too tired and too stunned by her sudden appearance to know what to say.

  Luckily, she didn’t appear to require an answer. “What an adventure I’ve had getting here!”

  Ewan recovered his voice at last. “Are ye feeling better? Where’s yer ma?”

  “Hot on my heels, I should imagine.” Tessa latched on to his hand and towed him away from the train. “I was dreadfully worried she’d catch up with me in Glasgow.”

  At his puzzled look she replied, “I never was ill, you know. Mama detained me, then sent that note to the Marlet telling you to sail without me. I must say, I was rather hurt that you and Claire didn’t wait.”

  “I’m … sorry about that. It was all so sudden and I thought ye might—”

  “Oh, that’s all right.” Tessa pressed herself against him, but the only burning desire he felt was to get on the train. “I should have known Mama would try some trick like this to keep us apart. I’m certain she thought I just needed a few days away from you to come to my senses.”

  If only she had.

  Tessa shook her head, a willful glint in her eyes. “She only succeeded in making me more determined than ever to marry you.”

  “Marry me? But I haven’t—”

  A shudder went through the train, then its wheels began to turn. Ewan was tempted to break away from Tessa and jump on it, but he feared she’d only follow him. Besides, he’d barged into the poor lass’s life from out of nowhere, made her fall in love with him, only to fall out of love with her. He owed her every courtesy.

  “We’ll show my mother and everyone else!” For such a delicate creature, Tessa had a grip like a blacksmith. “If I want to marry a gillie, or a butcher, or a … dustman, they can’t stop me!”

  Was that all he was to her—a gesture of rebellion?

  Not that he had any right to sit in judgment, he supposed, after the way he’d behaved of late. Besides, he was beginning to wonder about the motives behind his feelings for her.

  “We have to do it now,” Tessa muttered to herself in vehement tones. “Before she gets here and tries to interfere. I’ll show her I’m not some vapid little debutante she can wed off to some chinless baro—”

  “Hold on a minute, lass.” Ewan dug in his heels and swung Tessa around to face him. “Do what before who gets here? Where are we going?”

  He hoped he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion.

  Tessa laughed and threw her arms around his neck. “This is Scotland, remember? Land of elopements. I want to go get married—now!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  For one blissful instant, when she woke in Ewan’s bed, Claire could not remember anything that had happened after they’d left the ceilidh. Ignoring the queasy sensation in her stomach and the tight ache in her head, she gave a slow, sensual
stretch, accompanied by a throaty little chuckle.

  Oh dear, what had she done?

  Then her tardy good sense woke up. Oh dear, what had she done?

  Ewan was not in bed with her. Was that a good sign or bad?

  A pile of her clothes lay on the floor beside his dressing gown, but she was still wearing her chemise and pantalettes. That definitely counted as good.

  Claire plundered her memory, though she feared what the search might yield. Perhaps if she started with the last thing she could recall with any clarity, then worked her way forward, she might get somewhere.

  She remembered the ceilidh … the dancing … the toasts … the cider. After that, events began to blur.

  Ewan had wanted to ask her a question. Had he asked it? What had it been and how had she answered?

  Oh, no! She remembered. Both his question … and her answer. What had possessed her to confess the truth? It had been one thing to enjoy his company for the past few days, to pretend there was more between them than there ever had been, or could be.

  She had never meant to take it further. Not even if Ewan had shown an interest. Which, of course, he never would.

  Would he?

  The vivid recollection of a kiss stirred in her sluggish memory. Perhaps she was only confusing last night with that other night on the deck of the Marlet.

  No. This kiss had been much longer, deeper and more satisfying than the other—much too good to have been a product of her imagination. But if he had kissed her, what had it meant, and why had he stopped?

  Her memory grew even murkier at that point. Dredging words and images out of it was like trying to see across the Strand during a winter fog in London. Might it prove as dangerous as trying to cross a busy street in such a fog?

  The distant, muted sound of footsteps startled Claire bolt upright, making her head spin and throb at the same time. Whatever had happened between her and Ewan last night, she did not want any of the servants finding her barely clothed in his bed.

  Crawling out from under the covers, she struggled into her gown, though it was hopelessly crumpled and still damp. She could not begin to fasten all those fiddly buttons down the back. How had she unbuttoned them, last night? The harder she tried to remember, the worse her head spun, but it was no use.

  Had Ewan undressed her? It seemed the most likely explanation. Given the circumstances, it could not have been a very romantic or sensuous undertaking, yet how Claire wished she could recall it!

  Once she’d managed to get herself a little more modestly dressed, she gathered up her other garments and peeped into Ewan’s dressing room. Perhaps, after putting her to bed, he’d gone to sleep in there.

  A glance into the little room yielded no sign of him, though the floor was littered with discarded clothes, including his nightshirt. The sight of it made Claire even more uneasy.

  Struggling to remember if she knew where Ewan had gone, she crept to the door of his bedchamber. There, she listened for sounds of movement out in the gallery, but heard nothing. With any luck, the servants might be late getting to their morning chores after last night’s festivities.

  Claire eased the door ajar and peeped outside. Finding the gallery deserted, she fled to her own room as quickly as her spinning, throbbing head would let her.

  Her memory chose a most inopportune moment to return.

  Some subtle combination of sound and scent in the gallery must have triggered it. Sensations overwhelmed her, as fresh and vivid as when she had first experienced them, last night. She recalled being bounced about as Ewan carried her up the back stairs. It had been everything she could do to keep from retching all over the carpet.

  She’d quickly recovered when he set her on her feet, though. Ah, the warm tickle of his breath in her ear when he’d asked which room was hers!

  A mortified whimper left her lips when she recalled her reply. I don’ care. Put me wherever you like. Put me in your room. Evidently he’d taken her at her word.

  Claire roused suddenly from her memories to find herself standing in the middle of the gallery, the back of her gown gaping open and most of her underclothes in her arms.

  Before she blundered into one of the servants, or they into her, she ducked into her bedchamber. Tossing her clothes into the dressing room, she donned her nightgown and crawled into her own bed. Perhaps if she slept for a while, she could begin this day all over again.

  But sleep eluded her. The memory that had come back to her out in the gallery must have been acting like a stopper wedged tight in the mouth of a jug. Once it popped free, the rest gushed forth with bewildering speed and intensity. If only she could forget them again!

  As she recalled waking to find Ewan undressing her, a delicious tingling heat swept through her body. A clammy, bilious chill followed hard upon it when she remembered inviting him to ravish her. Then, when he’d been gentleman enough to resist her invitation … she’d offered him money for his services?

  Rolling onto her stomach, Claire buried her face in her pillows to muffle a wail of anguish.

  The locomotive gave a long, plaintive whistle as it pulled out of the station on its way to Mallaig. Ewan felt like throwing back his head and letting out an answering wail.

  “Hold on a minute, Tessa.” He dug in his heels before she hauled him all the way to the kirk. “We can’t just go get married without a by yer leave to anybody.”

  “Of course we can, darling.” Tessa laughed, but she did not loosen her grip on his arm. “It’s called eloping. Couples with beastly families do it all the time.”

  But how many lived to regret it?

  “Ye’re still engaged to the Stanton chap. Or did ye speak to him before ye left London?”

  What would he do if she had broken her engagement at his urging? Marriage would be the only honorable course. Though people like Lady Lydiard might believe otherwise, honor was as important to Ewan as to any nobleman.

  “No, I didn’t speak to Spencer.” At least Tessa had the grace to look properly ashamed of her admission. “I caught Mama sending him a message to come at once. Not that it would have made a particle of difference in my feelings. That’s when I decided to take matters into my own hands and run away to you.”

  “So ye traveled all the way here by yerself?” The realization hit him like a blow. “From London?”

  He shuddered to think of her changing trains in a rough town like Glasgow. If anything had happened to her, he’d never have forgiven himself. “Yer ma must be worried sick!”

  He’d never thought the day would come when he’d feel sympathy for Lady Lydiard.

  “Why are you fretting about my mother?” cried Tessa. “Did you not hear what she tried to do to us?”

  “Don’t be too hard on her.” It astonished Ewan to hear himself speaking those words. “She was only trying to do what she thought was best for ye.”

  After the previous night’s festivities, there weren’t many people out and about in the village that morning. All the same, Ewan and Tessa were beginning to attract attention from the few children and old folks going about their business.

  “Speaking of yer ma,” said Ewan. “There’s only the one train a day from Glasgow. She can’t possibly get here before tomorrow morning, can she?”

  “I suppose not.” Tessa cast him a wary look, as if to say she couldn’t fully trust any man who would take her mother’s part. “What has that got to do with anything?”

  “It means there’s no tearing hurry to get to the kirk,” said Ewan. “After the trip ye’ve had, ye must be tired? Hungry?”

  Tessa started to shake her head when a wide yawn overtook her, and her stomach rumbled. “Perhaps a little. I didn’t notice it while I was traveling—it was all such a terrific adventure. But now that I’m here …”

  “Can ye walk as far as Strathandrew?” Ewan cringed at the thought of seeing Claire again, but he owed it to Tessa to look after her now.

  She yawned again. “I think so.” Plastering herself against him, she ru
bbed her cheek against the sleeve of his coat. “I can do anything as long as I have you with me.

  He had to admire the lass for her spirit, even if he didn’t approve of her dangerous impulsiveness. “It sounds like ye managed pretty well on yer own, coming all the way up here. Just a wee bit farther, then ye can rest and fill yer belly with some of Rosie’s good cooking.”

  “Oh yes!” Tessa listed against him as they walked, “I’m so longing to see Rosie and all the others.” She chuckled like a mischievous child contemplating a most amusing prank. “What did they say when you told them you and I will be getting married?”

  What had come over him? Ewan wondered. There’d been a time he’d gladly have walked across hot coals for the chance to have Tessa Talbot linger this close to him. Now all he wanted to do was put a bit of distance between them before he suffocated!

  “I haven’t told them. I didn’t think it was my place to say anything just yet.”

  “Not your place?” She gave his arm a token swat. “Why, you’re talking like a servant. If you’re the man I’m going to marry, then of course it’s your place to tell whomever you like.”

  “I didn’t mean that kind of place.” Though he told himself she deserved his forbearance, Ewan could not soften the sharp edge of his voice. “It wasn’t my place to speak because nothing was settled when we parted in London, and ye were still engaged to another man.”

  “Gracious! What’s made you so testy, darling?”

  Before he could invent a halfway plausible excuse for snapping at her, Tessa worked out one of her own. “It’s having to spend all that time with no company but Claire’s, isn’t it?”

  In a way, perhaps—but not the way Tessa assumed.

  “I know you two have never got on, and she can seem rather stiff and cool …”

  Remembering Claire Talbot sprawled on the floor of his bedchamber like a large, wanton rag doll, casually inviting him to have his way with her, almost made Ewan burst out laughing. Her proposition still outraged him, but now that a little time had passed, parts of what had happened struck him as funny.