by Amanda Scott
“I’ll admit that I didn’t mean it the way he is choosing to take it,” Wat said. “But I did say the words. I ought to have been clearer about my meaning.”
“But you don’t want to marry me,” she said.
“I must think of mine honor, too, Molly. And you do need a husband.”
“I don’t need any such thing,” she said more curtly than she had intended. “In troth, sir, I think your pride rather than your honor is at stake here. I’ll wager that you dislike being told what you must do as much as I do.”
His lips twitched, and she was relieved to see it. Speaking as sharply as she had had warned her that her temper was stirring. It would not do to lose it with him.
With a sigh, he looked at her. “There is much in what you say, lass. I do tend to resist, strongly, when someone tells me I must do something his way because it is ‘the only way’ to do it. If that is pride speaking, so be it.”
“Then, what now?” she asked him. “You don’t want to marry me.”
“I have never said that. By my troth, I like you and would welcome you as a friend. I am simply not ready to marry anyone yet.”
“Nor am I, as I think I have been at great pains to tell everyone.”
“Your case is different,” he said flatly. “You cannot go on living under my roof whilst I help you conceal your presence there from your family. Not only might it stir talk, but your father has a right to know where you are.”
She wanted to scream at him, not in anger but panic. Fighting the impulse, she said, “But if you tell him, he will order my return and hand me over to Tuedy.”
“The abbot has said that he will talk to your father if your daft priest does not, and will explain that that wicked marriage was illegal under every law. Your father will have to accept that, that he cannot force you—”
“If you believe that, you will believe anything,” she said with asperity. “My father does as he pleases at Henderland. He has his own laws there, my lord, just as you have your own here. And he kens fine how to make anyone do what he wants them to. Faith, how could anyone stop what he does there, legal or otherwise?”
“He will know that people are watching,” Wat said. “That I am.”
“But you are as domineering in your way as he is in his!” she exclaimed. “You make decisions, issue orders, and expect obedience without debate from all around you—even the sun and the moon, I should think—just as he does. If you think for a minute that I can withstand him—”
“I meant what I said, Molly,” he interjected. “You will have my protection.”
“Ah, bah,” she snapped. “You are like him in every way, thinking your word is law when it is not!” With that, unable to hear another word, she kicked her horse, leaned forward, and urged the beast to a gallop through the forest, little heeding where it took her, as long as it took her away from Wat Scott and Scott’s Hall.
Muttering a curse, Wat glanced back at the wide-eyed groom and shouted, “Keep us in sight, Oliver, but don’t interfere.”
Without waiting for an answer, he gave his mount a touch of his whip and followed her.
She could certainly ride, but what a vixen! To berate him as she had when she was the one losing her temper and spouting absurdities! When had he ever tried to command the sun or the moon? The woman was daft.
Doubtless he had offended her by admitting that he did not want to marry. He had never been so rude as to say that he did not want to marry her. He had taken care to say only that he was not ready to marry anyone.
Sakes, he had even said that he liked her, and he did. How could he not? How could any man not? She was extremely attractive, even with scratches and that finally fading bruise on her cheek.
She was also intelligent and delightfully witty when she wanted to be (and sometimes when she didn’t). But she was not the woman he wanted to marry. She was too quick to speak her mind, for one thing.
Naturally, he did not want a simpleton, but neither did he want someone who would ride off in such a dangerous way. Nor did he want one who would rant at him as she had. Her father or brothers would have smacked her for such impertinence.
That thought dammed up the tumbling stream of such thoughts in its course. In its place, a vision leaped to his mind of how Piers Cockburn, not to mention his iniquitous sons, was likely to greet Molly if she did have to go home.
Despite his mental perplexity, Wat had not lost sight of her. Even if he had, Ramper’s enthusiastic barking as he careened after her would have shown him the way. She seemed to be riding blindly, heedless of the terrain, but had had sense enough to give her mount its head. The animal was as savvy and surefooted as any other Border pony. But if it put its foot in a burrow or gopher hole…
The thought sent chills up Wat’s spine, and he urged the bay to a faster pace.
“By heaven,” he muttered, “if she were my wife…”
Then, suddenly, ahead of him, Molly’s horse reared, and he saw her wrench its head to her right and bring it to a plunging halt. At the same time, he realized that she had nearly run headlong into a party of other riders, coming toward her.
Slowing his mount, Wat fought to rein in his temper.
Chapter 11
Good sakes, Molly, do you always ride so recklessly?” Lady Rosalie demanded. “I vow, you frightened my poor palfrey nearly out of its skin. What reason could you possibly have to be riding so fast through this forest?”
The palfrey had already calmed, Molly noted. But that was small comfort.
“ ’Tis only by God’s mercy that you weren’t harmed, madam,” Len Gray said tersely, urging his horse nearer Rosalie’s. “As for this foolish young woman—”
“I beg your pardon, my lady,” Molly interjected, still breathless. “I did not expect to meet anyone else in these woods.”
“Now, see here—” Gray began.
It was neither Lady Rosalie nor Len Gray who drew Molly’s attention then but the long-limbed man with graying red curls beside her ladyship. Sym Elliot’s stern gaze disconcerted her more than Lady Rosalie’s complaints or Gray’s displeasure had, because the way Sym was looking at her stirred memory of Emma’s saying that her dad had threatened to have the skin off her if she behaved badly enough to vex him.
Molly wondered if Sym was having similar thoughts now about her. She certainly wasn’t going to ask him.
Then Wat’s chilly voice right behind her banished all thought of anyone else.
He said in a tone that brooked no discussion, “Take Lady Rosalie and her party home, Sym. Take Oliver, too. I’ll bring Lady Molly with me.”
“Aye, laird,” Sym said with a glance at Lady Rosalie as he lifted his reins and urged his mount forward.
“But surely, my lord, we must explain to her young ladyship how badly she frightened us,” Len Gray said haughtily. “No female should ever ride so wildly, as I am sure you will agree.”
“Will I?” Wat asked, his tone so icy now that Molly shivered.
Gray apparently recognized the folly of trying to pursue the conversation. When Lady Rosalie said with amusement, “Come along, Len,” he nodded and followed her and Sym as they took the lead and vanished into the trees.
The nearby forest had fallen silent. Even the dogs were still.
Molly felt another shiver and a strong desire to look anywhere but at Wat.
“Get down,” he said.
Swallowing hard, she managed to say, “What are you going to do?”
“We are going to talk,” he said in that same chilling tone. “I just want to make sure that you won’t do such a harebrained thing as to ride off like that again whilst we do.”
“I was angry,” she said to the arch of her horse’s neck.
“And you will likely be angry again,” he said. “Can you get down by yourself, or shall I help you?”
Aware that any attempt to escape would be futile but unsure that she could trust him only to talk, she hesitated long enough to hear a near growl from him.
Knowing she had to answer him, she said, “We’re just going to talk?”
“Aye, lass,” he said. A touch of weariness entered his voice as he added, “I ken fine that it may be hard for you to trust me, or anyone, come to that. But we must talk this out, and I can’t have you endangering my horses.”
She stiffened. “Your horses!”
He dismounted, dropped his reins, and moved toward her. “Get down, Molly, or I swear, I’ll pull you off of that animal, myself.”
In answer, she leaned over the horse’s neck, swung her right leg over its rump, and slid to the ground in front of Wat. Still gripping her reins in her left hand, she avoided his gaze.
Silence hovered between them for several long moments before Wat put his hands on her shoulders and, although she expected him to shake her, said quietly, “Don’t ever do that again. You frightened me witless.”
“I didn’t think,” she admitted, staring at his broad chest. “I just wanted to get away. I don’t like other people making decisions for me, especially people I scarcely know.”
“Look at me.”
She drew a breath, aware that he likely thought she was being childish. But she was too aware now of how close he was and of the warmth of his hands on her shoulders, to think properly. She could smell the spicy scent of his clothes. She could hear him breathe. And she could feel her own heart still pounding hard.
She did not want to see his anger. Hearing it in his voice was bad enough.
A bird chirped in the distance.
“Molly.”
She raised her eyes to his chin and saw his lips pressed tightly together. A small dimple revealed itself a half-inch or so below and to the left of his mouth.
He put a warm hand under her chin and raised it, forcing her to meet his gaze or shut her eyes.
She licked her lips and drew a shuddering breath.
“Ah, lassie, you mustn’t fear me,” he said quietly. “I may not be keen on marrying just now, but my promise to you is good, as was my promise to the abbot. I know that I told you I never meant I’d take responsibility for the rest of your life. And ’tis true that the abbot took that very meaning and did so without considering your feelings or mine. But I gave him cause by not making myself plain. We cannot know the future, but you are welcome to stay at the Hall for as long as you like. Mam and Gram will provide all the protection your reputation requires, and I will protect you from your kinsmen, however I must.”
“Thank you,” she muttered, wondering why, instead of feeling reassured, she felt an unexpected wave of disappointment.
What did she want from the man? Certainly not marriage and what else could a woman hope for from a man unrelated to her but marriage?
He drew a finger along her cheek. “Don’t look so sad,” he said.
“You were so angry.” The words were out before she could stop them, before she realized how much it meant to her that he had been angry and frightened for her safety. Also, that he had admitted being frightened.
“I was furious, lass, and I’ll doubtless be angry again, too,” he said. “But I won’t harm you. Nevertheless, you must not dash off by yourself as you did, on a horse or without one. This is the second time I know of that you have tried to run away. You must not make it a habit, or you will make me very angry indeed.”
Those words stirred new feelings in her, unfamiliar but pleasant ones, and she began to wonder if she was losing her senses or just mixing them all up.
Without thinking, she put a hand to his arm, noting how hard his muscles were as she looked into his eyes and said with deep sincerity, “I’m sorry I frightened you. I don’t think clearly when I’m angry. In troth, I fear that whenever my temper gets the better of me, I do try to get away, but only to try and calm myself. Losing my temper has often…”
She paused when his expression altered rather strangely.
“You should not look at a man like that unless you want him to kiss you,” he said softly.
“But I do,” she replied honestly and without hesitation. “No man has kissed me since my granddad died, and I think I would like you to, if you don’t mind.”
A voice deep within Wat shouted a warning of where such a kiss might lead, but he ignored it, cupping her chin again with one hand while he drew her closer with the other. Then, gently and ever so slowly, savoring the moment for himself, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her.
Her rosy lips were feather soft and warm against his own. Her slender body snuggled against his and seemed to fit there unusually well. When she moved her lips beneath his, kissing him back, he shifted the hand that had cupped her chin to cradle her head beneath her veil, marveling at the soft silkiness of her hair.
She moved her lips as if to taste different parts of his, and another part of his body stirred strongly in response.
The urge to take her then and there nearly overpowered him, and as much to distract himself from that dangerous urge as to answer the invitation her lips were offering, he pressed his tongue between them and began to explore the intriguing, moist interior of her mouth.
She gave a gasp, then seemed to stop breathing. But when he continued his exploration undaunted, she inhaled with a moan and touched her tongue to his.
Her breath was whisper soft and clean, and her breasts pressed against him, tantalizing him and making his fingers itch to stroke them. That thought provided stronger warning than the voice in his head that he was treading dangerous ground.
Remembering his vow to protect her but wise enough not to break their embrace too abruptly, he eased his tongue from her mouth. Then he kissed her more lightly on the lips and again on her forehead.
“We must go back, lass. I should not have done that, but I’m not sorry I did.”
“We did it, sir,” she said, looking solemnly into his eyes. “Faith, I invited it.”
He shook his head at her. “Believe me, if my father were still alive, and I were to tell him exactly how it happened, he would have much to say to me, none of which I’d want to hear. But I’d deserve every word.”
“Sadly, he is not here to scold you,” she said.
“Aye, but Westruther will give me an earful if he hears about it. You are an inexperienced maiden who was naturally curious, whilst I am…”
“… much experienced at such things?” she said for him when he paused.
“More experienced than you, I’d wager,” he said with a sudden grin. “But we are not going to discuss my experience, now or ever, my lass.”
“Well, I am not your lass, but I can understand that you would not want to talk about what you have done with other women,” she said. “Is that why Father Jonathan said that if I stay here, Tuedy might accuse you of wife stealing?”
His grin vanished in a trice, and she knew she had made a grievous error.
The ice was back in his voice when he said, “Do you often listen at doors?”
Meeting his gaze, she said ruefully, “Not often. But, sometimes, it is the only way to learn what the men at home are thinking. It has often saved my hide. Even so, I knew I should not do it. I just couldn’t stop myself.”
He held her gaze for a long moment, silently. She had the feeling that he was looking deep inside her, that he could see things there that she had thought she had hidden away from everyone. She could not even blink but gazed seriously back.
“At least you are honest,” he said at last. “I think I can see how you came to do such things, but that does not mean that I will tolerate them.”
“Are you still angry with me?”
“Only if you mean to continue listening at doors, careering through this forest on horseback, or running away when circumstances are not to your liking.”
“Then I will try to avoid doing those things,” she said, still solemn.
He put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. “Then we are friends again. I suggest that we go home now before Gram comes looking for us or sends Westruther after us.”
“Mer
cy, would she do either of those things?”
“What do you think?”
Her eyes widened, making him smile again.
Molly’s senses were whirling, and she knew the sensation had nothing to do with Lady Meg or whether she might come in search of them or not.
It had everything to do with Wat Scott and that kiss.
She had never imagined putting her tongue in someone else’s mouth. The thought of such a thing would doubtless have repulsed her before now. But who could possibly imagine that when Wat did it, it could stir so many never-before-experienced, certainly unimagined, feelings throughout her body.
After he released her, she stood where she was, staring at him and wondering what had just happened to her. Why had she so impulsively wanted to kiss him in the first place? And why had he been able to make her feel so?
The one thing that Tuedy had not done was kiss her. She knew that husbands and wives did usually kiss each other, though, whether they were noble or common.
Tuedy had wanted only to paw her and intimidate her, to make her obey him. To be sure, he might have thought of kissing her had she not made her antipathy to him as plain as she had. But antipathy was the feeling she had experienced with most men. Until Walter Scott had found her.
“Molly, why are you just standing here? We need to go.”
He was gazing at her in bewilderment, so she gave herself a mental shake and decided that she was just reacting to the first kind man she had met in a long while. “I don’t know why,” she said straightening her shoulders and forcing a smile. “Will you help me mount my horse?”
“Aye, sure,” he said. Cupping his hands to make a stirrup for her left foot, he held her steady while she caught the sorrel’s mane and swung her right leg over its rump to ride astride as she had before.
Although he handed her reins to her, she waited while he mounted his horse and whistled for Ramper and Arch, who had vanished into the shrubbery after scents. Then, as he turned toward the Hall, she said quietly, “I wanted only to see what kissing was like, sir. It did not change the way I feel about marriage.”
