by Paula Quinn
For a moment, Malcolm simply sat there, taking in the sight of her. Mayhap he was deeper into his cups than he thought because he couldn’t move. He could barely breathe at the vision of her perched above them all, her long waves falling like a golden veil over her shoulders, her huge, soulful eyes piercing him like arrows. His gaze fell to the delicacy of her fingers clutching the railing. Och, what was happening to him? He flicked his gaze to Cailean. Should he talk to his brother about what he was feeling? Could he describe it accurately? Cailean would never believe that Malcolm might be falling in love with Emma. Hell! He couldn’t believe it either and it was happening to him! Alison caught his eye instead and smiled like she could hear his thoughts.
Emma began her descent with a small booted foot the same moment Bess burst into laughter.
Malcolm watched in horror as Emma’s step descended too late. She was going to fall! He sprang from his seat and pushed it out of his way just as she righted herself and continued gracefully down.
Seeing his sister—and undoubtedly Malcolm’s reaction to seeing her—Harry rose and left the table. He turned before reaching Emma and cast Malcolm a knowing scowl.
Malcolm cursed under his breath and returned to his chair. Was his friend hurrying off to warn her some more about what a devil he was? And hell, he was! Hadn’t he decided, this very night, that being a rogue was better than pining over a lass?
And yet, the thought of her had kept him from wanting anyone else. The mere sight of her made him want to rush to her feet. If he wasn’t the right man for her, he wanted to try to become the right man.
Harry was leaving, stumbling up the stairs to his room!
At last, Malcolm could speak to her alone, but she was leaving too, letting Gascon lead her toward the kitchen.
He rose from his chair again, ignoring his brother’s warning look and his own warnings to himself, and took off after her. He didn’t care if she favored him or not, he would no longer continue to let her be angry with him unless she told him why.
“Emma, wait,” he called out. She didn’t stop. He had a feeling she wouldn’t.
Picking up his steps, he moved in front of her and Gascon and blocked their path. “If ye’re sufferin’ memories of the attack, I can help ye.”
He thought it torturous enough to have to stare down the soft slope of her nose before she spoke. But it was harder to resist her when she lifted her face, giving him a full-on view of her dark expressive eyes and the plump cut of her mouth. “The memories that haunt me,” she told him softly, “have nothing to do with the attack. Now step aside please.”
“’Tis me ye’re angry with then,” he said, not budging. “I suspected as much. Tell me, what have I done?”
He caught the slight, wry crook of her mouth and let the sight of it warm his spine and thighs.
“You proved the tales about you to be true, Mr. Grant,” she said, sounding impassive about the whole thing.
What was she talking about? Did she know about Bess?
“I never claimed them to be false, lass.”
“Oui, you even warned me that every word was true.”
“And more,” he agreed. “But then I…”
She tilted her chin up to him and let him feel the anger in her glimmering gaze. “And then you kissed me.”
“Ye had nae objection, Emma.”
She looked like she wanted to hit him. And she might have done it too, seeming to sense the full, indulgent grin he finally allowed to shine on her, if Alison hadn’t stepped up to her and hooked her arm through Emma’s.
“Emma, dear, come join us at the table,” she said, saving him from a possible punch.
“Thank you, Alison, but I couldn’t.”
“Why no’?” Malcolm asked.
“Yes, why not?” Alison echoed. “You have never sat with us. Now, you have no excuse. If any of the patrons bothers you, Malcolm, here, will see to them. Isn’t that correct, Malcolm?”
He nodded, happy that he’d saved her from the Winthers, even if it meant vowing something to Bess he never intended on fulfilling. And she was good for his brother. “Aye, ’tis correct.”
“No, I—”
“Bess is gone,” Alison informed her, interrupting her again. “Please, Emma, come sit with your friends.”
Malcolm watched Emma’s resolve to remain detached falter. He guessed it had to do with her never sitting with any of them before. She wasn’t one of them. She was nothing like any of them. She didn’t belong here.
“For a moment, perhaps,” Emma relented, and turned her back on him.
Watching her departure, Malcolm let his smile deepen on more than just the sway of her hips. Hell, if the back of her captivated him the same way the front of her did, it was already too late for him.
When she was about to sit, he hurried forward, took her hand, and pulled out her chair, causing Cailean to choke on his whisky.
“Are you feeling unwell?” Emma asked him right away, taking the seat Malcolm offered her.
Malcolm tossed his brother a murderous glare.
Ignoring it, Cailean continued. “The sight of m’ brother doin’ something chivalrous caught me by surprise.”
Malcolm mouthed a gruesome end to his brother’s life, which Cailean also ignored.
“In that case,” Emma said, joining his brother in pretending he wasn’t there, “I’m surprised the shock of it didn’t bring back the fever and render you unconscious.”
“Gunter,” Malcolm said as he turned to the hefty guard. “Has she been this disagreeable since she came here?”
He heard her sharp intake of breath and was glad to gain her attention.
“Cailean.” She turned to his brother fully. “Does he do anything in Skye besides wreak havoc on poor, trusting maidens?”
“Aye,” Cailean replied, finally looking at him.
Hell, was that all Cailean saw in him? Was that all he was? A rogue?
“He builds houses,” his brother continued, surprising him. “Good, sturdy homes fer our kin.”
Emma turned back to him, not seeing the meaningful look he cast Cailean.
“You build homes?” she asked him, the cold edge gone from her voice and replaced by curiosity… and something else that made him ache to build her something grand.
But hell, he’d given her a kiss and she hated him because of it. What would she do if he told her he feared he was losing his heart to her?
Chapter Twenty
For another hour, Emma sat at the table with people she barely knew. She learned, after months of living with her, that Alison had a twin sister living in Newcastle, and Gunter, her escort since she’d arrived here, was once wed and lost his wife in a fire. But the most shocking thing she learned was that Malcolm built houses. She wished she could see them. Were they massive structures or cozy cottages, where children’s laughter permeated the air?
Thankfully, conversation and laughter helped keep her mind off such useless longings. But soon she grew tired. Whatever little sleep time was left, she needed. So, after another round of drinks, she told them she was retiring to bed.
She heard Malcolm leave his chair. “Let me walk ye back.”
“There’s no need,” she said, still angry with him but not remembering why. “I have Gascon.”
Blast him for not giving a damn. He stepped to her side and lifted her hand to the crook of his arm.
Too sleepy to fight him, she let him lead her up the stairs.
“I enjoyed yer company tonight.”
The wine helped her forget everything. She enjoyed his company, as well—along with the sound of his rich laughter… the sensual cadence of his voice.
“I’d like to hear more about these houses you build,” she said, hoping to compel him into talking.
He needed no further prompting as they climbed the stairs together. “I helped m’ faither build our home when I was two.” He laughed softly, making her question why she wasn’t in his arms. “I was more like a pain in his arse, I’d i
magine. But he taught me what he knew, which was quite a lot. Ye should see the house he built fer m’ mother in England. ’Tis Cailean’s now.”
While they walked to her door, he told her about Ravenglade, his inheritance in Perth, and though she enjoyed his descriptions, she found herself envious of him.
“Will you live in Ravenglade or Camlochlin when you marry?” she asked when they reached her room. Would he sleep inside tonight?
“I dinna’ think marriage is in m’ future.”
Oh yes, he was a rogue. He didn’t…
Bess. She remembered! She was angry and she remembered why now. She was also a little drunk and extremely exhausted.
“Find someplace else to sleep tonight.”
“I will,” he answered shortly. “But first ye will tell me why ye’re angry with me.”
“Very well.” She folded her arms across her chest in defense of wanting to throw herself into his arms. She wouldn’t do it. Ever again. He was correct. He was even worse than the rumors about him. “Harry told me he found you and Bess naked in her room when he was searching for me.”
He went utterly still and remained quiet for so long, she repeated her question to him, demanding an answer. “Was my brother lying to me?”
“Nae, but I—”
She would hear no more. He was a silver-tongued Highland rake who was likely quite good with deceit and denial. Why should she believe a word he said?
His fingers locking around her wrist stopped her departure. “Please, dinna’ go. Let me explain.”
“Explain how you could sleep with a woman one hour and kiss another with such passion in the next. Truly, your heart belongs to no one.”
What more was there to say? She could think of nothing. And to think, she’d believed she gave her heart to him. She could have laughed, but she was holding back a flood of tears.
How could she have not known this was coming? She stumbled over the leg of a stool left in the middle of the hall. She didn’t fall but he was there in an instant, his arm steadying her.
“I’m fine.” She righted herself and stepped away. It was a hard thing to do, too. His voice, his embrace was so comforting, she never wanted to move again.
“Good night.” She opened the door when she reached it and stepped inside, alone, with only Gascon at her side.
She lay in her borrowed bed and hoped Malcolm wouldn’t knock. She was too sleepy to speak to him. She thought about never speaking to him again.
She closed her eyes. He didn’t knock.
She was awakened a short while later when Cailean returned to the room.
“Fergive me fer wakin’ ye, Emma,” he whispered, petting Gascon. “Now that ye’re awake, I’m well enough to give ye back yer bed.”
She shook her head. “I’m not moving. I’ll take it back tomorrow.”
She listened to the sounds of his garments being tossed aside and him changing in a nightshirt. There was a scent to Cailean that he shared with his brother. She couldn’t place it. It was like a heathery-peaty-misty smell. Very distinct. Cailean’s was much stronger. Emma guessed it was the fragrance of their home and Cailean was there more often.
“Did you see your brother?” What did she care? She pounded the mattress and turned over, trying to get comfortable. She didn’t care where he slept. Was he with Bess? Why did it make her feel like grabbing a broom and sweeping up the pieces of heart off the damn floor?
“Aye, I saw him,” Cailean answered, getting into his own bed. “He seemed quite miserable. He didna’ return to our table but brooded alone in the parlor.”
“Brooded?” Emma opened her eyes. “Alone?”
“Aye. I tried to talk with him but he barely spoke. He said things like, ‘I’m a fool. I canna’ change.’”
“He speaks the truth. He cannot.”
Cailean sat up and turned to her. “But that’s just it. He has changed. Ye dinna’ know him. Whatever ye’ve heard of him is in the past. He is nae longer that Malcolm Grant, but another. He thinks many of us in Camlochlin dinna’ know, and he’s right. But a few of us know the truth.”
“What truth?” Emma asked, sitting up now, as well.
“That he’s been celibate for a few years now, abandoning his rakish ways to preserve his life.”
Emma was dreaming. She wasn’t sitting here listening to Cailean tell her that Malcolm had given up his carefree lifestyle… to preserve his life… “How?”
“When ye go so long without carin’, without feelin’, it makes ye harder and emptier. He has a good heart despite what others say.”
She knew he did, but why would he have sex with Bess and return to a lifestyle that sounded miserable? Was Bess that good?
“His reputation follows him nae matter what he does to repair it.”
Emma nodded, lost in his words and her thoughts. Mostly memories of Malcolm earlier trying to talk to her. Did she assume he was lying because of the rumors about him? Should she give him a chance to explain? Oh, but Harry had seen them! She couldn’t get past it; visions of him and…
“He saved Alison.”
“What?” Emma breathed.
“The Winthers had come and were demanding Alison in payment of their brother who was killed here. Malcolm told me that he’d enlisted Bess’s help to tell the Winthers that Alison was ill and to save her from them.”
It was Malcolm who’d saved Alison? Why hadn’t he told her?
“He has a good heart,” she agreed. “But he’s still a rogue.”
“Nae, I—”
“Harry found him lacing up his breeches and Bess naked in her bed behind him.”
“All right, I agree that isna’ good. But I’m sure there’s a good explanation.”
Emma quirked her lips at him. “You are so quick not to doubt him?”
“Ye spoke to him aboot this?” Cailean asked, sounding more interested in her answer than in her question.
“Oui.”
“It explains why he’s brooding. Hell. He has changed. Alison suggested it but, knowin’ m’ brother, I laughed it off.”
“What did you laugh off?” Emma asked him, her heart pumping hard. She didn’t know where the conversation was going, but the air felt charged with something vital.
“There’s only one thing that could change a man like him. I’ve seen it at work with m’ own eyes. Fickle hearts transformed into loyal, possessive ones. M’ cousin Darach, who was as reckless with hearts as m’ brother is, found it in a stable. M’ uncle Tristan, I’m told, was once one of the biggest cads in the three kingdoms, until he fell to it in an English garden. But m’ grandsire, Graham Grant, was the worst. The tales our bards like to tell is that he never spared honor, especially a lass’s honor, a thought, until he surrendered all in the Highland mist. Love changed them into noble men.”
“Love?” she uttered. Her blood rushed through her veins, making her head spin. What did she know of it? Could he have taken Bess to bed if he loved her?
“I know,” he said at her stunned silence. “He’s convinced that he’s incapable of fallin’ in love. But hell, love is a powerful thing. Even at its stirrings, it makes the heart rethink everything it knows. It makes men give up their wars and the beds of other women. It makes women give up kingdoms.”
Goodness, it sounded terrifying to lose yourself so much in another person, Emma thought. Did she feel that way about Malcolm? Love was new to her but apparently Malcolm believed he couldn’t fall. How awful for him.
And Cailean thought Malcolm was in love with her? It was all so ridiculous! Foolish fancies aside, why would a man, who every girl in the brothel agreed was a god among men with a heart of stone when it came to women, want her for anything permanent? If he believed he couldn’t love, why did Cailean think Malcolm loved her?
“I must assume, judgin’ by m’ brother’s foul mood, that ye expressed anger aboot this thing with him and Bess.”
“I was slightly angry.” She nodded in the dark. Did she want to tell Cailean too much?
Had she given so much away? She began to deny it, but then decided why bother? Apparently, she was enough to read. “I… It’s not that I…” Why was the truth so difficult? Was she so afraid or unfamiliar with love that she let it keep her in the shadows? Was it the same for Malcolm? Was he afraid for his own reasons? “I find him in my thoughts often.”
“In yer thoughts,” he began, “d’ye want him to stay?”
Oui. Oh, oui. She never wanted him to leave. He brought light into her dark world. Excitement where there had been gloomy boredom. But she knew he would go. He’d told her so in the cave before Harry found them. She couldn’t admit to being such a fool.
She nodded and then went back to sleep.
Malcolm leaned his head against her door and closed his eyes. He was used to the hard ground beneath his arse from sleeping outdoors in the past. He didn’t mind sleeping sitting up either. He wasn’t leaving the door. He didn’t care about Harry’s prepared room. He wasn’t leaving. The Winthers had taken her once. If they came back they’d have to go through him.
He’d kill every last one. He didn’t care how many of them there were.
He quit thinking about what his feelings meant and decided to simply protect her. He heard her muffled whispers to Cailean inside. He pressed his ear to the door like some stricken wretch, trying to hear what his brother was telling her.
He couldn’t so he leaned back on the door and thought about how he ended up in Bess’s bed, naked. Missing pieces haunted him. How could he not remember? Even if he fell asleep from exhaustion, Bess couldn’t have done anything without waking him. He wasn’t that light of a sleeper. It seemed more likely that he’d been drugged. But if he had been, Harry was the only one who could have done it. Malcolm remembered the sour wine searing his throat as it went down. Why would Harry do it? He had to be wrong.
He’d find out the truth. He closed his eyes and yawned. But first, he had to convince Emma that he hadn’t slept with Bess. He knew she liked those ideals his kin revered of knights long past. Could he ever be one? He ignored the voices in his head screaming that he was a fool and tried to remember some of the things his cousins did for the women they loved.
