The Taming of Malcolm Grant

by Paula Quinn

  Hell, this wasn’t going to be easy.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Malcolm came awake abruptly when the door behind him opened and he spilled backward inside Emma’s room. He looked up in time to close his eyes again as Gascon’s tongue descended on his face.

  “Malcolm, did you sleep outside the door all night?”

  Emma’s voice was a welcome addition to his morning greeting. He pushed the dog off and sat up. “I was…” He stopped and blinked to clear his thoughts of his dreams.

  She was real, standing over him, bonnier than any image his memory could conjure. She wore a yellow mantua with lace stitched over the snug-fitting bodice, and a petticoat, which he wanted to help her remove. He hated the cumbersome things.

  “Emma!” he said, bolting to his feet. “I didna’ sleep with Bess.”

  He looked toward his brother waking and returned his smile. Cailean believed him. It was good to know.

  “I dinna’ know how I came to be in her room. I give ye m’ word aboot that. I was talkin’ to her ootside her door one moment and wakin’ up in her bed the next.”

  “Sounds like someone drugged ye,” Cailean suggested, leaving the bed.

  “Aye,” Malcolm agreed. But he didn’t mention Harry in front of Emma.

  He looked down at the top of her head and the thin ribbon she’d woven through an upswept braided masterpiece of art. Who had done it? No one had gone into the room while he slept. Any movement would have woken him. Who had plaited her hair so precisely? Cailean sure as hell hadn’t done it. He glanced at her fingers, drawn to her sides. Fingers that prepared life-saving medicine and dug holes in men. Fingers that touched him like they were teaching her things about him even he didn’t know yet. He was beginning to understand just how capable Emma truly was, not only despite her loss of vision, but because of it. She would fit in nicely with the strong, independent women of Camlochlin, if he ever brought her home.

  As if seeing the smile he helplessly offered her, she returned her own to him.

  Did she believe him about Bess then?

  “Malcolm,” his brother called out, interrupting them. “Leave me to dress. We’ll meet below stairs to discuss who drugged ye.”

  “Aye,” Malcolm agreed, and took her arm to lead her out the door with Gascon keeping careful pace on the opposite side of her, free of her hand.

  “So, you think Bess drugged you?” she asked him when he closed the door behind them.

  “I know it sounds like nonsense I’d use to get oot of this. But I speak the truth, Emma. Nothin’ feels right aboot it.”

  “Perhaps she did put something in your…” She wrinkled her brow. “You said you were standing outside her door and then woke up in her bed. What were you doing before coming to her door? Were you drinking anything with her?”

  Harry. He drank with Harry.

  “I was with Harry. The wine tasted sour. She could have drugged it or m’ cup before I got to the parlor.”

  Emma nodded. “Sour?” She stopped as they came to the stairs. “What else? How did the cup smell?”

  He shook his head. “I dinna’ remember.”

  “You would remember if you took her to bed, Malcolm.”

  “Aye, I know. That’s why I tell ye that I didna’ take her to bed. ’Twas ye who was on m’ mind, ye I was headin’ up the stairs to see.”

  She smiled like she wanted to believe him. “I don’t know what I think,” she said honestly.

  He could fix it. She gave him hope. The more he thought about it the more he wanted to do it.

  “Ye look bonny this morn.” Was this him speaking, sounding like he was fighting for breath? Madness! He’d told lasses they were bonny all the time, never once afflicted like this.

  “Did I look so dreadful before then?”

  He was about to curse his inability to compliment a lass properly when he saw that her smile remained, softened as she teased him.

  “Nae,” he told her, unaware of the thickening cadence of his voice, or the way it caressed her ears. “’Tis just that a golden crown suits ye well.”

  “Ah, you speak sweetly, Mr. Grant,” she said. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

  “Because lyin’ is one of the flaws that I left behind a few years back.”

  “Ah, oui, Cailean mentioned that last night.”

  Malcolm scowled. What had Cailean told her? His brother didn’t know he was celibate, did he? Was that the slightest trace of a smile he saw on her face? “What did he talk aboot?”

  “Your family, the men, mostly.”

  He heard the humor in her airy voice, but what she said next hit him in the guts before he could stop it. “There was one in particular whom I’d be most interested in meeting someday. But there were so many names, his escapes me.”

  He felt his belly drop to his boots. “Adam?”

  “Oui! That’s him. How did you know?”

  “He’s the most handsome,” he muttered.

  She let her smile widen into a grin he found impossible to ignore. “Do you mean you are not the most irresistible man in Scotland? I find it hard to believe that you don’t think so.”

  He stared at her, glad she couldn’t see his fierce scowl. She was having sport with him. He was all for playful teasing. At least, he always had been before. Before the teasing was about Emmaline Grey being interested in one of his cousins. Still, he would thrash Cailean into the nearest wall for telling her about Adam MacGregor.

  “Ye wouldna’ like him,” he told her, wondering at the truth of his words. “Adam lacks even more of those attributes ye care so much fer.”

  “Is that so?”

  “’Tis,” he replied a bit stiffly, escorting her down the stairs. “Even the proscription of his name canna’ sway him from a fine arse. Whereas I fought against the realm because of it.”

  She paused at the bottom and turned to him, her enormous eyes curious with a hint of mischief. “Because of a fine arse?”

  He blinked at her, then gave in and smiled. She didn’t give a damn about Adam. She was trying to rattle him, most likely because of Bess. It was working. Things rarely rattled him. How had this wee wisp of a thing gained so much power over him? And if the sweet grin on her face told the truth, she was thoroughly enjoying his discomfort. Ah, but he’d let himself fall into the trap. He decided, without much thought to the matter, that he didn’t mind. “Nae, lass, because of the proscription. Before there was yers, nae arse I’d ever come across was fine enough to fight fer.”

  Her eyes opened even wider and for an instant Malcolm basked in the humor that filled them.

  “Emmaline,” Harry called out, glaring at Malcolm. “Where are you off in your finest dress?” He reached them and let his gaze sweep over her from head to foot. “Is there a ball I don’t know about?”

  Lifting her hand to her pinned tresses, her merriment faded, though her smile remained intact. “Though I cannot see, I wish to be seen.”

  “I’ve no doubt about that,” Harry said. “If the Winthers see you looking like this, they might mistake you for one of the girls—”

  “Harry!” Malcolm cut him off, seeing the effects of his words on Emma. He didn’t tell her she looked lovely. He told her she looked like a whore. Why would he insult his sister so?

  “If the Winthers come,” Malcolm assured him, “they willna’ live long enough to touch her.”

  “Haven’t you done enough, Malcolm?” Harry accused him in a quiet voice. “I never had any trouble with the Winthers before. Now, they tried to kidnap my sister. Will you kill more of them until you bring all of them here? You can’t fight a hundred of them.”

  Harry was right, the trouble he was having with the Winthers was his fault. If Cailean hadn’t rescued Alison from Andrew Winther that first night they wouldn’t have gotten shot and would have been long gone by now. He wouldn’t have known Emma. These maddening contradictions wouldn’t be making him question everything he knew.

  Before he said anything else,
Emma turned on her heel, reaching for Gascon’s fur.

  “He’s correct,” she said so softly Malcolm would not have heard her if he wasn’t standing so close. “’Tis best if the Winthers don’t see me.”

  When Malcolm would have followed her, Harry’s hand on his arm stopped him. “Do you think it’s wise to go chasing after her?”

  Malcolm’s eyes flicked to Harry’s and he stared at him as if he was seeing him in an entirely new light. “Mayhap no’,” he said truthfully. “But since ye are no’ moving yer arse to chase after her, I decided it should be me.” Malcolm owed Harry his life, and now he owed him for Cailean’s as well. But it didn’t mean he’d stand by and let him hurt Emma.

  “Ye insulted her, Harry. Ye had an opportunity to tell her that though she lives in darkness, she shines brighter than the North Star. Instead, ye told her she looks like a whore.”

  He held up his palm to silence Harry when her brother began to defend himself.

  “Ye tell me ye want the best fer her.” He turned to see her paused at the top of the stairs, her head slightly tilted, listening. The sight of her moved him in places he’d insisted didn’t exist. “And yet ye keep her hidden away upstairs, more lonely than any princess in any of m’ grandmother’s books.” He took a step toward her when she smiled, and then he turned again to Harry. “I’m takin’ her oot today. I’ll protect her. Ye have m’ word. I’ll have her back by nightfall.”

  “Malcolm, I—” Harry tried to stop him.

  “She’s been locked away long enough, old friend. Give her a day of freedom in the sun. I’m leavin’ in a few days—fer yer sake and because of what I owe ye. When I go, she’ll return to her tower. But today”—he moved closer to Harry and stared him in the eyes—“I’m takin’ her oot.”

  He remained in his spot for a moment or two longer, but Harry said nothing more. Without further ado, Malcolm pivoted on his heel and headed for the stairs. He looked up, hesitantly at first, at her waiting there, afraid he might see a look of disapproval on her face. She was still smiling, though a hint of sadness shadowed her gaze while he climbed the stairs.

  “Does the prospect of spendin’ the day with me cause ye dismay?” he asked, coming toward her.

  She shook her head and looked at the floor between them. But he saw it, a gossamer tint of crimson across the bridge of her nose.

  “I willna’ seduce ye, if that’s what ye’re afraid of, Emma.”

  Finally, she returned her gaze to him. Smoking warm and inviting. “I’m not afraid of that.”

  She fired his blood to molten lava. He didn’t think she’d be afraid. Curious, cautious, eager, playful, but not afraid. He knew what she wanted, what she deserved, but hell, he wasn’t sure he was prepared to be gallant and honorable.

  “Besides,” she went on speaking, “you’ve tried to seduce me before and it didn’t work.”

  He laughed. “What? When have I tried? Ye suffer delusions, Miss Grey.”

  She ignored his teasing and called down to her brother. “I will be safe, Harry.”

  “Malcolm.”

  Malcolm turned to greet Cailean on the stairs. His brother looked fit and well enough to go home.

  “Change of plans, brother. I’m takin’ Emma on an outing and we’re leavin’ now. We’ll talk of the mystery later, aye?”

  “Aye,” Cailean said, already forgetting him when he spotted Alison serving a patron breakfast.

  Seeing that he’d lost his brother’s attention, he took Emma by the hand and led her down the stairs. “Let’s get some food and be on our way, aye?”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Ye’ll see,” he said, hurrying her along. He didn’t want to give Harry a chance to change his mind. He wanted to be alone with her. For more days than just this one. Many thoughts like these vied for his attention, so he didn’t realize what he’d said to her.

  He also didn’t see her smile deepen into something more joyous than anything, even her brother, had seen on her before.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Emma had only been on a horse a few times in her life. She didn’t like it. Sitting with both legs slung over one side made her feel unbalanced and tense. A few breaths in and her bottom was killing her from bouncing between Malcolm’s thighs, not to mention her teeth clacking together until she was sure they would break and fall out of her head. It was a good thing Gascon was long-legged and big enough to keep up with their swift pace as they left the brothel. She would not have left her friend behind.

  When they were far enough away, Malcolm slowed the beast and gave her and Gascon some respite from their arduous outing.

  Resting in the crook of his arm, she let herself relax a little more. Not too much though. He was leaving in a few days and that made her feel more unbalanced than riding on the damn horse.

  She should have been prepared for this. She’d known from the beginning that he was going back home. He never made any promise to the contrary. He’d been honest.

  What else had he done to make her care? He’d saved her dog. He’d saved Harry before she met him. Of course that mattered. But after that, he’d gone out of his way to prove the rumors about him were true.

  He’d almost succeeded a time or two. But as of late, it was like he was removing his shield and proving the opposite. Did chivalry lurk somewhere in Malcolm Grant? He was being noble by promising not to seduce her, kind when he comforted her…

  She suspected he might be everything she wanted in a man, after all. She wanted to believe he hadn’t slept with Bess, or at least hadn’t gone to her bed willingly. And it did make sense that Bess would do anything to sleep with him. Besides the attributes he apparently hadn’t ignored when honor was being taught at Camlochlin, besides that—he didn’t treat her like a helpless, unfortunate waif. For that alone, she could love him.

  Was Cailean’s suspicion correct? Was Malcolm falling in love with her? He slept on the hard floor in front of her door, refusing the bed Harry had prepared for him. And all to tell her first thing in the morn that he was innocent. Was Cailean sincere when he spoke of Malcolm’s celibacy? Good heavens! She never would have suspected that! But as far as she knew, he hadn’t slept with any of the girls since he came here, and he could have. All of them, save Alison and Brianne, threw themselves at him whenever they visited the room. If Malcolm was celibate, he was to be admired for the control he possessed. She would ask him about it later.

  She didn’t feel guilty for teasing him about Adam MacGregor. What was it Cailean had told her? Love made men possessive. Emma had decided to test that theory by showing interest in Malcolm’s cousin. The handsome one.

  She hadn’t needed to see Malcolm’s face to know he didn’t find the topic a pleasant one. Was he jealous? Possessive of her the way Cailean had described some of his relatives after they lost their hearts to their women?

  It was hard to tell.

  But what did it matter? He was leaving in a few days. She didn’t want him to, but how could she get him to stay?

  She closed her eyes to think about it as a warm breeze lifted a few loose tendrils of her hair away from her neck. The sun felt delightful on her face, and the fresh aromas of trees and soil made her thankful to be alive. Already she hardly remembered what Harry had said about her appearance. She did, however, remember what Malcolm had said. She remembered everything. He called her a lonely princess. The memory of the way his voice dipped with emotion made her radiant. She could feel her face glowing with the force overtaking her heart.

  What would she do if he left?

  “Ah, I see ye’re rememberin’ our last kiss.”

  She laughed, liking his sometimes insufferable arrogance—and the warmth in his voice. “In truth,” she told him, “I was recalling the way you tumbled into my room this morn. ’Twas very ungainly for such a stealthy warrior. It makes me wonder if it wasn’t your clumsy footing that cost Scotland her independence when your cousins tried to stop the Act of Union.”

  “Ye dinna’ loo
k like the kind of lass who hides such a viperous tongue behind those bonny lips.”

  He sounded amused rather than angry. Another thing to like about him; he laughed often. He made her want to laugh with him.

  “Besides,” he continued, “we didna’ succeed in our mission because m’ cousins were distracted by love.”

  “And that is something that would never happen to you, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “You’re afraid.”

  He laughed, a starkly male, arrogant laugh that made her glad she knew the truth about him. His arrogance was a mask. He was as unsure and unsteady about life and love as she was.

  “Afraid of what?”

  “Love, of course.”

  He laughed even harder, but before he spoke again, she did. “’Tis nothing to be ashamed of. I’m afraid of it too. I… What is that scent?” She knew it was water, a great body of it. She’d smelled it before when she sailed to France and again when she returned. She was quiet and listened to the sound of distant waves rolling toward the shore.

  She sat up and drew in a deeper breath. The aromas of trees and soil disappeared and were replaced by a fresh, briny scent of sea and sand.

  “Are we going to the sea?”

  “Aye, lass.”

  Was he going to bring her to Camlochlin today? What about Cailean? What about Harry? Could she leave her brother after just finding him? Harry might not be the best sibling, but he was her family. All she had left.

  “Why are you taking me to the sea?”

  “Because it reminds me of ye,” he said with a tenderness in his voice that made her go soft against him. “’Tis wild and yet contained. But every now and then, it breaks free of the tide’s confines and floods the earth around it, bringing disaster and restoration.”

  For some incredibly foolish reason, she felt like weeping. How did he know? How did he know that she wanted to break free of her confines and run, unhindered, unafraid?