by Paula Quinn
“D’ye remember how the moon looks?”
Snuggled close in the crook of his arm, her cheek pressed to his bare chest, she nodded and gazed up at the night sky. “I think so.”
“’Tis full and bright tonight,” Malcolm told her, looking at it reflecting in her eyes. “It shines upon ye like ye’re a newly formed goddess, pure and resplendent. I canna’ take m’ eyes off ye.”
“Close them.”
“What?”
“Close your eyes, Malcolm.”
“All right.” He agreed with a short laugh to do it.
“Are they closed?” She laughed with him and lifted her fingertips to his eyes. Her touch was so light it almost halted his breath. When she was satisfied that he was telling the truth, her fingers traced the contour of his cheekbones, his nose, the ridge of his upper lip.
“Now.” She lowered her hand to clasp his and then lifted his fingers to her face. “Tell me what you see.”
His hands were nowhere near as soft or light as hers were, but he moved gingerly as he could over her features, the way she’d done to him.
Her face was beautiful. Anyone with a pair of eyes in his head saw it. That’s why Harry kept her hidden. With men like the Winthers around…
“I see a heart more courageous than the hearts of some men I know. M’self included. I see an intuitive, intelligent, infuriating woman who enjoys renderin’ me helpless with sleep, or with her smile.”
“On those several occasions when I made you sleep,” she defended, touching his dimples, “’twas for your own good.”
“Several occasions? Exactly how many were there?”
“I don’t remember. I didn’t count. And I wouldn’t have had to do it if you weren’t so insufferable at times.”
“Ah, so ’tis m’ own fault then.”
“Most of the time, oui.”
She smiled, touching his laughter, slamming his heart hard against his ribs.
“Why me?” she asked him softly when his amusement softened into a smile.
He was looking at her again, drinking in the soft curve of her nose, the thick spray of lashes resting on her round cheeks. “Ye give me a reason to start over, a deeper desire to change who I was. Ye examined the man I thought I wanted to be and made me examine him next.”
“I’m the fortunate one,” Emma told him, pressed close to his chest. “Never having the experience of losing my heart to anyone, I’m glad ’tis you.”
He looked at her, wondering if she remembered loving her parents, her brother. He wasn’t sure if she was the fortunate one. Not so long ago he wasn’t sure that love was even real. Much had changed.
“Malcolm.” She leaned up on one elbow. “You are returning to Camlochlin, are you not?”
“Aye, I am—”
“Hell! There ye both are!” Cailean’s voice from far above put an end to the remainder of their conversation.
Malcolm glared at the top of the ridge where his brother appeared and then disappeared. “If he lectures me aboot bein’ with ye,” he growled, sitting up and stretching, “I’ll knock oot his teeth.”
“No you won’t.” Emma smiled, restoring his good mood. “You love him.”
“Only when he’s unconscious.”
He rubbed his arm when she pinched him and tossed her a dark look, which she didn’t see and likely would have ignored anyway.
“He’s coming,” Emma informed him, tilting her head to hear the hoofbeats of Cailean’s approaching horse. “How do you think he found us?”
“I dinna’ know, but I’m sure Harry sent him to find us. He likely has Gunter searchin’ fer us too.”
Emma covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh my, I completely forgot about Harry!”
Gascon began barking as Cailean’s horse rounded the sheer rock wall separating the cove from the rest of the shore.
Malcolm rose to his feet when his brother came into view in the moonlight. He wasn’t alone. Another horse followed behind his. Malcolm squinted, trying to make out who it was. Harry?
No. Sebastian Fletcher.
Malcolm stepped around Emma, blocking her from the handsome young trader from Durham. He wasn’t still jealous. He knew Emma was his. He wanted Fletcher to know it too.
“How did ye find us?” he asked his brother.
Cailean dismounted and walked to him. “’Twas his idea to look.” He pointed to Fletcher dismounting behind him.
“Miss Grey mentioned that you had taken her here once before. ’Twas one of the best days of her life.”
“Mr. Fletcher,” Emma said through tight lips behind him. “Do you intend to tell him everything we’ve ever discussed?”
“No, Miss Grey, only what will benefit you.”
“Speakin’ of that,” Malcolm brought up, turning to his brother, who’d taken a seat in the sand beside Emma. “Were ye in on their ‘ruse’?”
“Of course,” Cailean admitted effortlessly. “Ye dinna’ know a good thing. Ye needed help to open yer eyes.”
Malcolm stood there staring at him. At first, he thought to answer the insult, but once he thought about it for longer than a moment, he knew Cailean was right.
“So ye knew where to find us,” he said to them. He almost reached out his hand to stop Fletcher from sitting.
He’d come here to be alone with—
Was that cheese and bread, dried meat, and wine Fletcher was unpacking?
“You’ve been gone all day,” the thoughtful trader said from over the flames. “I imagined you were both hungry.”
Malcolm rubbed his belly. Aye, he was hungry. He hadn’t thought about it until now. He caught the apple Fletcher tossed him and bit into it.
“I was hoping to speak to Miss Grey.”
“Speak to her aboot what?” Malcolm asked, sitting on the other side of Emma.
“I don’t need Malcolm’s permission to speak to you. I am just not certain I want to.”
“What did ye do, Fletcher?” Cailean asked, tearing off a chunk of bread.
“He told Malcolm about the plan to make him jealous.” Emma advised him, then blushed when she realized she admitted there was a plan after all, making Malcolm smile. He didn’t care if she schemed to make him jealous. She cared for him, and for that, he was happy.
“I told him because he seemed very angry with you,” Sebastian told her.
“What did ye think I’d do, Fletcher?” Malcolm grumbled while he poured Emma a cup of wine.
“I didn’t know what you meant to do after you hoisted her over your shoulder and stormed off.”
“I’d never harm her,” Malcolm said.
The trader wasn’t listening to him but looking at Emma. “I didn’t mean to betray your confidence. ’Twas hard for me, but I thought you might be in harm.”
Malcolm examined him over the firelight and was thankful Emma couldn’t see the smooth-speaking stranger. Shadows etched in obsidian covered his jaw and touched lightly above his upper lip, defining his features in soft brushstrokes. He spoke well and comprehended much for one his age, which appeared to be close to Cailean’s. His eyes were as large as a puppy’s and fastened on Emma.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Grey.” The pup sealed what he was after. Malcolm didn’t know whether to punch him in the mouth or applaud his cleverness.
“Of course, Mr. Fletcher,” Emma said, granting his request. “I understand how it looked with me flung over Malcolm’s shoulder.”
They all laughed, except for Malcolm. He soaked in the sight of her bathed in moonlight and firelight, lost in the sweet wrinkle of her nose, the glorious curl of her lips. He wanted to spend the rest of his life looking at her. Or die now, with her being the last thing he saw.
“I want to bring Alison home to Camlochlin,” Cailean told Malcolm while they ate.
“I suspected that,” Malcolm replied. He raised his cup. “She’s a good lass.”
“She’s very fortunate.”
Malcolm didn’t have to be blind to hear the change in Emma’s voi
ce when she spoke. She sounded needful, envious. Would she leave Harry and go home with him?
They all spoke of marriage and wounds, which, of the two, Malcolm always thought the latter was preferable.
“What d’ye plan on doin’ aboot Harry?” Cailean asked him when supper was over and they sat around the fire for one last cup of wine. “We left him quite angry with ye for takin’ Emma oot.”
“What is he afraid will happen between you and her?”
Malcolm slid his gaze to Fletcher. “He’s afraid I’ll break her heart.”
“I will speak with him,” Emma promised. “He’ll listen to me.”
“What will ye tell him?”
She took Malcolm’s hand and after entwining her fingers with his, she brought them to her lips and kissed them.
“I will tell him that I could never love you enough to let you break my heart.” She smiled up at him and brought his fingers to her lips. “I shall lie.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
He’s too barbaric for my taste.”
“Well, I’m relieved to hear it.” Harry nodded and continued eating.
“So stop becoming so anxious when I am with him. Your worries make it seem like you believe I’d let him whisk me off to the ocean and lay waste to my virginity.”
Harry nearly choked on his supper, and it would have been a shame too, for Cailean was in the kitchen today and he’d prepared a delicious meal of rich celery soup made with parsnips, wine and nutmeg, fresh brown bread with sweet butter, and savory slices of goose covered in blackberry sauce.
Emma gave him a smack on the back. “Better?”
He nodded, then coughed softly into his hand. “I’d prefer it if you ate upstairs in your room, Emmaline. There are patrons looking at you.”
“So, let them look. I don’t want to go upstairs,” she told him, gathering her strength. “I don’t care who looks at me.”
“You’re odd, Emmaline. Odd to see with those hands always touching everything. You attract scum. It’s not safe for you down here.”
She sighed at Harry’s caution. Part of her wished she hadn’t left France. She was tired of life at Fortune’s Smile, tired of needing an escort. She wanted something more.
“She doesn’t listen to what I tell her.” Her brother turned to Gunter and Brianne sitting next to him at the table. “Sometimes I think she’s deaf as well as blind.”
“Harry.” Malcolm’s voice as he approached them was clipped with warning. “Have a care how ye speak to her, old friend.”
“Do you threaten me, Malcolm?”
Malcolm shrugged and sat in the chair beside Emma. “If ye wish to take it that way.”
“Harry”—Emma slammed her hand on the table, startling him—“that’s enough.”
“Is it wrong for me to want you to be safe, sister?” he asked her more tenderly. “I just got you back, Emmaline. I don’t want to lose you again.”
Emma remained quiet, listening to Malcolm’s breath, wanting to touch him, take him by the hand and pull him outside… She didn’t want to live in obscurity anymore. She wanted to come and go as she pleased. She wanted to know what Malcolm felt for her. Good or bad. She loved him, but he hadn’t told her he shared her feelings. Oh, why did she have to fall for a man who believed he was incapable of loving someone?
“I’m thinking of going back to France,” she said, more for Malcolm’s reaction than for her brother’s. “I want to live in a cottage, in the woods, like I used to.”
“How will you live?” Harry asked, stunned.
“Why d’ye have to go to France to live in a cottage in the damn woods?” Malcolm asked her. “What’s wrong with England or… Scotland?”
“And what do you care either way, Malcolm?” she demanded.
Instead of answering her, he bolted up out of his chair, bent to seize her hand, and then proceeded to drag her out of the brothel.
“Malcolm!” Harry shouted after them. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I wish to have a word with yer sister, Harry,” Malcolm called back. “Follow and ye’ll insult me and m’ clan name.”
Clever, Emma thought, to use Harry’s self-proclaimed fear to keep him at heel. She didn’t ask where they were going when he led her to the stable and his horse. She wasn’t angry with him, not truly. One couldn’t force another to fall in love. Although he did seem quite bothered by France. She was thrilled. She’d clear everything up with Harry later.
When he was done saddling the beast, he lifted Emma on first, then leaped up behind her and they took off.
Here was what she loved, what she needed. The outdoors, where the air was laced with pine and honeysuckle, amid vast sounds and scents that awakened her senses—sweet, spicy, minty with a hint of dandelion mixed together. Clean, fresh air washed through her lungs, leaving her clothed in an earthy fragrance.
Horses were a bit uncomfortable, even with Malcolm’s thighs to cushion her from the saddle. But his arms around her, holding her steady, were worth every aching bounce. Sunlight warmed her skin. Malcolm’s arms warmed her bones.
Wherever they were going was fine with her.
They rode for a quarter of an hour without speaking. She didn’t mind. The forest was filled with sounds Emma enjoyed and missed. She knew she was doomed to love him forever when he laughed before she did at two larks conversing from the trees. She loved him for listening with her. She loved him for knowing that’s what she was doing.
“Emma?”
“Oui?” Her heart thumped wildly. Was he going to tell her that he loved her now? She held her breath.
“D’ye truly want to go back to France?”
Of course she didn’t want to go back to France. Not unless he was going. She wanted to be with him. “Stop the horse.”
He did as she asked and didn’t stop her when she slipped from his lap and walked on her own.
“You suggested I stay in England or go to Scotland.” She paused, folded her hands across her chest, and tilted her head up to him. “May I ask why you care? Would you visit me?”
He leaped down and blocked her path. “Aye, I’d visit ye. Every night when I came to bed.”
“And you think I’d just let you in?” When he stepped closer and closed his arms around her, she knew she would.
He dipped his head to hers and whispered against the seam of her mouth. “Would ye turn me away, then, lass?”
“Oui, oui,” she insisted weakly as he pressed his mouth to hers. “I would.”
He laughed, pulling back for a torturous instant. “Nae ye wouldn’t,” he teased, angling his head to her again. “Ye’d welcome me into yer arms. Yer bed.” He captured her breath in a deep, titillating kiss.
She made a little eager yet contented sound she hardly recognized with her own ears and placed her hands on his hips. His tongue flicked across the darkest recesses of her mouth. He consumed her in his size, dominant, hard, possessive.
She wanted more. She wanted to feel him. All of him. She wanted a really good look at who was about to turn her bones to liquid. She hadn’t examined him enough the first time they were intimate. Now she wanted to take her fill.
Her touch was light across the span of his chest, up the dips and curves along the expanse of his shoulders. His muscles trembled under her fingers. She ran her hands down his tight, sinewy arms, back to his hips.
Boldly, she touched the wool of his breeches. She discovered they fit snugly. The wool stretched across the front of him. Her heart pounded in her ears. Her blood burned. Dare she be so bold?
He groaned when she spread her fingers over the hard mound. Goodness, had she truly taken all of him? She closed her fingers and squeezed and kneaded him through the wool. She wanted to bite his neck and blush at the same time.
He claimed her mouth over and over in deep, ruthlessly sensual kisses that drew the breath from her body. He was ready to take her. But she wasn’t ready to be taken.
She wanted more.
She broke away fro
m their passionate embrace. “I would,” she repeated, breathless but triumphant and turned to go to the other way.
He laughed, scalding her blood. An eagle called out high above the forest canopy and Malcolm moved up behind her, stopping her with one hand curling around her waist and the other scooping her hair from her nape.
“Are ye sure aboot that, Emma?” he groaned against her ear, his erection pushing up against her rump.
Without giving her time to think about her answer, he tilted her head, exposing more of her neck to his hungry mouth, and drove her even madder when he dipped his other hand from her belly to her skirts and began pulling them up.
She had no defense against him. She didn’t want any. She wanted him inside her and she told him, begged him.
His hand disappeared under the folds of her skirts and fell to the crux between her legs. She opened wider to his probing fingers and lifted her arms behind her and around his neck.
She didn’t know whether to smile with relief or tense up her body in anticipation for the force of his cock when she felt him freeing himself from his confines. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she told herself to demand more, a promise. But when he turned her around to face him and lifted her with one arm, she coiled her legs around his waist and held on.
Malcolm held her up around him, his breath hard against her throat. Perched upon the tip of his cock, her moist heat tempted him to impale her as deeply as he could go. The primal need to satisfy his desire almost overwhelmed him. But he held her up, a hairsbreadth above him and hard enough to hurt.
“Why do you hesitate, Malcolm?” she asked him, touching his face. She sounded disheartened and out of breath.
She wanted him. It meant more than ever before. It meant everything. He looked at her and fit her in the palms of his hands. “Tell me why yer eyes are misty,” he commanded gently, brushing her up the length of his shaft. His body shook, along with his heart.
“Emma,” he told her. “I’ve never loved before…”
Her tears fell freely now between them.
“… I dinna’ know what ye’ve done to me, lass. M’ whole life I felt… unfinished, empty.”
