My Rebel Highlander

by Vonda Sinclair

  "Aye, well, she's a widow now for certain, so…." Lachlan shrugged.

  "Nay. There's this whole mess my father got me into with the other lass. And they're cousins."

  Lachlan cringed. "A thorny situation."

  "No doubt I'll have to pay a king's ransom to buy myself out of this trap."

  "I admire you for giving it a go, at least, and getting to know the young lady."

  "Aye, I've learned all I need to know about her. We're not well suited at all." He didn't simply want a woman to bed and bear his heir. He wanted a marriage similar to Lachlan and Angelique's. Or Dirk and Isobel's. Both couples were so happy they made him envious in an odd way, but he didn't want to admit to that. "If I have to be leg-shackled to a woman, I want to like her more than a wee bit. I want to enjoy talking to her as well as bedding her."

  "And you should, my friend. I never believed love was real until I met Angelique. I never thought I would feel the way I do about one woman. And I hope you find the same thing."

  Rebbie nodded. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I thank you."

  Now, if only Rebbie could speak to Calla alone for a few minutes during the céilidh, he would try to ease her fears… if he could escape Elena long enough.

  ***

  The céilidh was underway and Calla sat at the high table while most of the others danced to the sprightly music. Angelique was dancing with Lachlan, although not as boisterously as some of the others. Their dance more resembled a moving embrace. Very romantic. She marveled at the love-match they shared.

  "'Tis a lively céilidh, is it not?" Rebbie asked, seating himself in the chair beside her.

  Heavens! Calla's whole body heated. "Aye," she responded, surprised she got the word out. Wondering where Elena was, she glanced back over the great hall and found her dancing with one of the young Drummagan clansmen.

  "A lovely lady such as yourself… why are you not dancing?" Rebbie's deep brown eyes sparkled. "Surely a dozen men have asked you already."

  She shook her head. "Nay." Was that all she could utter? One word responses? "I haven't danced in… ages."

  "Ha. Don't expect me to believe that, but 'haps you would honor me with a dance?"

  She swallowed hard, her heart pounding. "Oh." How could she get out of this without him thinking she was daft? "I'm certain Elena would be jealous if I took you up on that generous offer."

  "I don't see why. She's danced with every male in the room. Besides—" He cleared his throat.

  Calla peered at him, wondering if he was going to finish the sentence. But he looked annoyed and glared at the young lady in question. "You are her cousin?" he asked, his gaze turning friendlier when it met hers.

  "Aye, and her chaperone."

  "I see." He glanced around the room again, then faced her and said in a low voice. "I need to speak to you in private."

  Chapter Four

  Panic rampaged through Calla and she could scarce breathe as she assessed Rebbie's obsidian gaze. Then, unable to withstand the force of it, she glanced away. How could this be happening to her? She should have known… any dishonesty on her part was bound to come back to nip at her heels.

  "Please." Rebbie's voice was barely audible above the loud music.

  She darted a quick glance at him to try to discern his thoughts, but his eyes were near impossible to read. He did not appear angry. Merely… interested? And intense.

  "Very well," she said.

  "Do you ken where the solar is?"

  She nodded.

  He stood and bowed, then headed toward the stairs.

  Good heavens! What did he wish to talk about? That night they'd shared? She inhaled deeply, trying to dispel the jitters that had suddenly overtaken her entire body. Even her knees shook as she rose from her seat.

  All will be well. He is not a cruel man. And he doesn't know…

  At least, she hoped he wasn't cruel and vindictive like her late husband. Would Rebbie keep their secret if she asked him to?

  After watching the dancers for a few moments to make certain Elena didn't notice her following Rebbie, she sedately strolled toward the stairs. Hopefully, they would think she was merely retiring for the night.

  Her heart pounding, she ascended the steps and started down the dim corridor, lit here and there by a candle sconce. Walking as slowly as she could, she tried to calm herself as she approached the solar. The door was open and, inside, several candles burned along with a low fire in the hearth. A dark form in his black clothing, Rebbie stood before it, gazing into the flames, his hand propped on the mantel.

  She stepped across the threshold and halted, knowing not what to say.

  He turned. "Lady Stanbury, thank you for agreeing to meet with me. Please, come in." His businesslike tone helped her relax marginally. Maybe he wouldn't get too personal after all. Moving toward her, he motioned to the hearth, then bypassed her and closed the door. "You don't mind, do you?"

  "Nay." Saints! Her heart-rate doubled. Was it fear or excitement? Maybe a little of both.

  "Come. Have a seat." He took her hand and drew her to the chairs near the hearth. He wore no gloves, and she perversely wished she didn't either. From somewhere deep in her soul, she craved the warm touch of his skin—something she hadn't felt in a very long time.

  Once they were seated, she thought he would speak, but he didn't. Instead, he picked up the poker and stirred the fire's coals, then added two pieces of wood. The fire popped and crackled, burning a bit brighter.

  Her stomach ached with frayed nerves.

  He set the metal poker aside and glanced at her briefly. "I remember that night," he said in a low, deep voice.

  Her breath stopped and heat rushed over her. "Pray pardon, I—"

  "Nay." He held up a hand. "Why on earth would you apologize? 'Twas me who was a rogue and a scoundrel."

  "Nay, you were not." She knew he'd said that because he was a charming gentleman, for she was the one who'd approached him.

  She'd told him she was a widow back then. A lie. She squeezed her eyes shut. He could easily learn her husband died a mere five months ago.

  "Anyway. 'Tis our secret," he murmured.

  She glanced at him. A hint of a sincere smile softened his sensual mouth. Was it too much to hope for… that he would keep their secret? With fathomless eyes, he studied her, waiting for her response. He could've easily taken advantage of her, forcing her to warm his bed in exchange for his silence, but thankfully he didn't appear to be that sort of man.

  "I thank you," she said. "I never imagined… that I would see you again."

  "You hoped you wouldn't, aye?" He lifted a brow, looking none too pleased about that.

  It wasn't that she didn't want to see him again, for she certainly did, dreamed of it every night, but…. She shrugged. "Under the circumstances—"

  "And what were the circumstances?"

  She bit her lip. Could she tell him the truth, that she had been married at the time? And that she was an adulteress? Although, not by her own choice. Shame consumed her.

  "You don't wish to say." His voice gentled. "I understand. 'Tis far different for a woman than for a man."

  "Indeed."

  "So, 'twas not something you did often?"

  Calla's shocked gaze flew to Rebbie. "Nay. Of course not."

  "I meant no offense." He could easily tell by her words and actions she was not very experienced at seducing men, then or now. She blushed almost as much as a virgin, for heaven's sake. If she were a practiced seductress, she would be all over him now, wouldn't she? Instead, she would rarely meet his gaze. 'Twas obvious she was mortified that he remembered the night they'd spent together.

  He almost wished she would do something. Smile at him, touch his arm. Anything. He wanted to see a glimpse of the lass he'd shared a pleasurable night of unbridled passion with. He remembered the joy in her eyes and her smile.

  Memories from that night had taunted him all day and now they flooded his mind. He recalled that her actions had told h
im she wasn't very experienced. Of course, she hadn't been a virgin. No widows were, unless their elderly husbands had been unable to perform. But 'twas obvious to him Calla had never experienced a bedding like the one he gave her. She had not truly even known how to kiss before he'd shown her.

  He'd been in his early twenties at the time and bedsport had been one of his favorite pastimes. There was no way in hades he would've refused such a beautiful lady. Aye, he'd known she was a lady, but a countess? He hadn't imagined.

  "I know what you must think of me," she whispered, refusing to look at him. "But, nay, I had not done that before." She shook her head. "You have no idea how embarrassed I am right now."

  "There's no need to be. I won't be telling anyone." Of course, he'd already told Lachlan, but he wouldn't breathe a word about it. "I would never think badly of you. 'Twas just one of those things that happens when two lonely people get together." Or in his case, sotted on whisky. He was rarely lonely, but mayhap she had been. And if so, he was glad he'd been there for her. "I don't regret it. And I hope you don't."

  She studied him for a longer moment. "Nay."

  "Good." He observed her, unsure what was going through her mind, but feeling somehow that maybe she was starting to trust him a wee bit. "I hope you don't feel I took advantage of you in a… fragile state."

  "Nay. Of course not. I blame myself."

  "There is no blame. 'Twas a memorable night and I have to admit, I think of it sometimes."

  The color of her face deepened in the firelight and she again refused to look at him.

  "Do you?" he asked, knowing he was a scoundrel for asking such a thing of her. But he hoped she remembered.

  "Aye," she whispered.

  Her answer and her honesty sent a thrill through him. "Were you truly a widow at the time?"

  She shot a panicked glance at him, then leapt from her chair. "I must return to the great hall. Lady Elena will be looking for me."

  Moving quickly, he reached the door before she did and blocked her path.

  She halted a foot away. "Laird Rebbinglen, I beg of you…" Her breathing hard and erratic, she covered her face and burst into tears.

  "Saints. I am sorry." He took her shoulders between his hands and drew her close. "Please forgive me. I didn't mean to upset you."

  She nodded, her whole body trembling in his arms.

  He was shocked to discover her distress caused his chest to ache. "Shh. 'Tis all right, lass."

  She was so curvy and heavenly against him. The feel of her took him back a few years into the past and 'twas almost as if they now stood in the inn's room. Back then, she hadn't cried, but she had been incredibly anxious at first. Until he'd calmed her and shown her what pleasure was all about.

  He drew back, looked down into her shadowed face and stroked a tear away from her soft cheek. "Don't cry." He retrieved a handkerchief from his doublet and handed it to her.

  She let out a shaky breath and took the embroidered cloth. "I thank you. You must think me a ninny."

  "Of course not. I've been insensitive and upset you. I shouldn't have brought up the past, but I… wondered if you remembered. 'Twas not my intent to embarrass you."

  What was his intent? He was not mad enough to want a repeat of the experience, was he?

  On the one hand, she was an incredibly beautiful woman who sent heat and need rushing over him when she was near, but on the other hand, he couldn't have a tryst with the cousin of the lass his father had betrothed him to, even if he had no intention of marrying the girl. Under his best friend's roof? Nay, he was not quite that scandalous. And yet….

  He touched her face and lifted her chin, finding he craved her attention. When her uncertain gaze met his, he shook his head. "Stop fashing yourself," he whispered. "I don't care if you were married or a widow at the time."

  'Twas certainly not the first time he'd discovered he'd accidentally bedded a married woman. Of course, he'd never done it intentionally, but if the lady lied before climbing betwixt the sheets with him… Besides, most marriages among his peers were political arrangements and 'twas a well-known fact the husbands strayed to find their pleasures. So, why not the wives, too? He believed in fairness.

  Calla released a breath and closed her eyes for a second. "I thank you."

  The urge to kiss her beautiful lips consumed him of a sudden. But at the same time, he felt such a move would be taking advantage of her fragile state of mind. "No need to thank me."

  She afforded him a hint of a watery smile and, for the first time, he saw a glimpse of the joyful lass he'd spent a night with.

  Damnation! How he wanted… He ground his teeth, forcing himself not to move, not to draw her into his arms again… and to hell with everyone else.

  "I suppose I should get back to the céilidh," she said. "I'll make sure this is laundered before I return it to you." She held up the handkerchief.

  He nodded, not caring about the handkerchief. All he wanted was a few more minutes alone with her. There were so many questions he wanted to ask her. But, as he'd already seen, she was not yet comfortable answering them.

  ***

  "You disappeared," Lady Elena said, lighting a candle in the room they shared.

  Calla raised her head from the pillow. She hadn't been asleep. Thoughts of Rebbie consumed her mind. "I grew tired and decided to turn in early. Your mother said she didn't mind, that she would keep an eye on you."

  "Are you mad? That party was the most fun I've had in ages! I didn't even see you dancing."

  "Nay. My head was aching." Especially after she'd met with Rebbie. Worry and tension always gave her headaches. In one way, she was much relieved by what he'd said to her—that he wouldn't tell anyone. In another way, though, she found herself even more tense because… well… he stirred up all sorts of disturbing feelings in her. Fragile feelings of yearning that she'd thought long dead. At one point, just before she'd quit the room, she'd both feared and hoped he would kiss her. But, nay. Hoping for such a thing was mad. She must keep her distance from him.

  But, when he'd held her, his hard body pressed against hers had felt divine. 'Twas the same intense longing that tormented her after she'd left him at that inn, and that she re-experienced in her dreams.

  "You've had a lot of headaches recently," Elena said. "I'm concerned."

  "Do not worry over it. I'll be fine."

  Elena dropped to her bed and lay down. "Is Rebbie not a dream come true?" She sighed.

  Heat rushed over Calla and she was grateful for the dimness of the room. "Aye, he is."

  "I danced with him once, but that was not nearly enough. Then, he left to talk to Laird Draughon."

  "Did you dance with anyone else?" Calla asked, trying to change the subject.

  "Oh, indeed, I danced until I was breathless. Every man there wished to dance with me."

  "Naturally."

  "They would've asked you to dance, too, if you'd given them half a chance."

  "Mayhap next time." But Calla was not quite carefree enough to dance half the night. She had far more important things to think about.

  Elena leapt from the bed and paced. "I'm too excited to sleep. I wish Rebbie had kissed me goodnight."

  Calla released an impatient breath. "'Tis too soon. You will have to give him time." Annoyance gored her for she did not want to even imagine Rebbie kissing Elena. She detested the possessive feelings consuming her.

  "I have never been kissed by anyone and I wish to know what it's like. Tell me." She plopped onto the bed again and faced Calla.

  It could be either the best experience of one's life or the worst. "It depends on the person kissing you."

  "An attractive man, like Rebbie."

  "I'm certain 'twould be most pleasant." Aye, she knew for a fact Rebbie was an expert at kissing. But it had been such a long time since he'd kissed her, she found herself bereft.

  "Pleasant in what way?" Elena asked.

  "Dreamy, sweet and affectionate."

  Elena sighed. "I
cannot wait."

  Her cousin was too young and naïve to know anything about the other aspect of kissing… the arousal and carnal yearnings a kiss could stir up like a boiling caldron of need. Aye, Rebbie did that without effort.

  But she could not think of it, for already her lips itched and tingled, craving the feel of his mouth on hers. At all costs, that could never happen.

  ***

  In his guest chamber, Rebbie sat by the fire while he sipped a wee dram of whisky and gazed at the flames. His earlier conversation with Calla ran through his head and her image taunted him. She was so beautiful, but looked worried much of the time. He hoped he'd eased some of her fears. Of course, he wouldn't want anyone else to know about their prior meeting, other than Lachlan. Rebbie couldn't hide the truth from his friend.

  He hoped he could spend more time with Calla the next day, but he would have to be careful and avoid raising suspicions from the others.

  His door creaked. Frowning, he turned to find the young Lady Elena slipping into his room wearing naught but a smock and dressing gown.

  He shot up from the chair, thankful he was still fully clothed. "What in blazes are you doing in here?"

  "Oh!" Backing against the closed door, she pressed a hand to her chest. "My laird… Rebbie… I but wished to see you for a moment."

  "Not here. You must leave immediately." He moved toward her, intent on removing her bodily if he had to. No way in hell was he going to be caught in a compromising position and be forced to marry her.

  "Wait!" she begged.

  "What is it?"

  "I but wondered…." She looked at him hopefully.

  He narrowed his eyes. "What did you wonder?"

  She leapt toward him and flung her arms around his neck. His small whisky glass went flying as he caught her and held her away from him, but she'd already locked her hands behind his neck.

  "Are you mad?" he demanded through clenched teeth. After opening the door, he tried to unclasp her fingers without breaking them.

  "Kiss me," she whispered fervently, pushing her face closer to his.

  "Nay. You must leave now." Turning his head aside, he attempted to disentangle himself from her without injuring her.