Devil nickered and approached in greeting, then followed them to the door as they went inside the cellar of the castle ruin.
With his head stuck inside the kitchen, Devil laid back his ears and looked annoyed.
"You'll not fit through the door, you behemoth," Rebbie told him, dropping his load of wood.
Calla chuckled.
"'Tis what you get for growing so tall, laddie."
The horse backed away and discovered a new patch of grass by the door to devour.
Calla tossed her armload of sticks onto the floor. A sharp pain stabbed her finger. "Ouch!" Hissing in a breath through clenched teeth, she examined her finger, finding a splinter imbedded in the tender flesh.
"What have you done?" Dusting off his hands, Rebbie drew near and took her hand into his large warm one.
"'Tis naught but a splinter."
"I knew you should've left the manual labor to me. A wee fragile lady like you…." He shook his head, a teasing glint in his eye. "You should never carry wood."
"Don't be silly. A little work never hurt anyone."
"Och. But it hurt you." He lifted her hand and drew her injured finger into his mouth.
"What are you…?" Her breath whooshed out and her heart thudded as the wet warmth of his mouth captured her attention and sent shivers through her body. Looking into her eyes, he carefully clamped his teeth onto the tiny sliver of wood and pulled it out. With his other hand, he removed the splinter from his teeth, flicked it away, then examined her finger. "There, now. Good as new." He kissed her wee injury then dropped her hand.
It still smarted, but she hardly noticed after his unique treatment. She was too busy staring at his mouth. "I thank you. Is that the way you medicate everyone?"
He snickered. "Nay. Only lovely lassies."
Burning heat covered her. Saints! The man had suckled on her finger like…. Nay, she couldn't think about what else he'd suckled all those years ago. Her nipples beaded at the memory.
Crouching before the fire-pit and using a flint, Rebbie started a fire in the dried grass they'd collected earlier. "You're good with fires, you said?"
"Aye."
"If you'll keep this going and build it up slowly with the kindling and wood, I'll see if I can find a rabbit." He removed a pistol from his belt. "Stay here and guard her well, Devil," he said as he passed through the door.
Just outside, the horse nickered and eyed Rebbie, then her, his ears perked.
"Good luck," she called, her stomach aching. She hated to think about a poor rabbit losing its life, but she and Rebbie needed food.
She crouched by the small fire and added twigs, then larger sticks, thinking about wee Jamie. She missed him terribly and wished he were here now. He'd love this adventure. But of course, 'twas daft to even imagine such a thing. They were in great danger from Claybourne. Besides, Rebbie could never meet Jamie; he would no doubt see the uncanny resemblance. And then what? 'Twould be hell on earth. If he or his father were angry enough to report it, she'd be taken before parliament and the Kirk, her deception and adultery exposed to all, her son's life ruined.
A few minutes later, a pistol shot sliced the still air. She leapt to her feet and peered out the gaping hole of a window into the early twilight. Had Rebbie shot a rabbit or had someone found them? Hearing no more sounds, she ventured outside, past the horse, and glanced around.
Finally, Rebbie came into view carrying a cleaned rabbit on a wooden spit.
"That didn't take long," she said, glad the hunt was a success, for she was becoming hungrier by the minute.
"The place is crawling with rabbits. I saw five." In the cellar, he placed it on the brackets over the fire-pit. "I'm going out to the stream and wash my hands," he said. When he returned a few minutes later, he also brought his pack from the back of his horse and tossed it on the floor. "You did a wondrous job on the fire. You must be hungry." He gave her a smidgen of a grin.
"I'm famished, if you wish the truth," she said dryly.
His grin widened. "I'll have to remember to carry food about with me for when I rescue you."
"I pray you won't have to rescue me again."
He lifted a brow. "Hope not, but you do get yourself into trouble often."
Well, he was right about that, blast it. First, the falling tree, and now this.
On the one hand, she enjoyed their companionable closeness as night descended, but on the other, she knew she could not grow too close to him.
He knelt, away from the fire, but still near enough to see well, and set about reloading his pistol and she wondered if he would need it again soon.
"I've never been into the wilds like this before," she said, a bit uncertain as to what she should do.
The room was darker than before, despite the fire, but she caught a glimpse of something in Rebbie's devilish gaze. Something fleeting and sensual. Was he thinking of that wild night they'd spent together?
"You haven't visited the Highlands afore?" he asked.
"Nay. I've never been this far north. 'Tis so beautiful here. Untamed."
He nodded, then stood and pushed the loaded pistol into the belt that held his plaid in place. His face was in shadow now, but 'twas obvious he was watching her. "You don't seem afraid."
She shook her head. "Not… with you." 'Twas the truth. She felt incredibly protected.
He was silent for a long moment and she wished she could see his face, his eyes, to gauge what he might be thinking.
"Where are you from?" His voice was deep and comforting, but at the same time his question disturbed her. What else would he ask?
"I grew up near Kinross," she said.
He nodded and removed a plaid blanket from his pack, then spread it upon the floor a couple feet from the fire. "Please, have a seat, m'lady." He gave a sweeping motion toward the blanket.
"I thank you." She sat and then he did.
He took a silver flask from the inside of his doublet, removed the cork and offered her a drink.
"Nay, I thank you. I don't drink whisky."
"'Tis water." He gave her a quick grin. "I filled it at the wee stream that courses down from the mountain. 'Tis a tragedy, but the whisky is all gone."
"Oh." She took the flask from him and drank. Fresh and cold. "Very good." She handed it back to him, and he drank a long swallow.
Sharing the same drinking vessel, placing their lips on the same spot, seemed an intimate act to her, just as putting her finger into his mouth earlier had seemed far more intimate than simple splinter removal. The heat from the fire felt too intense of a sudden, and she could not keep her gaze off him.
The shadow of his beard stubble had darkened, framing his beautiful mouth. It bespoke masculinity, confidence and sensuality. Imagining a kiss like the ones he'd given her that night years ago, she grew a bit breathless and fidgety.
"So, you were married to the Earl of Stanbury?" he asked.
Oh, saints! More questions. She must be very careful. "Aye."
"Was he quite a bit older than you?"
She didn't think it would matter if she told him the truth about it. "Aye, he was fifty-two summers when he passed."
"And can I ask when that was?"
Her heartbeat hammering in her throat, Calla dropped her gaze from his inquiring one. If she answered this question truthfully, he would know she'd been married when they spent the night together. He would know she was the worst sort of woman, an adulteress. And yet, she couldn't lie to him. He could easily find out the truth of it, anyway, if he asked anyone back at Draughon. He'd already said he didn't care whether or not she had been married at the time.
She swallowed hard. "In March of this year." She lifted her gaze and watched for his reaction. Would he judge her, as he had every right to do… as anyone else would do if they knew?
He nodded and turned the rabbit upon the spit over the fire. She saw no condemnation in his eyes; he wasn't even looking at her. She was glad he didn't express his condolences as he might have done to be pol
ite had they'd been back at Draughon, near others. Somehow his response was more honest, and that appealed to her. She valued honesty very highly and her forced dishonesty ate at her conscience.
"Did you two have children?" Rebbie asked.
Her breath halted and her heart thudded in her ears so loudly she could hear naught else for a few moments. "One son," she said, unable to bring herself to look into Rebbie's eyes. "He's staying with his aunt and uncle temporarily—his guardian. They dote on him. With the large debt Stanbury left, we had to sell the furniture and most everything… and release the household servants from employment on the Stanbury Estate. And, of course, I had to seek employment with my cousins." She snapped her mouth closed, perplexed as to why she'd blurted out so much.
"Damnation," Rebbie muttered. "All because of gambling."
"Aye." She ventured a glance at him, hoping—nay, praying—he wouldn't ask more about Jamie. She wasn't a talented liar when it came down to it. "Where are you from?" she asked, both curious and hoping to change the subject.
"Castle Rebbinglen is northwest of Aberdeen. I haven't been there in over a year."
She wondered why he rarely went home. "Do you travel a lot?"
"Aye."
"Where have you been most recently?"
He recounted some of the adventures he'd told Lachlan a week ago, when she'd been eavesdropping. But 'twas clear he tamed it down for a lady's ears.
Finally, the roasted rabbit finished cooking and they ate in the firelight while he told her more fascinating tales and adventures, usually involving Lachlan and Dirk. Because he'd mentioned Dirk had red hair, she figured he might have been the man who'd been sitting at the table with Rebbie that night in Stirling. Regardless, she couldn't remember ever enjoying a meal more than the one she was now eating. How odd, considering where they were. 'Twas because she had his company.
Rebbie was stunned to realize there were few things he liked more than Calla's smile. He'd even gotten one laugh out of her with one of his stories, which was doubly rewarding.
Their meal was finished and he craved lying with her upon the plaid blanket, but that would not be smart. He knew that as soon as his body touched hers, he would want her. He didn't wish her to think he would take advantage of her, just because he'd rescued her.
But if she decided to seduce him again, as she had years ago, he would be all for it. Excitement thundered through his heart at the mere thought of it.
"I'm sorry to say there are no feather beds in this grand castle to sleep upon," he said. "But I have two plaids we can roll up in and stay warm."
She nodded, giving him a shy smile. "Sounds good to me."
'Slud! He wanted to feel her in his arms so badly he ached. He shoved himself to his feet and spread out the other blanket so they formed an L shape near the fire.
"Lie down if you wish. I'll be right back."
Outside, he relieved himself, removed Devil's saddle, then led the horse to the small stream to drink in the moonlight. Upstream, he refilled the small flask.
When he returned inside, Calla lay on one blanket on her side, with it wrapped over her. Her head rested on her bent arm. She looked so fetching, he was tempted to lean down and kiss her. But he couldn’t do that.
He lay down on the other blanket and pulled the back portion of it over him. "Goodnight, fair and bonny lass."
Her gaze leapt to him, and she sent him a quirked smile. "Goodnight, rebel Highlander."
He snorted a laugh, wondering who she had been listening to.
There was so much more he wanted to say—lie here with me, sweet Calla. I'll keep you safe and warm.
But, nay, he'd become far more than warm. No doubt, his body would turn scorching if she snuggled up beside him.
***
The horse's wild neigh woke Rebbie. Devil sounded as if he'd gone mad. "What the hell?" He leapt up and ran to the door. 'Twas so dark out, he could see little. "Devil, what is it?"
The horse blew harshly through his nostrils and snorted. He'd caught the scent of something.
"Shh, lad." Rebbie stroked his muzzle.
"What's wrong?" Calla asked, standing behind him.
"I know not." He returned to the fire and took up one of the thick sticks with one flaming end to use as a torch, then he pulled out a pistol. "Stay here," he told Calla. "Devil won't allow anything through that door. He'll kick the hell out of it and trample it to the ground, whether 'tis man or beast."
"Have a care," she whispered.
"Aye." He proceeded through the door and outside, halting a short distance away to listen. And then he heard it, a howling wolf and several animals running through the rustling leaves of the forest.
"Damnable wolves," he muttered. They should fear coming near his torch. He'd much prefer to frighten them off instead of killing them. They'd probably caught scent of the roasted rabbit he and Calla had eaten earlier. Either that or the horse. A whole pack of wolves could take down a horse.
He squinted, glimpsing eye-shine in the depth of the wood. Bastards. He emitted a screeching growl and waved the torch about, hoping to frighten them away.
But they lingered within the wood, whining amongst themselves. The eye-shine moving this way and that as they watched him.
"Leave off, you bastards!" he yelled in the meanest voice he could muster.
Devil snorted and pawed the ground. Was he raring for a fight?
A high-pitched scream split the night air behind him. Calla!
He raced back to the stone structure. "Calla?"
At the door she crashed into him. "It's in here… one of them."
Chapter Eight
A wolf was inside the ruin where they'd been sleeping?
"'Slud! Where?" Rebbie aimed the pistol, his eyes searching the darkness beyond the firelight.
"I know not," Calla said, her whisper ragged. "I heard it. Panting and—and running." She grabbed onto his arm, her hand trembling. Firelight from his torch glinted off a wee knife in her hand. Where had she gotten that? No matter. She couldn't kill a wolf with such a small blade without being seriously injured.
The animal must've come in one of the other doors or windows. 'Twould be easy enough since none were blocked.
"Stay behind me," he said.
She did, holding onto his plaid and doublet at his back.
Outside, Devil went wild again, neighing and snorting, his hooves striking the ground and the rocks. A wolf's high-pitched whine-bark was so close it made the hair on the back of Rebbie's neck stand on end.
"Get him, Devil!" Rebbie commanded. The horse was trained for war and knew when to attack an enemy.
Havoc ensued. More horse screams and wolf barks and so much kicking and thumping Rebbie thought Devil must have trampled them all.
"Rebbie!" Calla pointed past him.
He switched his gaze to the room just as two greenish glowing eyes charged out of the darkness, a black form darting by the fire-pit, ready to leap on his chest. Aiming the pistol, he squeezed the trigger and gunfire exploded, blinding him for an instant. A yelp sounded. Thick smoke filled the air, near suffocating him. Calla coughed behind him.
Once the smoke cleared and his eyes adjusted from the powder flash, he saw the dark gray form lying upon the floor.
"Oh dear Lord," Calla whispered.
"I got him." Saints, he'd never killed a wolf before. Never had one try to attack him either. "Are you well?" he asked her.
"Aye."
Taking his makeshift torch, he stepped closer to the beast. It didn't move and he could detect no breathing. After laying his gun down, he picked up his sword.
"I have to see if Devil's injured." Turning, he eyed Calla and her terrified expression as she stared at the dead wolf. "'Tis all right now, lass," he said in a calming tone. "Come. Wait in the doorway. And be careful with that knife."
She nodded.
Taking the torch, he moved outside.
The horse snorted and pranced about between the bodies of two wolves he'd trample
d into oblivion.
Rebbie saw no more wolves or eye-shine amongst the trees.
"You got them, aye, Devil?" He turned to Calla, just behind him, still concerned about her anxious expression. "Can you hold this?" He gave her the sword, then took the horse's bridle and scratched his muzzle. "You did good, lad." He stroked his neck and looked for bite marks. He didn't see any obvious wounds but he'd have to wait until morn to be sure. The horse moved in a normal manner and none of his legs appeared injured, thank the saints.
Once he'd calmed the horse, he turned to Calla and took his sword from her trembling hand.
"'Tis over now," he said, sheathing the weapon. He drove the torch into the soft earth to give them light.
"What if the others come back?" she asked in a raw voice, her wide gaze searching the wood behind him.
"Devil will stomp the hell out of them."
She nodded, but the sheen of tears glimmering in her eyes near gutted him.
He pulled her close into his arms. "Shh, Calla. 'Tis all right. I'll not let them get you."
Sliding her arms around his waist, she laid her head against his shoulder. Loving the feel of her against him, he buried his hand in her silken hair, the golden curls snagging against his rough fingers. He kissed the top of her head and he didn't want to stop there. He wanted to brush his lips over every inch of her. Protectiveness and excitement stampeded through him. Her female softness and her scent of flowers awoke a hunger within him, a need to taste her and feel her warm, satiny skin against his.
When she pulled back to gaze up at him, her eyes much darker gray now, he couldn't resist; he leaned in and claimed her lips, as he'd been dreaming of for days. Damnation, but her lips were silky and sweet beneath his. When she kissed him back, opening her mouth, lust near consumed him. He didn't ignore the invitation but took complete advantage, delving deep and tasting her arousing feminine flavor. Aye, he remembered the taste of her, had craved it more times than he could count.
"Mmm, Calla," he whispered, then flicked his tongue into her mouth once again.
Calla sank into the enthralling paradise of Rebbie's kiss. His sensual lips were firm and demanding against hers, his tongue forceful and arousing, making her crave far more. The contrast between his harsh beard stubble and smooth lips took her back over six years into the past. Her body, mind and heart awakened fully to him and 'twas almost as if no time had passed.
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