Rogues to Lovers: Legend of the Blue Rose

by Laurel O'Donnell

The lass glanced over her shoulder and blessed him with another smile—aye, with the way her grin gave him strength, she could keep at it. “I’m amazed to see you on your feet. After you spent the night moaning, I feared you’d never wake.”

  Quinn scratched the itchy stubble on his face. “’Tis not like me to moan.”

  “Everyone moans in the midst of a fever.”

  “I was fevered?”

  “Aye, and sweating something awful. I couldn’t replace the cloths on your forehead fast enough.”

  Deciding to forgo his shirt, he staggered to the bench and plopped on his arse, completely spent. “You mean to say you sat up with me all night, wiping my brow?”

  When the young lady turned, her gaze dropped to his bare chest. Her teeth grazed her bottom lip. “And ladling willow bark tea between your lips. I’ll say the reason you’re faring so well this morn is on account of the tea.” She gave a sheepish grin. “And a tot or two of watered whisky.”

  “Watered?” He grinned back, bless it he liked her. He especially liked having her eyes rake down his body. And by her expression, she liked him as well.

  She placed two bowls on the table. “I didn’t want to choke you.”

  “Not me. I was born swilling whisky.”

  “Is that what your ma told you?”

  “Regrettably I didn’t really know my mother. She passed away when Eachan was born.”

  “I’m sorry.” Sadness filled her eyes as she passed him a spoon—made of silver and embossed with a coat of arms. The piece didn’t fit with the shabbiness of the cottage but before he mentioned it, Alice continued, “My ma passed the day I was born. I blamed myself for years.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, lass. Childbearing has a way of taking too many young mothers from their bairns.” He took up the spoon and took a bite. “Mm. This is good.”

  “Thank you. ’Tis Gran’s—”

  “Recipe?” he asked. “I take it the woman has taught you a great deal.”

  “From herbs to facts to reading. She’s a wise woman.”

  And odd.

  A rose in full bloom sat in a crystal vase in the center of the table. “Is that the same bud you gave me?”

  “It is.” Alice cupped her hands around it and inhaled. “The fragrance is more potent than any rose I’ve ever smelled.”

  “’Tis not like any I’ve ever seen either. What sort of rose blooms violet?”

  “A damask rose. Gran says they’re…special.”

  Quinn’s gaze traveled to the brooch he’d seen Alice wearing with the four emeralds. “How do you mean?” he asked, noticing the motto encircling a hand Ne Parcas nec Spernas. In his thoughts he translated the Latin, “Neither Spare nor Despise”.

  Alice ran her finger down the crystal vase. “I’m sure it is only myth.”

  “I’ve nowhere to go.” He looked her in the eye. “Tell me.”

  “Och, if you must know, Gran says it makes enemies become—”

  “What?”

  She rolled her hand through the air. “You ken.”

  “Lovers?” he asked, praying it were true.

  A glowing blush rose in Alice’s cheeks. “That’s what Gran says. She’s not right about everything, though.”

  Chuckling, Quinn tapped the brooch. “But you just boasted about her wisdom.”

  “I may have.”

  “Tell me, bonny Alice, why were you at the high table wearing this?”

  She stirred her pottage as if hesitant. “I’m the last of my clan.”

  “Which is?”

  Her face flushed as red as hot coals. “Lamont.”

  Highland Knight of Dreams

  Amy Jarecki

  Chapter Eight

  When Alice spoke her clan name, the pain in Quinn’s shoulder burned. He gaped at her in utter disbelief.

  “Lamont?” he asked, his voice hard as he raked his fingers through his hair. “Good Lord, woman, you held my life in the palm of your hands.”

  As she set down her spoon and squared her shoulders, the woman’s gaze grew defiant. “Do not think that fact escaped me—not for one minute.”

  Quinn’s mind raced. Damnation, why had she taken him in? Why hadn’t she left him in Rothesay?

  He looked to the long sword by the door. Would he need to fight? Hell, he could overpower the lass with his hands, injured shoulder or nay. “And yet you tended me as if I were kin.”

  “Same as I would any living soul.”

  “But—”

  Shaking her head, Alice held up a palm. “The day you rode onto my lands—”

  “Your lands?”

  “Aye, my lands!” She pounded a fist onto the table. “That day I raced back to Gran ready to poison the burn—to kill Argyll’s grandson and heir.”

  “But instead you brought me the rose.”

  “Gran’s idea, mind you. But she…” Alice pushed back the bench and stood.

  Quinn tried to follow, but when his knees buckled, he decided to remain where he sat. “But she what?”

  Alice busied herself tending the fire. “Obviously she had different ideas. Which…which, were completely misguided.”

  “Hmm.” Quinn again scratched his stubble as he studied the damned rose. The old woman might have had good intentions, but most likely for the wrong reasons. Even if he wanted to court the lass, in his weakened state bending his knee would cause him to lose balance and fall on his face.

  He needed to think. He needed to breathe. And with the air in the wee cottage growing tenser by the moment, the only thing that made sense was to hasten outside. “Is there a well out the back? It appears I’m in need of a shave.”

  And a healthy dousing in cold water.

  ***

  “Merciful fairies, I’m daft.” Alice had collected a razor, soap and drying cloth for Quinn, but now he’d gone outside, he’d left his clothes still draped across the back of Gran’s rocking chair. Surely he’d want to don his shirt and kilt after his shave. Tiptoeing to the garments, she smoothed her fingers down the wool of her skirts. No, it hadn’t escaped her notice that the Highlander had gone outdoors with a blanket tied around his waist. Who wouldn’t have noticed such well-muscled chest brawn?

  Although, it wasn’t as if Alice hadn’t already seen his chest. She’d spent the past few days trying to cover him up, only to have the man shove the bedclothes back down.

  Making up her mind, she collected the clothing and marched outside. At the corner of the cottage, modesty made her stop. “Lord Quinn?” she called.

  When he didn’t respond, visions of the man collapsed and unconscious came to mind. I knew he was up and about too soon.

  But as she darted around the corner, the last thing she expected to see was…

  Oh my.

  Alice froze. She forgot to breathe.

  Beautiful, pure, braw, and a very naked Highlander stood bent over a basin, ladling water over his head. With a grand shake, Quinn straightened while he pushed his hair away from his face. Streams of water trickled down his body, making gooseflesh stand proud…every muscle flex.

  Too stunned to avert her gaze, Alice took it all in. Chestnut locks dripping onto shoulders powerful enough to pull a horse cart. From there the water streamed to a lean waist—lean but sturdy. She squeezed the bundle of clothing tighter as her assessment continued. Aye, his buttocks were smoothly chiseled like marble—but clearly not hewn of stone—hewn of dimpled, muscular flesh.

  Without noticing her presence, Quinn splashed under his arms, the sunlight making the water glisten as it slid down him.

  Alice’s mouth went dry. If only she could touch him—sink her fingers into his skin. She took a step forward, a twig snapping beneath her toes.

  Snatching the razor, he faced her, eyes blazing.

  Taking a step back, she tried not to look, but she couldn’t help herself. He was long and sleek—potent and oh, so very male. Something deep inside filled with longing. Her breasts grew heavy, making the need to touch him grow tenfold. “Ahhhh…”
Was he as hard as he looked? Was the hair on his chest soft or coarse?

  “Hello Alice.” In the blink of an eye, he set the razor on the table and covered himself with the blanket. “You brought my things,” his voice sounded soft and incredibly low.

  The tone alone made her tremble, excruciatingly aware of every inch of his powerful body. Relieved but a wee bit disappointed with his modesty, Alice gulped and stared at Quinn’s chest, heaving with his every breath. One of the roosters from the chicken yard crowed, making her snap her gaze to the man’s face.

  She held out the bundle. “Here you are.”

  He set them on the board and stepped nearer. “You’ve a fire coursing through your blood right now, haven’t you, lass?”

  She was shaking yet couldn’t force herself to turn and run. A fire coursing through her blood? It felt more like the sizzling coals made hotter by the smithy’s bellows. “H-how did you know?”

  “The same frenzied desire is thrumming through my veins as well.” He slid his palm to her waist, long black eyelashes lowering while his gaze dipped to her mouth. “Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you and I’ll return to my bath.”

  Alice commanded herself to turn around and flee, but her legs refused to budge. Tingles raced across her skin. She couldn’t breathe. The cock crowed again, and she barely heard it. Quinn’s lips neared—beautifully full lips, slightly parted and looking like sin. As if it had a mind of its own, her hand grasped his waist—cool flesh, slightly damp. But his wee gasp made her melt like molten gold. “I—”

  “Say it.”

  “Please.” As she raised her chin, his mouth covered hers, hot, wet, demanding.

  Something exploded inside her. This man personified the most forbidden fruit in all of Christendom, and she was coming undone in his arms. His kiss consumed her, uplifted her, made her ravenous. His soul poured into her like aged whisky until she was intoxicated with pleasure.

  Digging her fingers into the bands of flesh she’d craved to touch only moments ago, she could not fight him.

  Even if he is the enemy.

  As if he’d heard her thoughts, he cupped her cheek and slowly drew away. “I shouldn’t have acted so brazenly. Forgive me.”

  Clutching her fists beneath her chin, Alice skittered backward. “This can never be.”

  “Unless…”

  “Nay. As soon as you are well enough, you must go.” She glanced out toward the sea. “Gran should have returned by now. She could arrive at any moment.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Aye.”

  “Do you ken what may have detained her?”

  Alice shook her head. “I aim to return to Rothesay as soon as you’re on your way.”

  “With the food and brisk water, I’ve grown stronger already. I’m sure the fighting has been quelled. I’ll escort you across on the morrow. Besides, I need to fetch my horse.”

  Highland Knight of Dreams

  Amy Jarecki

  Chapter Nine

  For the love of God, why hadn’t he exercised some bloody control? What was it about Alice that turned him into a lovesick fool? Whenever the woman came near, his mind blanked, his heart raced like hummingbird wings, and his bedamned cock turned into an iron rod.

  She was a bloody Lamont. The granddaughter of James Lamont, no less. In her eyes, he had to be a completely, utterly unprincipled scoundrel.

  He must regain his strength and his senses and take control posthaste. Moreover, if he spent one more minute in the cottage surrounded by the scent of enticing, tempting, alluring Alice, he might make good on his reputation of scoundrel. And all because of her. She drove him mad with lust—the longing to put his hands on her body, to explore every inch of her flesh with his mouth. The thirst to lick her most intimate places and watch her face as she lost control.

  Damnation, the woman drove him mad, insane, and completely ravenous.

  Heading for the Toward Castle ruins, Quinn spent the remainder of the day forcing himself to rebuild his strength. He never should have kissed her. Heaven forbid, if she’d been naked he would have lost all control. Such an irresponsible act would have rekindled a clan feud, doubtless bringing Lamont allies from all corners of the Lowlands to put Campbell lands to fire and sword.

  He considered strapping on his weapons and leaving, but he’d promised to help the lass find her grandmother, bittersweet as his plan was. The idea of traveling with Alice tempted him beyond reason. On one hand, it might be nice to come to know her better—find out more about her—her likes, her loves, her plans for her future. But such musings were akin to the betrayal of his clan and kin. There could be no plausible future for them. A wee tryst would not be acceptable, either. Alice was too precious. She deserved better than to be wooed and cast aside. Worse, every time Quinn looked into her blaeberry eyes he wanted to kiss the lass. Hell, he wanted to do a great deal more than kiss.

  If only she were a simple maid, but no. The woman had to be a chieftain in her own right—the only living heir of the Lamont chieftain murdered by Quinn’s grandfather. Of all the clans who feuded with the Campbells, Lamont was the most hated. Before the massacre, James had led his kin on raids putting Campbell women and children under the knife. They’d reived Campbell cattle, burned out their crofts and attacked their castles, and Quinn’s grandfather had repaid their deeds tenfold.

  By the time Quinn returned to the cottage, he was bone-weary, but a good fatigue, the kind that made a man feel as if he is on the mend after a bout of sickness. The sun shone like an immense yellow ball on the horizon of the western sky and, after a polite knock, he strode inside the abode—far more meager than the lass deserved.

  Alice stood from the rocking chair and set her mending aside, blushing scarlet. “I-I wasn’t certain you’d return.”

  Was she embarrassed about catching him bathing? He hadn’t given his nakedness a second thought, other than wishing they’d been naked together—other than wanting her more than he’d ever wanted a woman in his life.

  He rubbed the back of his neck and stepped inside. “I needed to regain my strength. Laying abed would have only served to make me stiffer.”

  She had brushed out her hair and the waves shimmered in the candlelight as she gestured with an upturned palm. “I made roast chicken.”

  “Is that what smells delicious?”

  “Mm hmm.” Feminine hips swayed while she moved to the hob and tugged on the hob’s cast iron handle—quite an extravagant apparatus for a crofter’s cottage. “If you’ll open the bottle of wine, I’ll set to serving.”

  Quinn found the squat flagon on the table and used his dirk to cut away the wax sealing the cork. “You look bonny this eve.”

  “Oh?” Placing the chicken on the table, she didn’t seem to appreciate the compliment. “Not any different than usual, I suppose.”

  “Och, you’d look bonny dressed as a ragamuffin. The first time I laid eyes on you I thought ye were the loveliest creature I’d seen in all my days.”

  A wee smile turned up the corners of her mouth. “A selkie.”

  “Nay, that’s what my brother said. But I thought…”

  She smoothed her hands down her apron. “Yes?”

  “I thought you were as beautiful as a goddess.”

  His words produced not a smile or blush, but a coy expression with wide, teasing eyes. “You’ve seen many goddesses, have you?”

  “Dreamed of them quite a bit.” He grinned lopsidedly. “As it turns out I was dreaming of you.”

  Alice sat and nodded to the bench opposite. “Och, Lord Quinn, your banter is enchanting. If I’d not been born a Lamont, I might think you wanted to court me.”

  “Why should I not?” he said, barely believing such a question had slipped through his lips. “I enjoyed kissing you.” Mercy, can I not keep my mouth closed?

  The purse to her lips transformed into a grimace as she turned redder than a blood rose. Not meeting his gaze, she picked up a carving knife and pointed it across the table. �
�We must pretend that never happened.” She set to chopping up the chicken as if it were demonic.

  Quinn leaned in. “Allow me, if you will.”

  Alice presented him with the knife’s handle. “I never should have brought out your clothes.” Ah, so the incident out back was what had her bothered.

  Quinn carefully sliced a juicy breast and set it on her plate. “It was very kind of you to do so.”

  “But weren’t you…”

  Ignoring the fluttering low in his gut, he focused on the task as he served himself. “Hmm?”

  She scraped her teeth over her bottom lip. “Embarrassed?”

  “Nay.” He looked her in the eye but doing so peeled away a bit of the cool exterior he was trying to project. God Almighty, she was bonny. “I hope I didn’t make you feel that way.”

  Alice suddenly became very interested in her food, pushing her chicken about the plate with her knife. “You’re making me nervous now.”

  “Forgive me. ’Tis difficult not to look at you.”

  “Well, you must stop.”

  “Why, because my grandfather was a backstabbing tyrant?”

  Her knife stilled. “He killed my father and destroyed my clan—after my grandfather had surrendered.”

  “Aye, he did. Then he paid the price for his tyranny on the Grassmarket gallows.”

  “You have his blood coursing inside you.”

  Quinn slid his hand across the table and stopped right before he touched her fingers. “I am not my grandfather. Furthermore, I do not and shall never condone his actions at Dunoon.”

  Alice said nothing as she ignored his reach and poured the wine.

  Her silence may as well have been a dagger stabbing Quinn in the heart. “I wish I could go back in time and convince him not to attack.”

  “But you cannot.” She picked up her glass and sipped while watching him from behind it. Aye, Miss Lamont was quite good at hiding her emotions, though her eyes betrayed the pain lurking in her heart.

  Quinn shoved his plate aside. “I thought all the Lamonts were…”

  “Dead?” Her whisper was like a breath of frost.

  “Aye.” He took a long drink, wishing he had something more potent. Perhaps she was right. After his shave, he should have taken his gear and left. Without his mount he mightn’t have made it all the way to Inveraray, but he would have had a good start. If only Alice’s grandmother had returned, he would be free to go on his way.