Assuming she could find MacLean, of course.
Bella wondered whether she would have to wait here until he turned up, or if she should just go home and hope he would find his own way back. It wasn't as if she could go to the local police station and report him as missing.
Missing. Highlander, six feet four inches tall, wearing traditional Scottish dress, two hundred and fifty years old, invisible.
Yeah, right.
The car was where she had left it, but no longer surrounded by others; it now sat alone. Bella found herself glancing over her shoulder as she released the locks. The soft beep sounded very loud. Footsteps approached her from behind, and before she could turn, she heard the voice that in so short a time had already grown familiar.
"I was waiting for you, Bella."
He was still angry.
"I was working, MacLean."
He gave that scornful snort, as if the idea of her working were somehow laughable. Her own anger ignited. Perhaps if she'd thought about it she'd have realized his bad mood was because of what he'd read in the museum, and his prejudice was due to the period he was born into and the position he held, but she was remembering Brian and how he was always quick to criticize, and to treat her work as less relevant than anything he did.
"Excuse me? Do you think I'm here just to chauffeur you about? You might have been important once, MacLean, but as far as everyone here is concerned, you're dead and gone. I have a book to write, that's how I make my living. This is the twenty-first century and women stand on their own two feet. We don't need men to look after us, we don't want men to look after us. We make our own lives and we expect to be treated with the same respect as men because of it. If you don't like that, then I suggest you move out into the heather and sleep there with the sheep."
"I dinna sleep anyway," he said quietly.
"Well, whatever it is you do!"
There was a silence. She could hear herself breathing hard. It was so annoying that she couldn't see his expression and read what he was thinking, although she could probably guess. It was unlikely MacLean had ever been spoken to like that before. His people probably approached him with their eyes lowered and prostrated themselves before him until he gave them permission to stand.
"I have nowhere else to go," he said woodenly.
"Is that my problem?"
She sounded cruel, and she was lying. She did think it was her problem; MacLean had landed on her doorstep. But he needed to understand that this was now and if she helped him it was because she wanted to and not because he ordered her to.
"You dinna trust me," he said bleakly.
"I don't know you, MacLean. But I'm trying."
He took a heavy breath. "Verra well. I'll try and remember what you said. Men and women are equal. Sheep, too?"
"Don't be fatuous."
"Like you, Bella, I'm trying."
He didn't sound arrogant or pompous. He sounded like a man coming to terms with something he'd rather not have to think about. Bella opened the car door and climbed in, and waited while the other door opened and closed, too. She felt MacLean settling himself in the passenger seat, the car rocking slightly from his weight.
She said briskly, "I have to stop at the little supermarket on the way out of town. The place where I buy food and… and things. It'll still be open."
He said nothing, and when they arrived at the cash and carry he declined to come inside with her. Sulking, probably, Bella thought as she rushed through the aisles, grabbing what she needed, and hurried out again. Oh well, she was used to men who sulked, and if he thought he could outlast her, then he was wrong. Soon they were leaving Ardloch behind and heading back on the narrow road to Loch Fasail.
"Did you find what you wanted in the library?"
He was trying to make conversation. MacLean had surprised her again. Bella smiled in his direction, pleased he was not like Brian. "I have some books to look at, yes, but I don't have high hopes. You were an enigma, MacLean, and when your people died they took the truth with them. I was hoping to find some sort of written account from around the time the… it happened, but no luck so far. There don't seem to have been any witnesses."
He grunted.
They lapsed into silence. Bella allowed her thoughts to touch on her current financial situation. She hadn't been joking when she told MacLean she had to finish this book. Her royalties weren't huge, but at least the money was all hers, not her father's, and these days she was determined to live within her means without dipping into his legacy. Brian didn't have the same moral doubts, but maybe that was because his tastes were more expensive than hers. She'd never questioned his actions. "Our money" she'd called it, in the days when love was blind.
She glanced sideways at her invisible companion.
"Are you feeling better?"
MacLean shifted in his seat. "Better?"
"You were upset in the museum."
"You mean am I feeling better that my people were all murdered by the English and it was my fault—according to legend?"
"I suppose I do mean that. Have you remembered anything more?"
"I went after Ishbel, aye, I've remembered that. She ran off with my piper's son. What man would not go after her? I followed her to Mhairi." He sounded stiff and self-righteous.
MacLean chased Ishbel to Mhairi and left his people unprotected? What did that say about his feelings for Ishbel?
Bella eased around a hairpin bend, the road dropping away into the shadows below them. "Did you love her, MacLean?" Bella had no right to be jealous, but she found herself awaiting his answer with held breath.
"No," he growled.
Bella refused to feel relieved. "Well, whatever the case, you went after Ishbel and… Look, I'm not saying that if you'd been there you could have saved them all, but—"
"Unless it was my own black-hearted plan for the English to come and kill everyone," he said wryly, but there was deep pain simmering below his level voice, and Bella felt it.
"I don't believe that," she said quietly. "You cared too much, MacLean. You were too good a chief. You wanted to save lives, not give them up for… well, for what?"
Her believing in him seemed to please him.
"Thank you, Bella." He shifted restlessly in his seat. "Do you think we can stop a moment? I feel… my stomach is all in knots. I think it's the car that does it, I'm no' used to it yet."
"Oh." She glanced at him uneasily. A ghost that suffered from car sickness? She slowed and pulled over into the next passing place, although there was no other traffic on the road. For a moment they sat in silence, then the passenger door was thrown open and MacLean was gone.
Bella climbed out of the car after him.
The shadows were long, the sun just butting the horizon between two monolithic hills, and everything looked as if it had been dipped in gold. She blinked and for a heartbeat she thought she saw him, the dark shape of him, moving against the light. She set off after him at a run.
"MacLean!"
The edge of the road fell away quickly and there was a sort of promontory jutting out here, overlooking the narrow glen below, turning it into a scenic lookout, with a low railing to prevent accidents. She stopped, breathing quickly. Where was he? Anxiously she called his name again.
"I'm here." His voice was so close it startled her.
"What are you doing? You're frightening me."
His hand brushed her arm. "I dinna mean to. I felt queasy, but it's passed. I dinna like your car, Bella."
"I'm sorry."
"I canna forget the lies I read in that wee cottage, that museum."
"We'll find out the truth, MacLean. Trust me, I've done it before."
His breathing sounded thick. "Trust ye?"
"Yes. I can help you, MacLean."
She felt his fingers beneath her chin, lifting her face up as if he were searching it. He laughed softly, recklessly.
"There's no guile in you, Bella. Your sweet face is so honest and clear. So, aye, I'll trust ye,"
he said, just before his lips closed on hers. They were warm and a little rough, and heat filled her instantly, making her head spin. She felt herself responding.
"Mmm"—his voice was low and husky—"ye taste good."
He tasted good, too. In a moment she'd be lost, and she didn't want that. Bella tried to clear her thoughts, to put some distance between them. She stepped back, holding out her hands. "No. I don't think this is a good idea."
"Bella," he groaned, "you want me, I can feel it. Why will ye not let us enjoy each other while we can?"
"Because I don't want to be hurt."
"I would ne'er hurt you!" he said indignantly.
"That's easy to say."
"I say it because it's true!" He spun away, his steps crunching on the gravel. He was moving against the setting sun and… Bella squinted her eyes. She really could see his silhouette. Big and dark, with broad shoulders and the kilt swinging from his hips. It was him.
"MacLean," she cried, "I can see you!"
"You can what?" he demanded crossly.
"I can see you against the sun. Your silhouette."
He turned and faced her. He was a featureless, colorless shadow bathed in gold, but it was more than he had been before. MacLean was there, in front of her, looking back at her.
"I can see you" she breathed.
He laughed. He threw back his head and laughed, and in it there was joy mixed with such despair that tears sprang to her eyes.
He walked toward her, the dark shape of him getting larger, until she tilted her head to look into his face. He wasn't really opaque to look at, she realized, she could still see the vague shapes of the hills through him, as though through a dark mist. But when she reached out and pressed her hand to his chest he was as solid to touch as any living man.
He caught her fingers and held them gently in his big hand.
"Mabbe it is because my memory is returning."
"Maybe."
"Or mabbe it is you, beautiful Bella."
He was gazing down at her, and for a moment she thought she saw his eyes, pale blue, in the dark shadow of his face. Bella shuddered. She was afraid, afraid of what he was, of being tangled up in something far beyond her understanding, and afraid of the way she was so powerfully attracted to him. Danger swirled around him, and if she wasn't careful she'd be drawn in and swallowed whole.
"What is it?" he said in such a tender voice that her heart ached. "Are you cold, Bella?"
"Yes." She was a coward, but she couldn't say what was really in her mind and her heart. Not yet.
And then she gave a gasp of laughter, because MacLean, the monster of legend, the black-hearted warrior who killed with one swing of his mighty claidheamh mor, had wrapped his arms around her and was holding her close to his own body.
Keeping her warm.
* * *
Chapter Fifteen
The remainder of the journey home was uneventful. Bella was weary and hardly spoke; she needed all her concentration to negotiate the narrow and winding road in the increasing darkness. Beside her MacLean was also silent, deep in his own thoughts. Finally they reached the cottage, the headlights sweeping over the front of it and reflecting back from the kitchen window.
Inside, she felt the chill. No heating, despite this morning's effort, and the Aga had gone out. Rather than start up the generator, Bella found a few candles to light. She glanced at the spot on her desk where her laptop had been and sighed. She was relying on that smartass at the electronics shop to save her work for her.
She should have stood up for herself. MacLean was right. She should have told him to stop eyeing her boobs and show some respect to a woman old enough to be his… older sister? Instead she'd huddled into her jacket and herself, letting him intimidate her. Bella lifted her chin. Time to turn over a new leaf. From now on she wouldn't take crap from anybody, no matter who they were.
MacLean was still outside, so Bella rid herself of her jacket, hung it on the hook by the door, and climbed the stairs to slip on a comfortable pair of jeans and an old favorite sweater. Both were baggy and faded, but who cared? She needed comfort clothing. Brian had never understood that. He thought she was a slob when it came to fashion, but Bella could never relax in the sort of clothing Georgiana wore. Or Brian, for that matter. When they had decided to come and live here in the Highlands he had busily gone out and bought all the gear he thought a laird would lounge in.
Bella had thought it ridiculous then and she still did. Who cared what she wore? No one could see her. And MacLean… well, he probably thought what she had on was haute couture for the twenty-first century.
Beautiful Bella.
Bella smiled, remembering his arms around her, his warm sexy voice. He was attracted to her, he liked her, he thought she was beautiful. MacLean might be only half man, but he was a definite improvement on Brian.
When she came downstairs she saw to her surprise that MacLean had stacked peats in the stove and used some slivers of wood as kindling, and already there was a wave of warmth coming from it. He'd also set the kettle on the hot plate on top and placed her mug—complete with tea bag—nearby.
"Oh," she said, pleased surprise in her voice. "Thank you."
Of course, he had spent the last two weeks watching everything she did, and MacLean was no fool. She wasn't astonished by the fact that he had quickly learned how to do these things, but she was surprised that he had been so thoughtful. This was a man who had probably never lifted a hand to help a woman in his life—not in the kitchen, anyway. Clearly her becoming ticked off had borne fruit, and she appreciated the effort he was making for her.
"I am no' so good at cooking," he said with an offhandedness that didn't deceive her. This was a big deal for MacLean.
"Never mind, I'm not very hungry. Perhaps I'll just have some soup."
MacLean hovered as she prepared it. "I dinna feel hunger or thirst; I exist without either."
"That's a shame, because I bought you some wine at the supermarket. They didn't have any whiskey, but the wine looked nice. It's Australian."
"Australian?"
"Oh." She gave him a sideways look. "Maybe they hadn't heard of Australia when you were here before. It's way down in the south, an island continent, kangaroos and kookaburras and… and…" She cleared her throat as his silence grew.
After a moment he said tentatively, "Can you see me still, Bella?"
She shook her head. "No, not now. It was only when you were standing against the sun. I saw the shape of you like a dark mist, and perhaps… your eyes."
He didn't answer her and she heard him move away, wandering aimlessly about the room, picking up objects and putting them down again. She finished heating her soup, and then carried it to the table. After a moment she heard him sit down opposite her.
"MacLean," she said, "I wish you wouldn't watch me. It's unsettling."
"I like to watch you."
"I feel self-conscious."
"Aye, I know," he teased.
Bella set down her spoon. "I'm aware that this is all new and strange to you, but—"
"If you were in my time," he went on, "I'd have watched you, too."
"Why would you have done that?"
"I canna help it," he said in surprise. "Everything about you draws me to you."
"Everything?" she asked, suddenly breathless.
"Aye. Your eyes are so dark and expressive, they tell me all that you are feeling, even when you're trying to hide it. And when you're pleased with yourself, your mouth tilts up at the edges, just a wee bit, just enough to make me want to kiss you."
"You want to kiss me, MacLean?"
"Aye." His voice dropped into the low husky tone that gave her goose bumps. "And when your hair is falling around you, like now, I want to twist it up in my fingers and rub it against my skin. You smell of blossom, so sweet and delicious, I canna get enough of it. Did you know that, Bella? I want to taste you. I want to hold your breasts in my hands and stroke them until you canna think anymore, unti
l you ache for me, ache for my body atop yours. Until you open your legs to me and want me inside you as much as I want to be there."
Bella's fingers were shaking. "You talk of men and women being equal, being the same, but that is not so in my world, Bella. Except in bed. If you and I were in bed, then it would no' matter what century we were in."
She told her heart to stop flipping over and over. MacLean was trapped here in this cottage with her; it was only natural he would be thinking about her a lot, even obsessing about her. She mustn't read too much into what he was saying. But apart from that caveat, the honest appreciation in his voice overcame any insult or embarrassment Bella might have felt. This man was from an age when plain speaking was far more fashionable than it was today and political correctness was unheard-of. He truly made her feel beautiful, and Bella refused to blush or simper; she gave herself permission to enjoy this moment to the full.
She took a breath and tried for a matter-of-fact tone. "Do you think about sex a lot, MacLean?"
"Sex?"
"You know, men and women," oh God, she was blushing, "doing it. Having it off. Bonking. Making love."
He was laughing at her. "Aye, all the time," he said at last. "Don't you?"
"Of course not."
"You say it as if there's something wrong with 'bonking,'" he retorted. "Mabbe you just haven't had a man who knows what he's doing."
It was Bella's turn to snort. "You're very sure of yourself."
MacLean did not answer her, and somehow that made it even more infuriating.
"I suppose," she said curiously, taking a sip of her soup, "you've had lots of women."
"There were many," he agreed thoughtfully, as if it weren't a thing that had occupied his mind before. "Once when I was in Edinburgh I went to a whorehouse by the Lawnmarket. There were French tarts there, and they were verra good, but… there is something about a willing woman I much prefer. When she wants me and no one else will do, aye, that stirs my blood in a way I canna explain."
Immortal Warriors 01 - Return of the Highlander Page 13
