by Amanda Scott
Even so, the nearer they drew to her chamber, the less certain she was of her ability to deal safely with him. She had seen him angry before but not like this.
At the landing, he leaned past her to open the door, pushing it wide and then putting a hand to her back to urge her inside. Annie had left candles alight, and their golden glow danced on the walls. When he followed Mairi in and shut the door, defensive words of protest stirred in her throat but she swallowed them unspoken.
She had not felt so vulnerable in his presence since the day he had captured her and brought her to Trailinghail.
“Now, by heaven, you will give me an explanation for this madness,” he snapped as he turned from shutting the door to face her.
“I’ll willingly explain,” she said more abruptly than she had intended. “I never asked to come here, and I don’t want to stay here. You are keeping me captive without any right or reason to do so, and I want to go home.”
“Just how did you expect to get home from my cave?”
As he spat out the words, he loomed over her, much too close and much too large for her comfort. But Mairi stood her ground.
She had to tilt her head considerably to look up at him, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her step back. All the same, she realized that neither could she allow herself the satisfaction of spitting her answers at him.
“When you brought me here, I saw sand or shingle along shores to the north as we sailed into the bay,” she said, fighting for calm. “From that window yonder, I can see a sandy shoreline across the bay. So I thought with such low water today, I could follow the beach on this side a good part of the way to Kirkcudbright.”
Even by candlelight, she saw the color drain from his face. He was still angry even so, for he said grimly, “Then what? A lass, wandering alone—”
“I told you, I stayed at Castle Mains with my family last year on our way to Threave,” she said.
“So, what if you did? Did you think you could claim hospitality there? I doubt that Archie is even in residence. He is more likely to be at Threave or riding round Galloway, making a show of his ability to keep all in order here.”
“Even if he is away, some of his people must know that my lady stepmother is his cousin, sir. I am sure they would help me get home again.”
“Then, thank God the sea stopped you,” he snapped. “For of all the fool—”
When she grimaced, he caught her by the shoulders and gave her a hard shake, his eyes blazing as he stared into hers. “See here, my clever lass,” he said furiously, “even had the tide lowered enough to leave sand or shingle near that cave, which only a few folks hereabouts have lived long enough to see happen, had you tried walking on it, you’d most likely have drowned. In any tide along any shore here, huge waves can strike hard and swiftly, carrying unwary folks away.”
“But—”
“Parts of this western shore are sandy,” he went on. “But much of the sand hereabouts is unstable, just as it is along much of the coast around the Firth. Such sand helps protect us, because it shifts easily and never gets completely dry. That deters English invasion by all but a handful of routes. Sithee, waves and the shifting sands have sucked even strong men under.”
He paused as if he expected her to comment, but she said nothing.
“Even if you had somehow made it to a firmer beach, paths to the cliff tops are steep and high. And waterfalls spill from the cliffs on this side until fall. You’d have found it hard going even had you got that far.”
Although she believed the route she had hoped to take was as dangerous as he said it was, she had experienced too much fear and self-rebuke in the tunnel to fear now what might have happened, since it had not.
So, instead of carefully heeding his words, she had fixed her attention on the man scolding her, on the strength of his hands gripping her shoulders and the tense anger in his voice. If he had seemed too close before, he seemed much more so now, sapping whatever energy she might have had left to defend herself.
He held her tightly, perhaps with more strength than he knew, but his hands were warm, too. He glowered down at her, still waiting for her to reply.
Supper had apparently not eased his temper at all, and she knew that when he was angry, he was unpredictable.
With a hope that she might defuse his anger with an apology, she said, “I did not know how dangerous it could be, sir. It was foolish of me, and wrong, to sneak into the cave. I was as foolish as you say I was, even stupid, to attempt such a thing. I expect that Cousin Archie would be even angrier than you are now had I reached him and told him what I’d done.”
“If he cares a whit for you, he would be, but if you think you’d rather face my anger than his, you are dafter than I thought,” he said. “Even if he didn’t care about you, he would care what people would say, learning that a young kinswoman had walked six miles alone without heed for danger from the sea or from strangers on the way. You live near enough the Firth to know that rogue waves are a danger. How did you think you could avoid one of them with a sheer cliff at your back?”
“I said I was sorry,” Mairi said, wishing as she saw his expression tighten that she had not spoken so curtly.
“Nay, you did not say that,” he retorted. “You said you were stupid to think you could follow the shore. I doubt you are sorry that you tried to escape.”
“It is all the same,” she said. “Sithee, sir, I have said I ken fine that I acted heedlessly. I know, too, that you must have been angry and mayhap even frightened when you did not find me where you expected me to be on your return.”
His grip tightened bruisingly.
“I am sorry if I gave you a scare,” she said hastily. “But I—”
“Enough,” he snapped, giving her another shake. “I want to hear no ‘buts’ from you, and no more of your apologies if that is how you make them. Any apology that includes a ‘but’ is no apology at all. It should be enough for you to know that if you ever do such a thing again, I will make Archie the Grim’s anger seem as nowt to mine. Do you understand me?”
“Aye,” she snapped, wanting to tear herself from his grip but forcing herself instead to meet his angry gaze, aware that neither sheer fury nor utter submission would restore peace between them yet. “I ken fine what you mean, Robert Maxwell, and I don’t doubt that I deserve your… your… H-however, I…”
She could think of no more to say, either because she was exhausted or perhaps because he continued to hold her gaze until she felt an inexplicable urge to touch him, to bring him back from wherever his thoughts had taken him.
The tension between them had increased in a new way during those few seconds. Her breath had stopped and her lips felt dry.
Rob had gone from wanting to shake her to fearing that if he did not let go of her, he would break his resolve to keep his increasingly strong feelings for her under rein. It was bad enough that he had lost his temper again but even worse that she knew she had the power to frighten him. Still, he kept his hands on her.
Her face looked pinched and thinner. Small shadows touched the hollows at her temples and under her eyes. She was pale, and her eyes looked darker than usual, like shadowy pools.
Another wave of fury seized him. But seeing her wince, he realized he had exerted too much pressure where he gripped her. Angry now with himself, he released her and stepped back, saying—he hoped in a well-controlled voice, “Your shoulders will be bruised, I fear. I didn’t think.”
“Aye, well, if that is all you mean to do to me, I…” She hesitated and he saw her swallow hard, as if the reality of what might have happened—or still could happen—were just sinking in. Then, in a rush, she added, “I’d have suffered worse if I’d fallen down those steps, and much worse than that if the sea had taken me.”
“Aye, you would,” he said, putting a hand to her shoulder again, gently.
“I won’t make such a nuisance of myself again,” she said.
“Sakes, but you must ken gey fi
ne that ever since I clapped eyes on you, you have made a nuisance of yourself,” he retorted, expressing his raw feelings for once without a thought for how the words might sound to her.
She gave him a speaking look but was kind enough not to remind him that he, not she, was the one whose actions had put them where they were. Instead of stirring his temper again, it led him to explain further. “I fear that, from the outset, you have unsettled my ability to think sensibly,” he said. “You make what I have done more difficult than I, or anyone, could ever have expected it to be.”
“I have done naught,” she said, rallying. “Had you stopped to think at all before you snatched me from my home, you might have recalled that I am far from tractable…” With a wry smile, she added, “I did inherit a certain stubbornness, sir, from my father. You will note that I have not asked you what he said, for I know what he said. But mayhap you would like to tell me how your visit progressed.”
“It did not progress,” he said, gesturing for her to sit and feeling oddly pleased that she wanted to hear about it, though the result was hardly to his liking. “You were right,” he said. “I do not know what ails the man that he would consign his daughter to stay in an unknown place with an unknown captor.”
“Art so sure he believes my captor is entirely unknown?” she asked.
He frowned. “He cannot know you are here. I said nowt to make him leap to such a thought. Indeed, I hired horses in Annan town before visiting him.”
“You had better hope he does not learn that I am here,” she said. “What if he leaves his army at home and simply seeks help from Archie the Grim?”
“I have thought much about Archie,” he said. “I’ve sworn to follow him in aught concerning Galloway. But he kens fine that I side with Maxwell in matters concerning Dumfries. That would include your father’s dispute with Alex. In time, Archie will expect all in Galloway and Dumfriesshire to bend to him. Mayhap by then our various forms of government will all grow clearer. Meantime, I think he will leave Alex to settle disputes relating to Dumfries, as he should.”
“But you forget my cousin Jenny’s husband, Sir Hugh Douglas. If he should apply to Archie with my father, might they not all come here to talk to you?”
“Your father doesn’t know you are here, either,” he reminded her.
“He could guess,” she said. “You introduced yourself as Trailinghail’s laird.”
“But I told him…” He realized that although he had told Dunwythie he had only heard of Mairi’s abduction and wanted to help if he could, Dunwythie had doubted his sincerity. Rob wondered if he did suspect Maxell involvement and had hoped to disarm him by saying he would find Mairi himself.
She was still watching him, waiting, so he said, “Sakes, I cannot say what your father may suspect. He gave me no cause to think he blames any Maxwell for your disappearance. He suggested Englishmen or the Jardines may have taken you.”
Shaking her head, she said, “He would not suspect the English, sir. Why would they? So that he might persuade Douglas to leave them in possession of Lochmaben? My father would laugh at such a notion. As for the Jardines, I cannot think why they’d want me, but you can blame your friend Will for drawing his suspicion.”
“I told you, I don’t know what motives he thinks anyone may have,” he said. “He must have enemies other than the Sheriff of Dumfries, though, ready to seize on any situation that could aid them in achieving their own ends.”
“Perhaps he does have such enemies,” she said. “But he has not mentioned them to me. Moreover, he has a long reputation as a man of peace and would, I think, be slow to suspect that he is now at odds with more than one enemy.”
Rob had no quick response, and he did not want to discuss any further the possibility that Archie might take even slight interest in a matter undertaken to aid the Sheriff of Dumfries. That would not only irk Archie and Alex but would create more trouble than anyone wanted. Having hoped only to avoid clan war and perhaps help simplify the administration of Dumfriesshire and aid his clan in the process, he had certainly made his own life far more complicated than he had expected.
He did not, however, wish any longer that he had never abducted her.
Mairi watched him, trying to gauge his mood, but when he grimaced and turned toward the open window without saying more, she could think of nothing to say, either. His posture seemed to suggest that his spirits were low.
In that moment, she could think only of the strong man who consistently showed concern for her, the warrior gentle enough to enjoy the antics of a kitten and so beloved by his own people that even when they did not approve of what he had done, they would defend him in the doing.
He was a man to whom she could talk as she could talk to no one else. She could express even her most basic feelings to him. After spending so many years having to conceal much of what she felt, such freedom was heady, especially as she had had to become his prisoner before she experienced it.
Although he was quick to criticize, quick to offer advice, and quick to condemn behavior he disliked, he was more self-contained, intelligent, thoughtful, and gentle than other men she had met. And somehow, she could draw strength from his whenever she needed it, without knowing how she did it.
Before she knew what she was doing, she was standing right behind him and had reached out a gentle hand to touch his elbow.
He turned, and a moment later she was in his arms.
Chapter 13
Rob held Mairi close. He could feel her heart beating rapidly against him. Everything around them—the bed, the floor beneath them, the very chamber and the still rainy night outside—flashed fiery images in his mind’s eye as they vanished on a wave of ecstasy that stirred his body as it had never stirred before. Everything in him, every masculine instinct, every nerve and sinew, ached to take her to his bed.
For one long delicious moment, he felt as if he were alone in the world with her, as if everything and everyone else had vanished and nothing mattered but the lass he held and his desire for her. He could do whatever he wanted to do. He was a king in his castle with the woman he wanted in his arms.
A soft breath escaped her, a tiny sigh of content. And with that trusting sigh came the understanding that he must let his moment go.
She put a slender hand to his cheek. He gripped it and pressed the back of it to his lips, then turned it and pressed his lips to its warm, soft palm.
“Prithee, sir,” Mairi whispered softly, trembling against him. “No more.”
“Just this,” he murmured. Taking her beautiful face between his hands, he bent his head, kissed her on the mouth, and felt her lips come alive beneath his.
He let her go. “Don’t expect me to apologize,” he said. “You are too damnably enticing for your own safety or mine, my lass.”
She stared at him, her soft lips slightly parted, her body still pressed to his.
Furious scratching at the door startled them both, and Rob turned with near relief to admit the kitten. It strolled past him, tail high, and leaped to Mairi’s bed without so much as a glance at him.
Turning to Mairi with a smile, he said, “Would you believe I was annoyed at first that young Tiggie so quickly showed the good taste to prefer your company to mine? But now, I swear, I envy the wee devil.” It was the truth, and he was astonished to realize that he did not mind at all admitting it to her.
She continued to stare at him as if she did not quite know what to say to him. Then she, too, looked relieved. Quietly, she said, “You should go, sir. In troth, although I must have slept much today, I long to sleep again now. It seemed as if I was in that cave forever. Is it truly still the same day as when you left?”
“Nay, ’tis a new one. I left here early Tuesday morning and it has now turned to Wednesday. But get you to bed now. We will talk more after we sleep.”
She nodded, and he left her. But he could not put her out of his head so easily. He wanted her, and the likelihood was that he could never have her unless he broke his vow
to her—and to himself—that he would resist her.
He slept late and broke his fast hastily, feeling a strong need to get outside and away from the tower.
He had dreamed of her. He was sure of it, and the dream had been pleasant, but he could remember none of the details. His thoughts remained full of her as he went through his usual duties and dealt with the business of Trailinghail.
Although he reminded himself several times that he had said they would talk, other things intervened, one after another, until he knew he was avoiding her.
The truth was that he could not trust himself anymore just to talk with her.
Mairi slept longer than usual, too. When she awoke to the sound of the kitten scratching in its box of dirt, she saw that the rain had stopped. And although the sky outside her open window was still cloudy, it showed large patches of blue as well.
Getting up, she donned a robe, slipped her feet into furlined slippers, and went to wash her face. The door opened quietly as she poured water from the ewer into the basin. Glancing toward it, she saw Annie peeping in.
“Och, good then, ye’re up,” Annie said. “I didna want to wake ye.”
“How is your mother today?” Mairi asked.
“She’s herself again, thank God,” Annie said. “But I’d ha’ come anyway, m’lady.” She paused. “Ye didna say much yestereve about what happened to ye.”
“Nay, and I’d liefer not,” Mairi said with a slight smile.
“Then ye won’t,” Annie replied. She moved to take a yellow kirtle from one of the kists, then selected a tunic to wear over it, while Mairi washed her face.
The rest of that day and the next three passed in much the same way. The weather remained uncertain, with clouds billowing up and either showering the landscape or moving on to shower elsewhere.
