by Paula Quinn
Temperance noted the drop in his tone, his cadence slow and weighted down with deep guilt and regret.
“She grew sick not long after we returned home,” he continued, stopping his work and severing his gaze from hers. “Fer a while m’ aunt’s herbs seemed to help her. But she declined rapidly and… finally left me while I held her.”
Temperance watched him through tear-filled eyes when he returned to his task. “I havena spoken of her since she died.”
She nodded, understanding and feeling honored that he’d shared his dog’s story with her. He carried a lot of weight on his shoulders and she wanted to help him throw it off.
Oh, if only she’d met Cailean before her father died—when she was happy. How could she help him when she was grieving her own loss?
They remained at the well cleaning plates and pots and without many words between them. The silence wasn’t awkward but comforting.
It wasn’t until they headed back to the house that Temperance spoke up again. “You believe Sage’s death was your fault.”
“’Twas,” he told her, turning to look at her. “’Twas m’ fault.”
Temperance smiled and took his hand. She understood that losing his loyal dog and then the woman he cared for, both of them leaving the world in his arms, had left deep scars in the flesh beneath his armor. She suspected he held the armor close to remain untouched by anything or anyone again.
“Not all of us,” she said thoughtfully, “are so fortunate to have a friend who would give up his or her life for us. You are counted as blessed. It might not make it easier, but it should be comforting to know that such a noble animal found you worthy of her loyalty and her life.”
Cailean stared into her eyes, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. “That’s a nice way to look at it, a way I hadna thought of m’self.”
“I would like to think of it like this,” she told him, picking up her steps again and traipsing by his side. “Our kin have to love us. ’Tis their sacred duty. As a woman, I understand perfectly well how Alison would pledge her love and loyalty to you. But Sage was a dog, better proof of a man’s character, and, I believe, a better judge of good and bad than most people. Her life and death speak highly for you.”
His smile softened on her. Her knees went soft. “Thank ye, lass.” He brought her knuckles to his lips for a kiss that made her belly flip. She’d already gone weak and willing, so when he hauled her into his arms, she didn’t protest.
“How is it,” he asked heavily against her mouth while he bent her slightly over the crook of his arm, his fingers stroking her temple, her cheek, “that ye’re able to banish m’ troubles and heal m’ wounds with a wave of yer delicate fingers?”
She shook in his arms, her gaze warm and yielding on his, hungry and eager for his kiss.
They met somewhere between need and desire, touching, molding, each tasting the passion in the other. Fire. He ignited it in her. He held her close and confidently, making her feel safe in his strong arms yet again. He kissed as if he’d been doing it for years, his lips soft and plump. She surrendered her mouth to his, clutching his plaid in both hands as he crushed her in his embrace. She held on while his tongue swept through the deepest corners of her mouth, while his hands moved over her back, her buttocks, drawing her closer. She was certain the wind wailing around her was about to lift her and Cailean off their feet and set them adrift over the frosty vale. But she wasn’t cold. His warmth washed over her, his breath filled her. His body enveloped her like a thousand whispers, telling her things she’d always thought she should hear from Will, but never had. She felt desired, cherished. She wanted never to leave his arms.
She didn’t think anything could be better than his kiss, but she was wrong. Watching the effects of her kiss on him when he withdrew was better—his eyes beginning to open, his sulky lips parted in the aftermath, his breath quick and shallow, as if he was as surprised by the wonderment of their intimacy as she was.
Watching him clench his jaw and gather his senses only convinced her of the mastery he had over his body—and how she wanted to make him lose it.
William’s voice brought an end to their intimacy. “Grant, unhand her!”
Startled, Temperance broke away first. She turned to find William glaring at Cailean. She was about to remind him that she had been willing and was just as much to blame, but he cut her off.
“You kiss her knowing she is to be my wife?” William asked, his tone cutting the wind.
“Knowin’,” Cailean countered calmly, “that if ye take her as yer wife, ye will sentence her to a life filled with betrayal and regret.” When William began to protest, Cailean held up his palm to stop him. “I’ll be leavin’ right after Hogmanay to bring Marion back to ye. Ye should decide what’s to be done before I return. Ye canna have them both.”
William stared at him for a moment, then met Temperance’s gaze. He looked away quickly and turned to stare at the house instead. Temperance knew what was going through his mind. Everyone had always assumed he and Temperance would marry. He’d live in Seth’s house, the house where the leader of their small hamlet should live. It was what her father had wanted, though he had never tried to force her. It wasn’t what she wanted. And now she knew it wasn’t what William wanted either. At first she had been happy that William had found his true love. She’d thought for certain Will would take Marion as his wife. But he insisted on still taking her for his wife. She had to get to Lyon’s Ridge and end this once and for all.
“There will be no reason to stay once you bring Marion back,” William told Cailean woodenly. “Temperance and I will be married. I made a vow to her father to take care of her and I aim to do that.”
Temperance felt like crying. Did she have no say at all in her future? She did! She would see to her own damn safety! “William, I—”
He held up his palm, cutting off Temperance’s words.
“I also ask you to refrain from ever putting your mouth to my betrothed again.”
No! She wanted to kiss Cailean again and again. In his arms the world was a better place—a place where she found herself and happiness again. Cailean felt it too, she could tell by his reaction to their kiss, his promise to stay a little longer. Could she get him to remain with her even longer? Mayhap for good? They stirred each other back to life and she wouldn’t let anyone stop it. Not even William.
“William—and don’t dare try to silence me again”—Temperance folded her arms across her chest and planted her feet firmly on the icy carpet—“I won’t need to be kept safe once I kill Murdoch, his hired killer, and the bastard who gave the go-ahead to cut my father’s throat. Neither you nor Cailean can stop me.”
“I won’t let you,” William snapped at her.
“I don’t need your permission,” she snapped back. “And if you think for one moment that I’ll let you order me about, then mayhap you should go to Perth yourself, find Marion, and then stay there with her!”
William looked so stunned that for an instant she almost regretted what she’d said.
He spoke her name, or was it the howling wind? “You don’t mean that.”
He was her best friend. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings. But she didn’t want him to give up his heart to try to keep her safe from Duncan Murdoch, who most likely wouldn’t care one whit if she was married or not. She wouldn’t let William do it. She couldn’t marry him.
“I do mean it,” she told him, doing her best to sound hard. “We will figure something out, William, but I won’t marry you. We are not in love with each other, and I want that in my marriage.”
Before he could argue with her, she left them both standing there in the freshly fallen snow and stormed back to the house.
“Och!” She stopped, turned, and shouted back at him, “And one more thing, William! Thank you verra much for interrupting the best kiss of my life!”
She spun on her heel to leave again. From the corner of her eye, she spotted Cailean smiling at her.
�
��How could ye fall in love with someone else when ye grew up with her?”
Deware turned to him with a knowing look in his eyes. “She is quite beautiful, I know.”
“Aye.” Cailean nodded, but there was more to her than her beguiling face and her shapely form. The spark of life he’d seen in her at the market, before she lost her father, had drawn him to its light. She still possessed it. He saw it in her often. He wanted to indulge in speaking with her again, kissing her again, looking at her until his last day on earth, but hell, for her sake, he should be running all the way back to Camlochlin.
“After my fifteenth year,” Deware told him, “Temperance made it quite clear that she had no interest in me in any sort of romantic way. She requested that I never ask to marry her unless there was no other choice.”
“So,” Cailean said, “she didna want to marry ye?” Hell, what a blow that had to have been.
Deware shook his head. “She loved Archie Campbell that year. After that ’twas Will Drummond, and then Ewan Frasier. When she reached the marriageable age, though, she refused all offers.”
“Why?” Cailean asked him, although he hated himself for giving a damn about the answer.
“Because she’s too strong-willed for most of the men in the village and she knows it. She doesn’t want to live the miserable life of a subordinate wife.”
Cailean couldn’t help but smile. She would never be happy obeying orders from a man. He hoped she never changed.
“What will happen when she finds out that you’re a Black Rider?” Deware ruined his good mood by asking.
Cailean’s smile faded. He appreciated William’s candid manner. He didn’t like it, but he appreciated it. “I’m… I’m not stayin’ overlong. I dinna want to pursue her, Deware. I just dinna want ye to ruin her life. She’s too… vibrant and alive fer that, aye?”
Finally Deware nodded in agreement and returned his gaze to the house. “I could never make her happy.”
Cailean wasn’t sure why Deware was confessing to him, but he didn’t stop him.
“We’re verra different, she and I. I want a wife who enjoys her role and performs it without quarrel or complaint,” Deware admitted, then nodded when he spotted Cailean’s smirk. “Aye, precisely,” he agreed. “She spends her days practicing archery and hunting small game in the winter months, and in summer she rambles through the heather like she hasn’t a care in the world. She has never taken the danger of Duncan Murdoch’s interest in her seriously until the death of her father. Sadly, now she knows better.”
Cailean wouldn’t let Duncan near her. There would be nothing left of her after a year of living under his tyranny. But how much happier would she be in a passionless marriage to Deware?
Determined to rescue and restore, if he could, the carefree lass he’d seen at the market in Kenmore, he had to talk Deware out of marrying her.
It had nothing to do with his wanting her for himself. Nothing. He didn’t want her, no matter how she’d managed to make him feel better about Sage, or what she’d meant when she told him that as a woman she could understand how Alison had given him her love and loyalty. Or that she’d given him a kiss that made him rethink his life, his future. None of it mattered. He’d stay here with Patrick and right his wrongs, and then he’d leave and go back to Camlochlin. But hell, he’d like to watch her ramble through the heather.
Chapter Fourteen
Temperance leaned her elbows on the window in Gram’s room and looked outside at the two handsome Highlanders in her yard. Patrick was chopping wood while Cailean gathered it and carried it to the door.
He moved slowly, cautious not to split open his wounds in hefting the heavy wood. Still, he looked damned appealing lifting wood to his shoulder.
Her eyes took on a dreamy look as she remembered his kiss last night. Oh, what a kiss! No one had ever seized her mouth and her heart at the same time the way Cailean had. Heaven help her, his mouth was soft and firm and… possessive. What would it be like to belong to him? The thought of it thrilled her. She imagined caring for their bairns while he was away fighting battles, falling into his strong arms when he returned to her, being carried to his bed, and watching him, heart hammering, while he climbed in beside or atop her. She was mad, but she didn’t really care. Why should she? William’s heart belonged to Marion. William had never made her feel like a desirable woman, because he didn’t desire her. She’d never have the kind of passionate, earth-tilting love with him that her parents had shared, that her father always told her to seek.
And it was the same for Cailean. She’d seen it in his eyes when he withdrew. She’d felt it in his breath, and in his reluctance to end their kiss.
He was leaving after Hogmanay, but he’d return. She recalled his warning to William. Ye should decide what’s to be done before I return. Ye canna have them both.
Why did he care what William decided if he wasn’t interested in her? He was correct, William couldn’t have both her and Marion.
She sighed with delight as the elusive sun settled on Cailean, lighting his face, his eyes, as he looked up from his work and saw her at the window.
He smiled, but looked away all too soon. Why? Why did he always look away, as if he was guilty of some terrible crime?
Or was it because of William?
Temperance slapped the deep ledge in front of her. When he’d warned Cailean to refrain from ever kissing her again, she’d been tempted to give him a slap he wouldn’t soon forget.
She had to kill Duncan to save herself. She couldn’t marry Will, especially not after Cailean’s kiss. Why, the effects would linger for a decade, she was sure. Her mouth still tingled. Her skin went warm every time she thought of his touch, and her blood rushed to her head so quickly she felt a bit light-headed.
Patrick called to her and she waved. That one was a danger to women, always cheerful, always charming, and so damned handsome.
But Temperance had eyes for his cousin, and his cousin alone. When he looked up at her again, this time with a softer gaze, she left the window and hurried out of the room… and then the house. She didn’t care if she appeared overeager for Cailean’s company. She was eager. And she didn’t care who knew. As far as she was concerned the wedding was off—unless it was to marry Will to Marion.
She wanted to get to know the man beneath the shield of ice. She wanted him to kiss her again, hold her, make her feel safe and truly desired.
Stepping outside, she pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders and crunched the snow under her boots as she went to him.
“Good morning to you, Cailean, Patrick!” She greeted both men with her most radiant smile.
Cailean nearly tripped over his foot. He righted himself and the two logs on his shoulders that had come loose.
“How is your back?” Temperance asked him, hurrying closer. “You really shouldn’t overdo.”
“I’m fine, lass,” he said, casting her a smile that proved he was the finest man she’d ever encountered. “Ye did a good job mendin’ me. Worry nae more aboot it.”
“Oh, but I do worry. I want you well so that—”
“I can leave?” He slanted his gaze to her.
“Nae!”
“Pay him nae heed, lass,” Patrick called out to her, and brought his ax down on more wood. “He’s just teasin’ ye.”
Cailean. Teasing?
She smiled at her Highlander and he winked at her. Her knees almost buckled beneath her.
“Why then d’ye want me well?” He stopped, letting her finish this time.
She didn’t think she could. When had she become such a blathering imbecile? “Why?” She blinked and blushed like the fool she’d become.
“Aye.” He stood there, looking at her with both logs resting on his wide shoulders, the wind blowing his hair across his face. “Why?”
Temperance looked around the yard, expecting to see William appear and order her back to the house. She wouldn’t go. She flicked her gaze to Patrick, who’d stopped chopping and
looked to be waiting for an answer as well.
All right, then: she straightened her shoulders and cleared her throat. If they wanted an answer, they’d get one.
“You’re pleasant to have around.”
“He is?” Patrick asked doubtfully.
“Aye.” She nodded, keeping her eyes and her smile on Cailean. “He is. I like our talks.”
“Now there’s something every man wants to hear from a bonny lass.” Patrick laughed and then began chopping again.
“I like them too,” Cailean told her, ignoring his cousin.
“Perhaps we could—”
“He likely cannot,” Gram’s voice coming from behind her interrupted. “He and Mr. MacGregor have promised to clean out the stable after they cut and gather wood, and after that I’ll need them to clear snow from the back door walkway to the front of the house. I’m afraid ’tis getting dangerously slippery fer me to walk.”
“Of course, Gram,” Temperance agreed. “But after all that work, they will need a hearty meal. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and everyone in the hamlet will be here. Can we not have a quiet supper tonight? I will make arterchoak pie and quail potage.”
Gram smiled. Unlike Temperance, she loved cooking and planning meals. “Ye don’t like cooking, dove.”
“Och, but I don’t mind,” she said, wide-eyed and smiling. “’Tis the least I can do for our helpful guests. I will—” she continued, but Gram was already shaking her head.
“I’ll do the cooking, dear. Ye can help. Come.” Gram started back to the house, reaching for Temperance’s hand.
Before letting her grandmother lead her, Temperance turned again to Cailean. “I’ll see you for supper, then.”
