Men of Midnight Complete Collection

by Emilie Richards

  He realized they might be in more danger from the smoke than the fire. Unless the flames reached the forest strip that bordered the moor, there was little to feed them once they’d devoured the heather. The flames would die on their own. He had only to find a safe place to cross to the road.

  But first they had to survive the smoke.

  He stopped for a moment and unwound the scarf at his neck, then he wrapped it around hers, bringing it up around her mouth. “This will help.” She tried to protest, but he silenced her. “Do it. We’ll move faster…if you’re not coughing.”

  He flipped up the collar of his coat and buried his chin inside it. It wasn’t much of a filter, but it was better than nothing. “Come on.”

  He aimed for the edge of the flames, adjusting and readjusting his position as he guided her toward the road. She was hopping on one foot now, dragging the injured one behind her, but somehow she managed to keep going. He was afraid to carry her, afraid that with the added strain his lungs wouldn’t do their job and they would both die of the smoke.

  The flames were moving fast, faster than they had any right to. It was winter, and despite an unusual lack of rain or snow, the low temperatures should have hindered the fire’s growth. Iain could no longer deny that the fire had been set.

  He could see the trees, outlined behind the flames, which were still a safe distance from them. There was a space for them to cross, but it was narrowing dangerously as they drew closer. If they could run for it, they had every chance, but at their slower pace, it was going to be touch and go.

  Obviously Billie had drawn the same conclusion. “Iain, you can’t make it in time…dragging me!” She was racked with coughing.

  “Do you think I’d leave you?”

  “Yes! Do it!”

  “There’s a precedent, isn’t there…for dying in your arms.”

  “You aren’t Ruaridh!”

  He wasn’t. He had denied his love for Billie as Ruaridh had never denied his for Christina. If they died together here on the moor, she wouldn’t even have the comfort of knowing what he felt for her.

  He scooped her up in his arms and damned the consequences. “I’m not Ruaridh. I’m going to…get us out of this.”

  She struggled, but her thrashing brought on another fit of coughing. He was coughing harder, too, and it slowed his steps. Their safety zone was narrowing. For a moment he considered retreat, but it was too late to find another path out of the moor. Even if he was that lucky, it could be devoured by flames before he reached it.

  “Billie…”

  She pounded on his shoulders, but she was too weak from coughing to answer him.

  “Stop it. I love you. Stop it!”

  She began to cry. He could feel her tears inside him. For a moment he thought he was losing his mind at last, just as he had always feared he would. He had held her this way before and felt her tears. He had embraced her exactly this way.

  He stumbled on. One foot, then another. Time seemed suspended, and the fire seemed to roar through his head. He could feel her body against his and then the powerful muscles of a horse racing beneath them. There were shouts and the thunder of horse’s hooves.

  And there was a feeling of such desolation.

  The trees loomed ahead of him. He stumbled in their direction, coughing and gasping, but the flames were racing from each side to complete the fire circle. He wasn’t moving fast enough. No matter how fast he moved now, it wouldn’t be fast enough.

  He heard screams and the clash of swords. He clutched Billie to his chest to protect her.

  “Iain!”

  He heard a man’s voice call his name. For a moment he thought he truly had lapsed into insanity. Then he peered through the choking, smothering smoke, and men appeared. They were attempting to beat back the fire. Someone ran through the narrow gap and grabbed Billie from his arms. Someone else offered him a shoulder to lean on.

  “Damn it, Iain, what a fine moment you chose for an evening stroll!”

  Through streaming eyes Iain looked up and saw Andrew.

  And with his friend’s help he crossed safely to the other side of the flames.

  CHAPTER 12

  “It’s a glaikit man who will no’ take telling, Iain. You’ve heard the constable and the firemen, too. Will you no’ show a bit of sense and let me stay the night?” Andrew extended a hand in plea, but his fingers were clenched into a frustrated fist.

  “I don’t need another guard. I’ve alerted my grounds keeper and the staff that’s here, and this house is as sturdy as a fortress. Everything’s bolted down and shut. Besides, Hollyhock’s installed himself by the front door to trip intruders. We’ll be safe.”

  Billie lay cuddled under a woolen blanket on the sofa in front of the sitting room fire and watched Andrew, who seemed ready to pounce on Iain and bolt him down, too. Of the crowd that had thronged through Fearnshader in the hours since their rescue from Cumhann Moor, he was the last to leave. And he wasn’t going to leave easily.

  “It’s that skellum, Jeremy Fletcher, who’s done this,” Andrew said.

  “I don’t think so.” Iain’s gaze flicked to Billie. She met it with a raised brow. Until now Iain had been absolutely silent about his own theories concerning the fire.

  Andrew shoved his hands into pockets too small to contain them. With his shoulders hunched forward and his weight balanced on the balls of his feet, he looked like a warrior just waiting for a battle cry. “Then who?”

  “Martin Carlton-Jones. And Nigel, too, perhaps.”

  Andrew stood absolutely still, but Billie had rarely seen anything so deceptive as Andrew motionless. “And why would they destroy the very land they covet?” he asked.

  “But it’s not destroyed. It’ll come back, and they know it. The fire will encourage new growth. Eventually there will be better cover for game. Imagine the autumn shooting parties. They found a particularly clever way to threaten me and mine without hurting their future prospects.”

  “Have they prospects, Iain? Duncan refused them the hotel, and as yet no one else in the village has sold property to them, but once they’ve a foot in the door…” His voice trailed off and he shrugged.

  “Need you ask?”

  Andrew lowered his voice, but Billie could still hear his next words. “Aye. Do you no’ think I can see your life, Iain? Nowt you have has brought you happiness. Perhaps you think you’d be better rid of it all?”

  Iain’s mouth thinned into an angry line. “I can’t believe you said that.”

  “The sentiments are no’ my own but ones I’ve heard in Druidheachd.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you? Martin and Nigel are a thrawn pair, ruthless exploiters, both of them, for all their fine manners. If they’ve set this fire, it’s a sign they intend to pursue you hard. And there are those in Druidheachd who believe you’ll succumb.”

  “Then there are those in Druidheachd who are wrong.”

  “Can you keep all you own, Iain? Have you the resources to fight them?”

  Billie suspected that if anyone but Andrew had asked that question, Iain would have exploded. Instead he gave the slightest nod. “The resources and the will.”

  “Then the people of the village have the will to protect you and keep you safe. Duncan and I most of all.”

  “There’s no need. I can and do take care of what’s mine.” Iain turned his face to Billie. His eyes revealed nothing, but she knew that in some way he had included her in what belonged to him.

  Andrew looked at her, too. “You have much to protect.”

  “Vigilance increases with value.”

  “You know where I live.”

  Iain clapped Andrew on the back with an easy affection that Billie had only rarely seen him display. The bond between the two men was almost visible. “Just as I always have.”

  Iain remained silent after Andrew kissed Billie’s cheek and left. She watched him stir the coals in the fireplace, and she drew a small measure of consolation from that time-ho
nored domestic ritual. Fire could destroy, or fire could comfort.

  When he was apparently satisfied, he added more wood and rearranged the logs. His hair was still damp from a shower, and it waved against the high neck of his dark sweater. She thought it might dry completely before he turned to face her.

  “Iain.” She wanted to go to him, but she could only call his name. She called it a second time. “Iain…”

  He turned. He looked completely composed, as if nothing had passed between them today. “Are you warm enough yet?”

  “Good God, yes. If you took my temperature, you’d think I had a fever.”

  “Dr. Sutherland said you should take special care tonight.”

  “He said we both should. Stop fiddling with the fire and come over here.”

  He took his time replacing the poker. His eyes were shuttered when he stood before her.

  Billie threw off her cover and sat forward. She would have stood, except that she wasn’t sure she could. Her injured ankle had been pronounced sprained, but not seriously so, and securely taped. She was supposed to stay off it for the next week.

  “I could have gone home with Andrew or the constable.” She looked up at him. “I don’t know why you insisted I stay here. You’re ignoring me.”

  “You’re in no condition to travel.”

  “A ride into Druidheachd isn’t exactly a voyage to Mars.” She paused. “At least, not if we’re just talking about distance. Sometimes I think I’d have better luck understanding Martians. Maybe that’s where I should have gone to do my dissertation.”

  “Billie…”

  She waved away his response. “You jumped down the throat of everybody who offered to take me home. After it was clear we were both going to be all right, you shooed everybody except Andrew out of here like they were contagious. You gave our fine local bobby the short shrift. You even neglected to mention your suspicions about the brakes on your Jaguar. There’s somebody out there wreaking havoc with our lives, but you told him an investigation could wait until tomorrow. Now I find you have a pretty good suspicion who might be at fault. I want to know what’s going on.”

  “We’ve both been through an ordeal. You didn’t need to answer more questions tonight, and, for that matter, neither did I. You didn’t need a car ride or a trip back into the winter air. You needed quiet and a good night’s sleep in a safe place, and I thought this was the best possibility. There’ll be time to deal with Martin and Nigel.”

  “I see.” She wished she could jump to her feet and throttle him, but she settled for a voice dripping icicles. “Then why don’t I just mosey on upstairs to one of the forty or so bedrooms in this museum and do just that? Then in the morning you can have one of your staff drive me home in an armored car. You won’t even have to see me again. That way you won’t have to spend the evening pretending to poke logs so you can avoid me.”

  “You’re obviously angry.”

  “Right! I darned well am!” She hurled the blanket at his feet. “Damn it, Iain, take your lordly manners and your raised aristocratic brow and use them on someone else tonight! We almost died together! We nearly repeated history out on that moor! We came within inches of perishing in each other’s arms, just like Christina and Ruaridh. So if I’m feeling angry, I have a reason or two for it. Comprende?“

  “Perfectly.”

  “Is that all you’re going to say?”

  His jaw was clenched so tightly that only one word escaped. “Probably.”

  “I see.” She took a deep breath. A cough started somewhere in her chest. She’d been warned to expect, even welcome, coughing tonight as a way to clear her lungs of residual smoke. She choked this one back. “By any chance were you told as a child that talking about your feelings was a bad idea?”

  “Are we indulging in stereotypes here?”

  “Sure. Absolutely. Stiff upper lip and all that? Because we’ve been through hell together today, and except for some concern about my health, you’re pretending that none of it even happened.”

  “The important thing is that you’re safe.”

  “I’m miserable. You’re miserable. And we have it in our power to change that, but you refuse.”

  “Billie, don’t do this.”

  “You told me out there that you loved me.”

  He didn’t deny it, he just didn’t respond.

  “Was it true?” she prodded.

  “Don’t do this.”

  “I’m going to do it.” She stood. Pain shot through her right leg, and she shifted her weight to her left. “Do you love me or not, Iain? Were you lying because you wanted my last moments to be happy ones? That’s absolutely ridiculous, of course, but I can’t think of any other reason you’d lie.”

  He moved forward to steady her. She slapped his hands away. “Answer me!” A raised voice was too much for her. She began to cough again.

  He grabbed her hands and held them. “This is no time for a tantrum.”

  “I’m going home. Either you call somebody to take me or I call them myself. But I’m getting out of here.” She jerked her hands from his with such vehemence that her weight shifted. Pain jolted through her right leg, and a wave of dizziness assailed her. She stumbled as she tried to regain her balance.

  Iain caught her against his chest. His arms came around her waist. “What in the bloody hell are you doing, woman? You’re not supposed to be standing. We’re not supposed to be fighting!”

  “By God, I’ll do both! What kind of women are you used to, anyway? Well, I’m not one of them. I stand and I fight. I don’t give up.” She pushed against his chest, but he held her tighter.

  “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

  “Isn’t it?” Her eyes were just inches from his, but she refused to read emotions in them. “You know, somebody told me that it takes a special kind of courage to live with uncertainty. For a little while I almost bought that, Iain. I almost believed you were courageous for living with yours. But I was wrong. There are no uncertainties in your life. You’re certain of everything. Certain the very worst is going to happen. Certain you’re not allowed to grab whatever happiness you can. Certain you have to protect me. Certain you know what’s right for everybody. Well, I’m certain, too. I’m certain that you’re going to die one heck of a lonely martyr! And whether you do it at fifty or ninety, you could have so much more.”

  He stiffened. She expected him to thrust her away, but his grip was like a noose tightening. “How dare you speak for me? Do you know what it’s like to want something so badly you die a little every time you realize it can’t be yours?”

  “No! Because I would find a way to have it or die trying. It would be a quicker and prouder death.”

  “Is it so simple, then? Love conquers all? Well, it doesn’t. Love can doom you to destruction.”

  “Do you think love destroyed Christina and Ruaridh? Hatred destroyed them. And at least they died knowing they had reached for all they could.”

  He shuddered. She felt it go through her, as well, cell by cell. She felt his agony, his despair. She rested her hands on his cheeks and stared into his eyes. “I love you, Iain Ross. And I don’t believe in curses. Every second we waste is a second we could have had together.”

  “Every second we spend together is a second that brings us closer to destruction.”

  “I…don’t…care!” His arms tightened around her, and she leaned against him. Her lips were just inches from his. “It’s my choice. And I choose you.”

  He shuddered again. There was a war going on inside him; she could feel every individual battle. Defeat shone from his eyes, and her own were bright with tears. “There’s nothing I can say, is there?” he asked.

  “You can say you love me.”

  He didn’t say it. He kissed her in surrender. He had kissed her before, but never like this. His mouth devoured hers. She was consumed by all the passion he had withheld, all the emotion from which he had protected her. Her head dipped backwards with the ferocity of the kiss. He
r lips parted, and he answered with a groan of pure need. Tongue glided over tongue, and she clung to him, answering his need with her own. A dam had burst, but she wasn’t in danger of drowning. She was in danger of riding the rushing current so far that she could never return to this place.

  She didn’t want to return. Not ever.

  His lips bathed her chin, the hollow of her throat. Her palm rested against his chest, and she could feel his heart thundering against her fingertips. “If you can’t say you love me, make love to me. Show me,” she gasped.

  “You’re out of choices, Billie. Just this once we’re going to do something my way.” His voice was rough. His hands were rougher. She could feel his fingers digging into her flesh in sweet torture. His movements were restless, frustrated, as if he needed to know all of her at once. She yielded gratefully to him, knowing that he could no more stop what they had started than he could change eight hundred years of history.

  After her bath she had donned an Oxford shirt belonging to him. Now the familiar buttons slid through his fingers and he spread the shirt wide. Her breasts were bare, and she moaned when he covered one. There was sweet torture here, too. He had a sorcerer’s hands. His palm glided roughly over her, an incantation by touch alone, and his long fingers worked a stunning enchantment. He pressed her farther back, and his hips mated with hers. She could feel the heat of his arousal and the moist, answering warmth of her own.

  “Do you think this has been easy?” He kissed her again before she could respond. His lips were fierce and demanding, a step from punishing. “Do you know how many nights I’ve lain awake thinking about this?”

  She knew. She had lain awake and dreamed of him, too.

  “I’ve touched you this way.” His hand travelled to her other breast. “I’ve made you mine in a thousand different ways.”

  She moaned as his thumb claimed its prize. “I hope there are…some surprises left.”

  His laugh was tormented. “Shall we find out?”

  The shirt fell to the floor, and his sweater joined it. His chest was broad and brushed with dark hair. She smoothed a hand over it in mindless, tremulous fascination before he lifted her off her feet. As she clung to him, he carried her to the sofa.