by Cara Elliott
A sickening thud, a groaning gasp—and then silence, save for the patter of the dying rain on Thayer’s body as it rolled face up on the jagged stones fifteen feet below.
Alec looked down at the corpse for a fleeting moment, eyeing the knife protruding from the dead man’s chest without a twinge of regret or remorse. It was, he decided, poetic justice that such a thoroughly bad man should die by his own evil hand.
But thoughts of a far more compelling poetry quickly pushed aside any musings on death and destruction. Whirling around, Alec raced to where Caro was trying to rise and gathered her in his arms.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“I’m sorry.” Caro forced her eyes open, hardly daring to believe that she wasn’t imagining the murmuring voice, the muscular arms lifting her from the cold, hard ground. “I’m sorry, I’m—”
The press of lips stilled the rest of her words.
Alec. Alec. She reached up to feel the familiar shape of his jaw, the slant of his cheekbones, the texture of his hair, unsure whether the moisture streaming down her face was the rain, her tears… or his.
It didn’t matter—he was here. Solid and warm, a safe haven from any storm.
He lifted his mouth to feather a kiss to her brow.
“Th-Thayer…” she whispered.
“Hush, Love,” he murmured, when she tried to speak again.
Love?
The wind and wet wool muffled around her ears must be playing tricks with sound. She tried to shift.
“Don’t tax your strength. You’re safe. He won’t hurt you or anyone ever again,” said Alec. “I’ll soon have you sheltered from the wind and cold.”
Caro wanted to assure him she was fine, but she couldn’t seem to make her body obey. Her head was still woozy from the fall, and her limbs felt too weak to move. Snuggling closer to his chest, she closed her eyes and let the steady thump, thump of his heartbeat lull her to sleep.
Alec took cover beneath a ledge of overhanging rock to survey the surroundings. He dared not try to carry Caro back down to the inn until he knew how badly she was injured. A broken rib could be dangerous.
As could a fever. The memory of how close Isobel had come to death from exposure to the elements sent a spike of fear through his chest. Caro felt cold as ice in her wet garments, and her face looked unnaturally pale.
Damnation—Thayer deserved to die a second time for all the harm he had caused.
Cradling Caro tighter in his arms, he edged along the high ledge looking for a niche in the granite big enough to protect them from the wind and rain. The cluster of pine trees on the nearby slope would provide wood for a fire, and the sack tied to his saddle contained a small cooking pot and provisions for tea and porridge.
Rounding an outcropping of tumbled stones, Alec spotted a large crevasse in the rock wall. Closer inspection of the wind-carved space showed it was more than deep and wide enough to be a comfortable shelter from the storm. He ducked inside and, after laying her down on the smooth stone, quickly stripped off his coat to wrap her in another layer of wool.
“Rest easy, sweeting,” he murmured. “I shall not be gone long.”
She stirred and her hand found his. Their fingers curled together.
For a long moment, Alec didn’t move, letting the warmth suffuse their wind-lashed skin. Two as one, he thought, looking down at the dark-on-dark silhouette. Despite the dangers swirling around them he felt a surge of hope.
Gently untwining himself, he rose and hurried into the night.
After fetching his supplies and the oilskin-wrapped bedroll, he sheltered his horse within a cluster of trees close to the trail, then made his way to the pine glade. Grateful that the dead branches beneath the needled boughs were moderately dry, he quickly gathered an armload and returned to the rocky refuge.
Caro was sleeping fitfully. Alec touched her brow. Was it only his own exertion, or did she feel too hot? Unrolling the dry blankets, he peeled away his damp coat and tucked them around her.
Fear speared him to hurry in pulling out his flint and steel. A swift strike lit a spark in the tinder and the flames came to life.
Blowing out a sigh of thanks, he built up the fire to a cheery blaze and heated a potful of rainwater.
“Come sweeting, drink this down.” He roused Caro and held a tin mug of sweetened tea to her lips.
Her eyes flew open as its warmth coursed down her throat. “That’s ambrosial,” she said, after several swallows. “I’ve had nothing but rancid gruel and bitter tea for the last day and a half. But perhaps it was just Thayer’s presence that made everything taste so foul.” She sat up before he could stop her. “Is he really gone?”
“Yes. He fell from the rocks and impaled himself on his own knife,” answered Alec. He pressed a hand to her shoulder and tried to ease her back down. “You mustn’t move. Broken bones can be hellishly dangerous. A punctured lung—”
“My lungs, as you well know, are far too tough to be punctured by anything short of sharpened steel,” quipped Caro as she fended off his hand. “I’ve naught but a few bumps and bruises.”
He started to protest, but she cut him off. “Truly. I would get up and caper through a jig to prove it.” A smile. “But the ceiling is too low, and when I dance, I have tendency to tread on your feet.”
Alec drew in a deep breath as Caro gave a vigorous wriggling to prove her point. And let it out in a soft laugh that took with it the worst of his fears. That she was sparring with him proved her spirit was unhurt.
“Only because I seem to turn into a clumsy lummox whenever I’m around you,” he replied.
Her smile turned more luminous in the light of the shimmying flames. “You’re quite agile when you want to be.” She held his gaze, the flicker of emotion in her eyes far more warming than the blaze of the fire. “I caught only a blur of the action, but you were quite magnificent. He had a knife, and you—you had only your bare hands. And yet, you beat him.”
“Right makes might,” he quipped. “There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in Hell that I was going to let him escape to hurt anyone again.”
“If anyone was a spawn of Satan, it was Thayer,” she murmured.
“Indeed. I can’t say that I feel a whit of pity or remorse for his demise. He was thoroughly evil.”
Alec added a few branches to the fire. “I finally discovered the evidence that he was betraying our political group to the British military authorities in Scotland. Because of his actions, several meetings were raided and a number of people were shot or imprisoned.”
“Was that the reason you came to England?”
He nodded. “I had a suspicion it might be Thayer, but there were several other possibilities. However, when he appeared in Bath just after you and Isobel were attacked, it seemed too much of a coincidence. I began to delve deeper into his recent activities.”
“I wish you had confided your suspicions to me.”
“I wasn’t sure.” About a lot of things. “I didn’t want to frighten you.”
“Lord Strathcona, you—”
“Alec,” he corrected.
Caro hesitated, but only for a heartbeat. “Alec, you must resign yourself to the fact that some ladies—myself and your sister included—do not wish to be wrapped in cotton wool. We are not helpless wigeons and prefer to be treated as if we have a brain.”
A rueful quirk pulled at his mouth. “So I am beginning to understand. As for accepting it, well, I shall try. But it will not be easy.”
“You think I wasn’t terribly worried about you? Give me some credit—I sensed right away Thayer was dangerous and that you were taking terrible risks facing off against him.”
“Touché.” A glimmer of amusement flashed between them, and once again he realized how much he enjoyed their verbal duels. “But speaking of risks, why the devil didn’t you reveal that you weren’t Isobel when Thayer’s hired henchmen abducted you?”
“I… I feared that if Thayer had Isobel captive, you would be frantic with guilt and worry
, allowing him to force you to do anything. With me as a hostage, you would have more freedom to fight him.” She shrugged. “And besides, I figured I would find a way to escape. My unconventional upbringing and my experiences in the primitive places where my father did his research have made me adept at fending for myself.”
Her unselfish sacrifice—her love—for him and his sister brought a lump to his throat. You won’t have to fend for yourself ever again, vowed Alec to himself. Assuming I can manage not to trip over my own tongue.
Aloud he asked, “You thought I wouldn’t be frantic with worry about you?”
Caro looked away. “Maybe a little. But I didn’t think you would have any idea how to follow, so I assumed I’d be on my own.”
“I made a calculated guess,” replied Alec. “Thayer had a hideaway in Scotland which he had used in the past for his misdeeds. It seemed logical that he would do so again.”
She tried to repress a shiver. “Luckily for me you were right.”
He raised the dregs of the tea and deliberately spilled a few drops on the stone. “An offering of thanks to the Celtic spirits of Luck. To go along with a prayer of gratitude to the Almighty.”
He set down the cup as Caro shivered again. “You’re chilled to the bone. Take off your wet clothes while I go out to gather more wood. You can wrap yourself in the dry blanket while they dry by the fire.”
“I—”
“Please humor me,” interrupted Alec. “Isobel nearly perished from a fever caused by exposure to the cold and rain of a mountain storm.” He forced a smile, trying to make light of his fear. “Given how noxious the Bath mineral water tastes, I am sure you do not wish to undergo the same cure.”
“Well, since you put it like that…” She waved him away. “But hurry, the storm looks to be turning worse.
A clap of thunder reverberated within the cave. Caro pulled the blanket tighter around her bare shoulders, though the warmth suffusing her body was coming mostly from within.
Alec.
As a flash of lightning illuminated the hills, she searched for his silhouette within the wind-carved shapes of the rugged terrain. Like the surrounding stone, he possessed an immutable strength. And a sense of honor which gave that strength heart and soul.
Heart. Dared she think that the walls around his heart might have cracked just a little? A ripple within the depths of his storm-blue eyes seemed to hint that his defenses might be softening.
Yes, he cares for me, she mused. But that wasn’t the same as love.
She stared at the glowing coals, letting her thoughts wander to some of the poetry she had memorized on the mysteries of the heart. Of what is the spirit made? What is worth living for and what is worth dying for? The answer to each is the same. Only love. Lord Byron, for all his cynicism could be profoundly lyrical…
“A penny for your thoughts?”
Looking up with a start, Caro met Alec’s pensive gaze. She hadn’t heard him come in. “I’m not sure they are worth a farthing.” Eyeing his windblown hair and rain-drenched clothing, she added, “Put down that wood and let me help build up a blaze, so you can warm yourself.”
“No need,” he replied, kneeling beside her and expertly coaxing the coals into new flames with the damp sticks. He added some small stones to the ring he had built around the fire, then set a fresh pot of water to come to a boil.
“You are very adept at taking care of yourself under primitive conditions,” she observed. Not many aristocrats would know the first thing about surviving in the wilds.
“I’m not a fancy London lord who needs a valet’s help to put on my coat,” responded Alec. “I’ve spent a lot of time on the moors in Scotland, which taught me from an early age to be self-reliant.” The coals crackled and sparked as another branch fed the flames. “I suppose I’ve always enjoyed challenging myself, both physically and mentally.”
“My father was much the same way. He found exploration endlessly interesting for just those reasons.” She paused to reflect, feeling a fond smile play over her lips. “Papa told us that seeing other lands, other cultures, made him look at himself in new ways. I think he passed on that curiosity and sense of adventure to me and my sisters.”
“He sounds like a very extraordinary man,” said Alec. “Exotic travels with him must have been very exciting.”
“Indeed they were. My first trip was to Crete…” Caro began to recount some of the memorable moments from her family’s stay in the remote mountain village.
“Anna once nearly set our whole camp on fire when she decided to try cooking a wild boar stew.” She looked up from her reveries, suddenly aware that steam rising from Alec’s clothing. “Oh, here I am rattling on while you are sitting there suffering stoically in wet boots and breeches. You, too, must take off your wet garments and let them dry by the fire.”
Turning away, she gathered up the second blanket and tossed it over her shoulder. “Put this on, Alec. I won’t peek.”
But as “wet” and “Alec” suddenly stirred the memory of seeing him rise naked as a newborn from the copper wash kettle, she couldn’t hold back a mischievous laugh. Talk about daring to experience new things! And what a magnificent sight he had been, standing dripping wet in all his magnificent masculine glory.
“How very lowering to think that the idea of me out of my clothes is cause for naught but amusement,” murmured Alec over the sounds of rumpling linen and buckskin.
“You were far more mesmerizing than Venus rising on her clamshell,” she said softly.
“Ah, well that’s a trifle reassuring.” The thud of his soggy boots hitting the stone echoed off the walls. “You may turn around now. I am decent—or as decent as a man can be, wrapped in a blanket that smells suspiciously of horseflesh.”
After smoothing out his damp garments, he took up the provisions sack. “Along with oats, there is a half a loaf and some cheddar left. It’s hardly a fancy repast, but it will keep our stomachs from growling like wolves.
They sat together by the blazing fire, bundled in scratchy wool and a comfortable camaraderie, eating stale bread and cheese as they shared stories of their lives, their experiences.
“And you, what caused you to become so passionate about politics?” she asked.
Alec made a rueful face. “At university, I was foolish enough to believe that abstract ideals like freedom and justice could become reality if one were willing to fight for them.”
“That’s not foolish,” said Caro. “That’s wonderfully courageous and admirable. Only those who dare to try can achieve their dreams.”
“Your example has taught me much about that.”
The glow in his eyes made her feel hot all over.
“As have some new political thinkers,” added Alec. “I have recently been reading some essays that inspire a shining hope in these grim times. They were penned by a man who calls himself The Beacon.”
Caro choked on a bite of her bread.
“You are familiar with his writings?”
“Yes, very familiar.” She cleared her throat. “You haven’t yet met my oldest sister, Olivia. She is the most cerebral of the three of us.”
Alec raised a brow. “Are you saying…”
Caro nodded.
“Good Lord,” murmured Alec, allowing a small chuckle. “I am beginning to have more sympathy with your mother’s megrims.”
“The two of you would have some very interesting conversations about law and government.”
“So it would seem.”
“You would like her,” went on Caro. “And Wrexham. He, too, is an idealist and believes that change can—and will—happen through lawful, peaceful persuasion.”
He looked thoughtful as he watched the undulating flames. “I look forward to meeting them both.”
That sounded like…
Caro slanted a sidelong look at the play of firelight gilding his features. Perhaps the end of this adventure wouldn’t be the last time they would ever see each other.
Or perha
ps I am reading too much between the lines.
Suddenly too tired to try to puzzle it out, Caro closed her eyes and let the warmth of the pine-scented fire and Alec’s muscled closeness envelope her body. It took a moment to realize that she was now pressed against him, her head resting on his shoulder.
“Sorry,” she said sleepily, and started to pull away.
He hugged her close. “Stay.”
“Oh, but I’ve been such a sore trial to you,” she protested. “Intruding on your privacy, wreaking havoc with your plans, knocking to flinders all your—”
His hands came up to frame her face, and suddenly the rest of her words seemed to lodge in her throat.
“Knocking to flinders all the fears I had allowed to wall up my heart.”
A wild thudding seemed to come alive inside her chest. “I—I do have an unfortunate tendency to barge around and break things. It’s the curse of a passionate nature, I suppose.” An uncertain smile wavered on her lips. “My sisters have cautioned me that I should try to temper my emotions.”
“Don’t.” Alec kissed her cheek. “Ever.” His mouth moved to hers. “Change.”
If only this moment could go on forever.
Caro curled her arms around him, heedless of the blanket slipping away. “I love you,” she whispered. “I know a lady should never, ever say it first to a gentleman. But I’m a hopeless hoyden, so there you have it.”
“I love your courage, I love your passions, I love your spirit.” Alec’s voice had turned a little rough, a little ragged as he whispered his reply. “I love you.” Shrugging off his own blanket, he lay her back on the rumpled wool. Their bodies met, flesh on flesh. “More than my feeble words can possibly express.”
Three short, simple words. That was all he had uttered, and yet they had tilted the world to a whole new axis.
“You’ve said all I’ve longed to hear,” she whispered.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alec hitched in a breath, savoring how the soft curves of her body molded so perfectly to him. “I hope you will listen to yet another thing I wish to say,” he said slowly. “I bumbled it badly last time, but perhaps you will give me a second chance.”
