It didn’t. They didn’t. She didn’t. She turned, presenting him with her back and said, “I’m ready.”
His hands trembled as they circled her waist. The homely dress she’d worn to work in had been a mistake. Not nearly enough separated him from her. No corset stiffened the bodice; no heavy busk acted as armor separating them. Just simple blue worsted wool suffused with her heat.
He felt each breath she took, each rise of her rib cage, the shallow plane of her belly under his fingertips. Only the texture of her skin remained a mystery.
He closed his eyes. A tavern is what he needed … and a tavern wench. There used to be a place called The Red Rose a dozen miles east of the north highway. Strong drink and willing wenches, both available for the right price.
“Well?” She sounded breathless.
He lifted her, determinedly pinning his thoughts on unmet ladies with welcoming smiles. He jounced her up onto his shoulder.
“Oh!” She wobbled atop her perch. Her arms flayed out as she sought to keep her balance. He clamped an arm about her legs, and thrust up his free hand. “Take hold of my hand!”
There was a flurry of little adjustments. She grabbed his hand. Her feet beat against his chest and he clasped hold of one delicate ankle and pinned it against his stomach. “Calm down!” he bellowed.
She scrambled instead of calmed.
“Damn it! Do you want to fall?” Silk pooled over his wrist as her garter came undone and her stocking fell down her calf and covered his hand.
“Stop wiggling!” He drove his hand up through layers of petticoats until he found her knee and climbed higher, gripping her thigh securely.
She went as still as a heart-struck doe.
Her thighs were smooth and firm, lithe and long-muscled. A young woman who walked more than rode. A satin-skinned siren.
“Has the unhappy Orville shown any further interest?” He had no idea where the words came from. Unplanned. Not even thought before voiced.
“Orville is gone.” Her voice sounded faint.
“Good.” He heard the gloat of possessiveness, abhorred it, tried again for a neutral tone but it was hard to do when her leg was a smooth, tapering column that begged to be stroked. “I mean, good for him. Married wasn’t he? Waste of time pursuing you, then.”
“He left because his face powder could not cover the bruises you gave him.”
“Oh.”
She shifted and a warm, womanly fragrance rippled forth, escaping from beneath the lace ruffles and the silk stocking sagging about her ankle. Jasmine and heated flesh and earthier, more provocative scents. His grip tightened. Her hand clenched his.
“Favor.”
“What?”
He didn’t know “what.” He only knew their present positions were untenable. He dipped his shoulder, tumbling her from her perch and into his arms, one arm linked under her knees, the other beneath her shoulders. Her hair, dense and matte as a London midnight, escaped its cap and coiled down over her chaste bodice. He caught a handful of it, his knuckles pressed against the soft cushion of her breast.
“Wash it off.”
“What?”
“Your hair. It’s bright and gleams like molten gold. Wash the black out.”
She stared up at him, a shade frightened, a bit anxious and, yes, a little tantalized. “I can’t. She … I can’t.”
For a long minute he gazed down at her fresh lovely face, scrubbed clean of powder, her eyes blue not abnormally black. It was too quiet. She would hear the thunder of his heartbeat. He knew because he heard it himself.
Only it wasn’t his heartbeat. He lifted his head, listening. It was something else. Something growing closer.
“What is that?” Favor asked.
“The echo you noted,” he answered quietly. “Someone’s coming down the hall.”
He dropped her lightly to her feet and pushed her toward a low cupboard that stood behind where the altar had once been.
“Go through there. It’s not a sacristy. It’s a corridor that leads to the north wing. You mustn’t be found here. Particularly by any of Carr’s guests. Believe me, Orville was one of the better sort in this place.
“Hurry, damn it!” he said harshly when she hesitated. “I can’t afford to rescue you again. I was lucky Orville’s vanity kept him quiet about me.”
“But how—”
“I can’t fit through there, Favor,” he said tersely. “There’s other places where I can conceal myself. But they’re not big enough for two. Now go”
Only after the low, squat door shut behind her did he breathe again. The footsteps were louder now. Nearly to the chapel.
Raine did not bother looking around. He’d lied. There was no other place to hide. He stepped behind the mountain of furniture and waited. A few minutes later he heard the door swing open and then a short series of footsteps, moving slowly.
Whoever it was must not follow Favor through that door. Raine leapt out, fists raised, ready to strike—
A shriveled little woman stood just beyond the light coming through the rosette window.
“Raine!” Gunna crumpled to the floor.
Chapter 17
“Gunna!” Raine sprang to the old lady’s side and carefully lifted her in his arms. Weakly, she batted at him. She weighed next to nothing. Her thick, homely clothing gave only the impression of weight.
She still wore a thick mantle draped across her face, leaving only one side of her disfigured countenance exposed. She peered up at him through a sunken eye. She no longer looked as hideous as he remembered, only sadly distorted, like a watercolor portrait left out in the rain.
“Is it really ye, Raine Merrick, and not a ghost?” she whispered. Tears leaked from the corner of her eye and found a deep crevasse to course down.
He pressed a kiss against her cheek. “No ghost, old woman. Just the same brat, back to make your life a misery again.”
The gap-toothed mouth turned up at the corner in a weak grin. She closed her eyes and let her head relax against his chest. Contentment flowed from her like resin from spring pines. He gazed down at the wee old woman, both moved and disconcerted. The Gunna he remembered had little time for displays of “waistie luve.”
As if she’d read his mind, her eyelid snapped open and her tender smile evaporated. She squirmed, struggling to right herself in his arms, swatting and muttering, “Leave me down! I heard ye were in prison. What sort of prison might that be, I’m askin’, tha has built ye up like a prize bull?”
Apparently, she hadn’t changed much after all.
Raine lowered her to her feet. Immediately, she dashed away any evidence of tears with the back of her elegantly shaped hand. Those gracefully wrought hands had ever been Gunna’s only claim to beauty. She set them on her hips now, glaring up at him. “Well? How long have ye been out of that French prison, then?”
“Six months. Near seven.”
“And here? How long here without …? How long here?” It struck him that she was hurt, truly, genuinely hurt that he hadn’t informed her of his presence. It never occurred to him that she might have fretted over him.
“A few weeks.”
She pressed her lips together.
“I’m sorry.”
With his heartfelt apology the anger lifted from her expression. “No need to be sorry, Raine. I’m just so …” She broke off, embarrassed by such sentiment. She began again. “I’m glad yer here and well and lookin’ fit. Yer brother wrote and said he’d gone to pay yer ransom but ye weren’t there. I … we feared ye’d been killed by the French.”
“Ash went to France to ransom me?” Raine echoed. Once more the old woman confounded him. In quick succession, Raine discovered not one but two people who’d cared for him through all those dark years of his imprisonment. The intimacy of such a tie unnerved him.
“Yes.” Gunna nodded. “Carr ransomed him near a year ago. Ash set out at once to earn the means to ransom ye. Succeeded, too, much to Carr’s chagrin, and won himself a bride
in doing so.”
“A bride?” Raine asked in amazement. His older brother hardly seemed husband material.
“Aye. Yer father’s ward what Ash snatched from whatever plots Carr had devised fer the chit. Ye should have seen yer brother, Raine. Fair besotted with the girl and she with him. And her a Russell lassie, no less.” Gunna shook her head, cackling with evident pleasure. “The Russells were some that answered the McClairen call for the Bonny Prince.”
“A Jacobite?” Raine asked, amused. “Father must have loved that.”
Gunna pulled a grimace. “I’d be surprised if he even remembers the girl’s name. That which doesna touch yer da doesn’t much exist, to his way of thinkin’. Once Ash married—Well, yer father’s not so dull-witted as to think there’s ever a chance of him seein’ his eldest son agin.” She snorted. “At least not in this life.”
Raine hesitated. “And Fia?” She’d been such a beautiful child with her black hair and rosy lips. She’d also been his father’s little shadow. He waited now to hear to whom Carr had ‘sold’ her. Which duke, earl, or foreign prince. For clearly that had been Carr’s plan.
“Here she be still. For a few months yet. Then it’s to London with her. And him, too. Or so he says.”
“I thought that King George had forbidden Carr to return to London.”
“Aye. Yer da’s last wife was the queen’s own godchild, and doesn’t yer father wish he’d known that before he lost her like the other two. But ye canna hang a peer for murder without proof and who would speak against Carr? So the king banished Carr here,” Gunna said. “But now Carr’s swearing Fia will make her bow this spring.” She shot a glance up at him. “Have ye spoken with her?”
“No. I never imagined she wouldn’t have been married by now.” Had he seen her? Raine wondered, surprised by his eagerness. He scoured his memory, trying to match a mature face to the youthful one he recalled.
Had one of the women in the ballroom he’d watched from the high overhead been his sister? Would she remember him? Was she even more Carr’s creation now than she’d been four years before? Sadness replaced his earlier expectancy. Of course she would be. He shook his head. “I wouldn’t know what to say. No one knows I’m here, Gunna. And I’d as soon it remained that way.”
“I wouldn’t rely too much on that notion, Raine. Carr has been seeing ‘things’ lately, meaning ghosts and now I’m thinkin’ it’s ye he’s been seein’.”
Raine stared at her a minute before breaking out in laughter. “He thinks I’m a ghost? How perfect. He leaves me to rot in prison and then, catching sight of me, expects I’m dead and come back to haunt him?”
His mouth flattened in abrupt and savage bitterness. “He gives himself too much status. Were I dead and doomed to wander this earth for eternity, the last bit of ground I would go near would be the one he occupied—as either man or corpse.”
“I don’t think he believes it’s yer ghost haunting him, Raine.” Gunna said quietly. “He thinks it’s another.”
“What other?”
“His dead wife.”
Bitter amusement filled him. “Oh? Which one?”
At this, Gunna tched loudly, her expression aggrieved. “Speak gently of the dead, Raine Merrick. Particularly those poor, cursed brides.”
“Forgive me. I have only to be reminded of my paternity and its influence exerts itself. Now, which bride does Carr think cannot stand to be separated from him?”
“Yer mother. That’s why I’m here.” She shuffled toward an open box, its contents strewn untidily from the top. Her hand moved gently over the contents. “I knew this is where Carr had her things removed and when one of the stable lads claimed to have seen a light in the chapel last night I thought …”
“You thought I was Janet? So you came to petition Janet’s spirit on Carr’s behalf? I hadn’t realized you were so devoted to him. I’d always assumed it was Fia who owned your loyalty.”
The old woman answered his mockery by swinging around and cuffing his ear. He backed off with a yelp.
“And so she does,” she said. “If someone is trying to convince Carr his dead wife is haunting him, it may be not to Miss Fia’s best interest.”
“You’re still her champion,” Raine said.
“I’ve had to be.” The old woman hesitated. “Did ye … did ye feel it, then, havin’ no champion of yer own?”
Raine stared, amazed, and Gunna immediately misread his silence as condemnation.
“Ye were strapping lads when I come to work here,” she said defensively. “Both reckless and hotheaded but fer all that yer own creatures entirely. Ye can thank God yer father cared naught fer ye. It let ye become who ye were and not who he would have made ye.”
And yet there was a time that Raine would have been glad of that, would have done anything to gain Carr’s approval.
“But Fia …” Gunna’s hands twisted the coarse material of her skirts. “So beautiful and so sad. She was just a wee wraith yer father spoon-fed lies and treachery. Someone had to stand between him and what he would have made of her.”
“And that had to be you?”
“Who else?”
“Why?”
The old woman touched her ruined face. “They do say the ugly are powerless to resist the beautiful,” she said simply. “But never doubt I cared fer ye and Ash, too. Who was it do ye think that found out the McClairens were plannin’ to lynch ye and made sure Carr learned of it?”
Raine returned her unhappy gaze steadily. “Carr hardly came to rescue me, Gunna.”
Gunna spat on the stone underfoot. “Of course he wouldna! But he would go after ye quick enough if he thought he could use those pitiful fool McClairens’ attack on ye as an excuse to rid himself of the last of their lot. And so he did! Be happy he had that excuse, and forgive the McClairens for not sharing yer joy!” she finished, fierce and vastly upset.
But Carr hadn’t achieved genocide, Raine thought. Favor and her brother lived. “Carr has much to answer for regarding the McClairens. No wonder he sees ghosts.”
“Aye,” Gunna returned. “But lately some of Carr’s guests has been seeing’ things, too. And Carr is actin’ odd. Excited. And I coulda sworn I heard a woman’s voice as I come down the hall.”
“I assure you I was not sharing the chapel with a ghost, female or otherwise.” He needed to get Gunna out of here in case Favor should take it into her mind to return. While he did not doubt Gunna’s affection, she had made clear where her loyalty lay. If she realized Favor was a McClairen she might decide that she posed a threat to Fia. After all, all McClairens must hate all Merricks.
“As for Carr’s guests, they must have seen me.” He smiled charmingly. “I shall strive to be less obvious.”
She’d always scented a diversion as keenly as a hound does a hare. She sidled nearer, watching him closely. “Aye. Might be so.” She tapped his chest with one long finger. “What are ye doin’ here, Raine Merrick? Clearly ye’ve not come for a family reunion.”
“Haven’t I?” He took her accusing finger and wrapped it in his fist, and dropped a kiss on its tip. “Perhaps I came just for one more hug from you, Gunna.”
“Ye never got hugs from me to begin with so why would ye be thinkin’ to get them now?” she said, but her gruffness could not completely mask her pleasure. “Out with it or I’ll stay until ye tell me.”
He released her finger and she wagged it beneath his chin. “Don’t ever think to fool me, Raine Merrick. Yer in a lather to have me gone and gone I’ll be soon enough if ye’ll tell me why yer searching through yer mother’s things.”
The decision to tell her took no great deliberation. She would think him as daft as Favor did. Besides Gunna might know where Carr had dumped the rest of Janet’s things.
“I’m looking for the McClairen’s Trust.”
“The what?” More lines added themselves to her already furrowed brow. “What’s that be?”
Of course, Gunna must never have heard about the gems. As Favor
had remarked, it was only a local legend. And Gunna was not a McClairen. She’d arrived from the north some years after his mother’s death, seeking any kind of employment. Carr, seeing how Fia took to her, had hired her immediately. A woman with Gunna’s mien worked cheap.
“My mother had a set of jewels, Gunna, which she held in trust for her clansmen.”
Gunna shrugged eloquently. “Then Carr’s got them now.”
“No. He never knew about them. I only know about them because I saw her take them out once.”
Gunna looked doubtful.
Raine went on. “There was a necklace and some other pieces. A brooch fashioned in the shape of a lion, embedded with rough stones. It wasn’t fine craftsmanship, even my child’s eyes could see that. But the gold was as thick as my thumb and the gems were as large as cat’s eyes.”
“Go on!” Gunna guffawed.
He smiled. “She kept them in a sort of oriental box. Do you remember ever having seen such a thing lying about here or in another room?”
Gunna squinted at the ceiling, rubbing her flattened nose with her thumb. She pondered several moments before shrugging apologetically. “Nay, Raine. I’m sorry. I don’t recall ever seein’ such a thing. But that don’t mean it don’t exist. There’s so much that lays about in these rooms.”
Her words sentenced him to long days of searching through endless piles of cast-offs, litter, and odds-and-ends. Probably many such days.
All in the company of his little “victim.”
For whatever reason, he did not find the realization disheartening.
The girl had an aversion to him.
Carr led Favor Donne up toward the picture gallery. Earlier she’d claimed she would not be happy until she’d viewed it and then only under his tutelage.
Her fingers danced above his sleeve on the point of breaking contact. Very odd conduct if she were, indeed, occupied by the spirit of his wife, a wife who’d loved him devotedly, passionately and yes, demonstratively. At least in the earlier years of their marriage.
He was still wondering what to do with her should she prove to be Janet. He couldn’t very well marry the chit. What if he did and a real accident befell her? He could offer her a position as his mistress, but Janet had, when all was said and done, been a prude about such things. She would not let him touch her until after they’d read their vows. And, too, as he’d already noted, the girl could barely tolerate touching him.
The Reckless One Page 14
