by Tanya Wilde
“What was Spain like?” Honoria asked wistfully.
Hugh groaned. “Do not start with your daydreaming again, lass.” He turned to Lash. “Next she’ll want to travel to Spain.”
“Oh, hush, I think Spain sounds marvelous.”
“It’s poor. Dirty,” Lash remarked. “Smells rotten.”
Honoria blinked. “Surely not all of Spain?”
Lash shrugged. “The heat is sweltering.” He filled his mouth with a spoonful of eggs. Truthfully he never cared for Spain. Too many painful memories encrusted on the walls of his mind.
“There must be something good about the country. One thing?” Honoria insisted.
Lash thought for a moment, sifting through the wretched to draw out one good thing he recalled. “The sunsets. I recall them particularly breathtaking.”
“What of Spanish bullfights?” Honoria asked. “Do they exist?”
“Christ man, stop before she launches herself across the seas,” Hugh muttered, refilling his cup with tea.
“They exist,” Lash confirmed. “Though I do not condone them.”
“Is that why you left?”
Her question brought more painful memories to mind. The life of a Rom might be freeing, but difficult. Lash had lost many friends over the years. He shook his head. “They keep Romany as slaves.”
“Why, that’s dreadful!” Honoria exclaimed. “I certainly do not wish to visit Spain now.”
“Thank Christ,” Hugh muttered.
Lash felt her eyes burn into him like the scorching heat of the Spanish sun and lowered his gaze to his food. He did not want her pity. The irony chaffed. He had avoided capture his entire life only to become hunted by his own kin.
“What about your family?” Honoria inquired. “Must we send word of your whereabouts?”
“Christ, Honoria, do you want an entire gypsy tribe camping on our lawn?”
Lash shot the Highlander a look of irritation. The man was like a dog nipping at his heels. “I have a sister, but no one to contact.”
“Ah,” Hugh drawled. “So you are aware how troublesome lasses can be, at least.”
Lash grunted. Not a topic he wanted to get into, especially with Honoria’s eyes fixated on the both of them.
“If we are so troublesome, Hugh, it’s because you are stubborn mules!”
Hugh pushed his chair aside and stood. “I believe that tone of voice is my cue to leave.”
“That wasn’t much of an interrogation,” Lash noted after the Highlander strode from the room.
“Och, do not let his sudden departure fool you. Hugh probably has a set of secret papers hidden away with your name scrawled on it.”
Lash offered her a twisted grin. “He does seem the type, does he not?”
She flashed her teeth, and it felt like peering into the abyss and finding a pot of sunshine. Every part of him wanted to reach across the table and drag her into his arms. The desire startled him. This was no ordinary impulse. This was much more alarming—he wanted to stay near her. In the same vicinity. Never more than a few miles apart.
That urge was not one he felt comfortable feeling.
Nine bloody brothers. No doubt the Highlander had sent word to them or soon would. What would nine brawny Highlanders do if they discovered where his lips have been?
“My brothers are overly protective of us.”
“As they should be,” he murmured, shaking off the unwelcome desires. “Would you care for a stroll through the gardens?”
Surprise lit her gaze. “You are up for it?”
He was up to anything if it meant being in her presence, hearing her laughter, or staring into her eyes as he watched emotion play across her features. She was lovely when she smiled.
Lash did not deserve even one of those smiles. From what he’d seen, she was all that was good in this world: soft, innocent, pure. He was the opposite. Hard. Worldly. Polluted. But still, he wanted to stroll beside her through the gardens.
“The fresh air will do me good.”
Chapter 10
Grey and black clouds fought for dominion in the sky as they ventured out into the garden. But whatever the weather, whatever the season—winter, summer, autumn or spring—the gardens had always been the pride and joy of the estate since Honoria could remember.
They soothed the soul.
She spared a sidelong glance at Lash. It was impossible to miss the subtle lines of his face smoothing the moment fresh air hit his skin. Given he was a Rom, she was not surprised. His people did not live in traditional housing or sleep in conventional beds. It must be intolerable for him to be confined to the castle.
That much they had in common.
Though Honoria still preferred her soft bed and the warmth her home provided.
She bit down on her lip, keenly aware of his proximity. He looked like a man that carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and then lifted that world only to resettle it again a few thousand times more.
But even with his visible strength, he seemed worn and tired.
She found herself wanting to breathe life back into the frayed threads that overshadowed him. What troubles did he carry on those broad shoulders? All these unanswered questions made her feel like her feet were treading over unsteady sand and not on solid ground.
Internally, she sighed at herself.
Her goal was to travel to Edinburgh. That had to come first. Once her goal to learn from the greatest minds in Scotland had been realized, then she could spend her time exploring intriguing, mysterious men with bodies that mimicked the statues of Greek gods.
She must remain focused.
But would a little fantasizing truly hurt?
She tried to shake away the insidious thought, but all that came to mind was Lash’s mouth. In particular, his mouth dancing over hers. His teeth grazing the tender skin of her lips. His powerful arms holding her tightly against his chest.
How would it not feel dancing in those arms? To be whirled and twirled, embracing the raw power of them?
Och, stop it, Honoria!
Impossible. A strange flutter had taken wing in her heart. She did not quite understand it. But it was accompanied by a wave of wooziness and Honoria knew, with bone-deep certainty, this man was intertwined with her fate. He was more than a possible escort—she had never wished for one. She had wished for change, and he had arrived.
A strong, powerful, and unbelievably tempting change.
“Are you all right?” Lash asked, casting her a concerned glance. “You seem flushed.”
Honoria ducked her head from his probing gaze. “Just a bit preoccupied with thoughts of dancing.”
“Dancing?” He sounded skeptical.
She tilted her head up to the sky. “Aye, it’s a splendid day to dance, do you not agree?”
He drew to a stop and followed her gaze. “It’s about to rain.”
“Dancing in the rain . . . That sounds delightful.” Honoria clapped her hands together. “I have never danced in the rain before.”
“Because it’s dangerous to your health.”
“Which adds to the thrill, I believe.”
He lowered his eyes to scrutinize her. “There is no music.”
“And a campfire, I suppose,” Honoria said, and laughed at the look he sent her. “Have you never danced in the rain before? Being a big, bad Rom?”
“No.”
“Neither music or campfire is required. We can dance right here, this moment if we so choose.”
“Is the whole point of dancing not to dance to music?”
“I can hum.” She demonstrated a merry tune to prove her point. “I know! We can dance a Strathspey Reel.” She frowned. “But perhaps you are not up for such a lively affair yet.”
“I do not particularly want to, either.”
“Not even to indulge me?”
He shook his head.
She fluttered her eyelashes and tilted her head to one side. “Today or never?”
He looked away. Bu
t not before Honoria glimpsed the slight flush that crept up his cheeks. A sudden thought occurred to her. Had he never learned to dance? Mortified at her indelicacy, she rushed to say, “Forgive me, I hadn’t considered that you might not have learned the skill.”
“I can dance.” He flashed his teeth. “But mostly naked around a campfire.”
Her eyes jumped to his. “You . . . That . . .”
“I am jesting, Honoria.” His eyes glittered.
The damage on her imagination, however, had been done. Honoria now imagined him dancing around a campfire. Naked. Flames flickering over all that gloriously rippled skin.
“I haven’t learned the Strathspey Reel,” he confessed. “It sounds jolly.”
“Well, there is not much to it. It’s all about moving to the rhythm.”
“Does that not sound like any dance I’ve ever heard?”
“Sarcasm? You must be feeling better today.” She motioned for his hand. “It is easy enough to learn. Come.”
His eyes flicked to her in surprise. “You want to teach me? Now?”
She nodded.
He released his breath in a long-suffering sigh. “You are not going to stop until I agree, are you?”
Honoria bit back a smile. “I am known to be stubborn, aye.”
“You do recall me crumbling to the ground only yesterday?”
“And today you are as strong as an ox.”
“A baby ox, it saddens me to say.”
Honoria laughed. “Come on, I shall not drain your strength. All you have to do is step forward on your right foot, toe pointed. Then draw your left foot to meet up with the right, like so,” she demonstrated with a jump. “Then step forward on the right foot again, and hop on the right foot while drawing the left foot through, ready to step on the left foot to start again.”
“You are serious.”
“Of course, everybody ought to learn the Strathspey Reel.”
He harrumphed, but, to her delight, reached to take her hand. “If I faint, I’m requesting a change of healer.”
Honoria answered with a grin. “Take my hand in yours”—she raised one hand to his shoulder—“and slide your other arm around my waist.”
“I cannot believe I am doing this.”
Honoria laughed. “Do you remember the steps?”
“A child can recall the steps,” he muttered, but he allowed her to guide him through the paces again.
“Now for some music.”
His hooded gaze turned skeptical.
Honoria pressed her lips together and hummed a melody. She kept the pace slow, her eyes watchful for any sign of strain, even a single drop of moisture.
A sly grin slowly spread across her face. “Admit it, you enjoy dancing beneath the blackened sky.”
He grunted in response.
“That’s all right,” she said. “I know the truth.”
“I’m not even sure why I’m indulging you.”
“Perhaps you like me.” Honoria batted her lashes up at him.
He sent her an amused glance. “I do not dislike you.”
“Marvelous! I do not dislike you either. We are both equally in like with one another.”
“Madness has surely seized you,” he muttered, but a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. “That’s why you insisted on dancing.”
Och, Honoria was seized by something, all right. But she wasn’t so certain it was madness. In fact, her head had never been clearer. “I have not danced in ages, truth be told, and I miss it.”
“You don’t dance with your brothers?”
“I’d rather box their ears most of the time,” she confessed.
He reached out to smooth her brow. “You’re scowling.”
“I’m not scowling.”
“No?” He angled his head to the side, examining her. “That must be your usual countenance then.”
He stepped forward, smiling down into her eyes. She felt his arms circle her waist and his fingers flex on her back as he pulled her closer, the reel forgotten. A little thrill shot up her spine.
Her goal, her plans, all fled her mind. At that moment, all she wanted was to keep on dancing in his arms. He felt like all the dreams she’d been yearning for.
Focus, Honoria.
“What if I said I preferred this proximity?” he asked. His eyes kindled in a way that set her blood on fire.
Honoria swallowed. “I’d have to change my hum.” And demand you step closer still.
He chuckled, twirling her around.
“You seem at ease with dancing.”
“I am a man; I am supposed to be good at everything.” He whirled her around again to prove a point. “Besides, Rom love dancing, though Highland Reels are deeply rooted in tradition and not commonly practiced elsewhere.”
“True,” Honoria admitted. He twirled her again. “What is your best-loved dance? Other than spinning me in circles?”
His gaze swept over the gardens, lips curving. “The Flamenco.”
“I’ve never heard of such a dance.”
“It’s a form of dance I learned in Spain.”
“It sounds beyond exotic.”
His lips twitched. “I suppose you can say that. Much of the dance is expressing your deepest emotion through the music. You live the dance, breathe the dance, and you consume every part of the rhythm.”
“That sounds almost poetic.” His words transfixed her, as did the spark of animation that lit his features.
“Most dances lack the playfulness and wit of the Flamenco where there is room for improvising.” A small smile graced his face. He must have fond memories of the dance.
“Will you teach me this Flamenco?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
Green eyes delved deep into hers. “It would be dangerous, especially if we were alone.”
Honoria’s heart melted at that. “What if you taught Isla as well?”
Still dangerous, his eyes seemed to say.
“Teach us anyway.”
“So eager to play with fire,” he murmured. “Who am I to resist.”
“Och, I am up for playing with fire if you are.”
It was, after all, just a dance, Honoria mused. Why then, did it feel much more than that? Flames of temptation lapped around Lash wherever he went, and Honoria had a feeling if she wasn’t careful, she’d be set ablaze.
I am up for playing with fire if you are.
What those words did to him.
Honoria MacCallan was a breath of fresh air. The crisp raindrops in spring. Soft. So damn soft her touch played havoc with his brain. She represented the very thing he had been taught to loathe and yet, she was the very thing he hungered for. She gave him closeness, warmth, kindness, acceptance. It defied explanation. It defied logic. It challenged everything he’d ever learned.
The mere thought made Lash’s guts clench.
He barely survived childhood. He had grown up living the life of a wanderer and spent seven months in search of his sister. He possessed nothing of great value. He was a Rom without a tribe. He was a man without a country. She was a lady that lived in a castle. He preferred the outdoors while she preferred painting and poetry. He enjoyed a solitary existence while she surrounded herself with family.
They were the polar opposites living opposing lives.
And he had a murderous brother in search of him.
But when he peered down into the amber eyes of Honoria MacCallan, so innocent, so damned trusting, all his troubles seemed less . . . troublesome.
Lash had told her he was Romany and instead of scorn, she reacted with kindness. She was much too good for him. He could devote his entire life to becoming worthy, rich, powerful, better, and still he would not come up to scratch. He was dead wrong for her. Did she not see that?
Still, she wanted to play with fire.
This woman . . . Lash was out of his depth with this woman.
Did he believe in fate?
God help h
im, but he did. And for whatever reason, fate had put him on her path even though theirs wasn’t a future that could possibly intertwine.
He fought for distance, stepping away from her, arms falling to his side. His gaze traveled back to the castle. “Have you always lived here?”
“Aye, every memorable thing that has ever happened to me started within these walls.”
“Memorable things?” he enquired and inwardly cursed. Now he was the one playing with fire. The less he knew of her life, the better for him in the long-term.
Honoria shrugged. “When the Jacobite rising came, it was decided in our great hall whether we would fight alongside our fellow Scots in the resistance.” Her eyes crinkled at the sides. “Though I wasn’t born so that did not affect me, I suppose.”
“Did your family join the rebellion?”
She shook her head. “My grandfather did not wish to endanger our family and the people who relied on him. He also refused to let any tenants go in favor of more sheep.”
“An admirable man.”
“He was a proud chieftain and duke, but he was also a practical man. He loved this land far more than he loved war, and as far as he was concerned, the war had already been lost.”
“He wasn’t wrong.”
Her lips curved. “He’d have loved to hear you say that.” She tilted her head. “What of your family? I must apologize for Hugh’s remark about a gypsy camp on our lands.”
His gaze dropped to her lips. Could he get away with kissing her to make her forget her line of questioning? The first kiss had been ill-conceived. Another would be downright fatal.
“My family is complicated,” he evaded. An understatement. But she already knew more of him than he was comfortable with.
“What can be more complicated than a father, a mother, a sister and a brother?” she pried.
A murderous brother?
“Not if you put it that way,” Lash relented. “But a father, a mother, a sister, a brother and even a dog have these things called character, which can complicate matters.”
She huffed. “You are infuriating when it comes to parting with information, Lash Ruthven—any information. Surely you can appease some of my curiosity? A scrap, even.”
