They rode hard for two days, taking few breaks to rest, and only a few hours to sleep. The pace was difficult, and they were plagued with a misting rain that seemed in no hurry to end.
For hours they had been riding without stopping. Cold, wet and fighting a headache, Juliette sat wearily upon her horse, listening to Edith complain, thinking Stephen had been right to covet silence.
Stephen.
Her heart warmed at the mere thought of him—even knowing that he had been avoiding her all day. For the hundredth time, she allowed her gaze to search him out, her mind doing what it enjoyed of late, wistfully thinking how different things would be if it were Stephen she was to marry instead of the Black Scot.
For a moment, she allowed her thoughts to stray off in that direction, something she found both pleasurable and agonizing. There was no point in denying the truth. She could not lie to herself. She was falling in love with him. The question that bothered her was whether or not Stephen could come to feel about her as she felt about him—in the little time they had together before they reached Craigmoor.
And if he did come to care for her, would he turn against the leader of his clan for the woman he loved?
One look at the broad back and proud carriage of the man in question and she knew the answer. Dishonor was as foreign as French to him. Since infancy, Stephen had been fed liberal doses of pride and honor right along with his porridge. He might come to care for her. He might kiss her a time or two. But he would never, ever betray his laird.
Oddly enough, she found she would not want him to.
At that moment, she realized he was riding toward her and her heart hammered. Come to me, Stephen. Take me. Hold me. Tell me you care…
She smiled shyly, her heart pounding furiously in anticipation. She looked longingly at his dark, impassive face as he rode past her without so much as a brief glance in her direction.
Her heart shattered, trampled like her dreams in the mud beneath the hooves of his horse. If there had been any lingering doubt as to where things stood between them, he had clarified it now.
A deep, stabbing pain twisted her heart. She wanted to cry, but in private…not bouncing along on the back of an obnoxious beast and in the presence of eight stubborn, uncaring Scots.
She glared at Stephen’s back. She wanted to ride to where he was and shove his arrogant face into the mud. If she were a man she could do just that. “Take heart, lass. The lad fares no better than you.” Juliette jerked her head around to see that Angus had ridden quietly next to her. If she had not been so disheartened, she would have been in awe that he had spoken to her at all. Instead, the words of consolation coming from such a stalwart man made her ache with emotion. She felt sorry for herself. Wounded. Abandoned. Tears burned her eyes and she prayed she would not cry. Not now. Not in front of this silent old man who seemed to know her heart.
“Taking heart is easier said than done, I fear.”
“It is no as difficult as you make it, lass.”
She sniffed. “You don’t understand. I made a fool of myself. I kissed him and now I think he hates me.”
The corners of his mouth twitched and Angus cleared his throat. “I wouldna be too upset, lass. If Stephen hated every lass who kissed him, there wouldna be any lassies left for him to like.”
She shot him a dark look. “If that was supposed to make me feel better, it didn’t.”
“Weel, would it make you feel better if he did hate you?”
She lifted her chin, feeling a sudden surge of pride, determined that he would not know how much it really did matter. But her resolve seemed to crumple immediately. She felt a tear slip down her cheek and she wiped it quickly with the back of her hand. “I have never felt so young and naive,” she said. “I have always been taught to be honest, but I have learned that honesty can also be a ruinous mistake. I spoke what was in my heart. I see now that I blundered in thinking he would respect that. Now I feel as if I made a fool of myself. I know I should not have kissed him, that I should never have spoken to him so honestly. What I did was wrong, but there is no way to undo what has been done.”
She wiped her eyes again, not looking at him for fear she would burst into tears.
Angus’s unexpected friendliness exasperated her and raised her ire until her tears were all but forgotten. She wanted to tell him to take his meddling old self out into the forest and pet a mad wolf, but she managed to hold herself in check, though she still couldn’t understand why this dour Scot’s decision to suddenly take her into his confidence should make her want to cry.
“Dinna fret, lass. No one whose heart is in the right place will be denied paradise forever,” he said. With that, he spurred his horse ahead, leaving her alone, the tears she had fought to hold back streaming down her face, mingling with the now pounding rain.
The rain slowed again to a penetrating, thick mist, and the rest of the day passed without event—another long day with too few stops, another day during which Stephen ignored her.
When the sun should have been settling comfortably on the horizon, they rode into the yard of a ruined abbey.
“We will make camp here,” Stephen said gruffly and dismounted.
Juliette looked around. Only the abbey walls remained standing, offering little protection from the elements or the Gordons’ enemies.
Angus came to help Juliette down. The moment her feet touched ground, she turned abruptly and almost ran into Stephen.
His hands came out to grab her. He did not release her.
She glanced up at him, uncertain. Having been taught that one gained more with honey than vinegar, she smiled.
He returned the smile with a lazy one of his own. It caught her unawares, leaving her confused. Smiling was a mistake. She had a feeling he had learned while in nappies to use that smile with such knee-weakening effect.
Too bewildered and weary to sort through her emotions, she turned away, wrenching herself from his grasp before he had a chance to say anything or give her another mocking smile.
As she hurried away from him, she realized this was the first time she had even been in love. Why anyone would covet this miserable feeling was beyond her. Seeing that Edith, as well as Stephen’s men, had disappeared behind the walls of the abbey, she went looking for them.
She had gone no more than a few feet when she heard Stephen coming up behind her. “You look tired,” he said.
She stopped, clenching her fists at her sides. She spoke without turning around. “I am tired,” she said.
He came around her, blocking her way. “These walls will give you some comfort tonight. Dinna expect a roof over your head.”
She nodded, ready to leave. “If I have learned anything about the Scots,” she said, “it is not to expect anything that resembles understanding or comfort.”
That seemed to amuse him. “There is a burn nearby that feeds a small pool. I thought you might be wanting to take a bath.”
Her heart lurched at the thought, for she could not help remembering what had happened the last time she had taken a bath. “Yes, a bath would be welcome,” she said, putting the thought out of her mind. “Thank you. I shall report to my betrothed that you treated me with the utmost courtesy.”
“I ken no man could ill treat a lass as kindhearted as you. Do you think I would be capable of such?”
She looked at his dark face and hard mouth. “Will my betrothed be so understanding when I tell him how I made a fool of myself by kissing you?”
He hid his surprise well. “Those are your words, lass, not mine. But since you ask, I dinna see why you have to tell him at all.”
“I would not have him thinking me something other than I am,” she said, trying to maintain her dignity and finding it difficult with her hair hanging limp and wet, and knowing her damp clothes gave off the odor of a wet sheep. “I admire honesty in others. I can expect no less from myself.”
He lifted his hand to her face, stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Take heart, lass. As you once said, the Black Scot is not as heartless as his name implies. I doubt your revelation would start a war with the English,” he added with good humor. She said nothing.
Stephen continued in a light tone. “He might have me drawn and quartered, but he would no harm a hair on your golden head.”
“He might if he knew what was in my heart.”
His hand dropped to his side, but the look in his eyes told her he desired her. No amount of harsh or jovial words could dissuade her from believing that. She had no doubt that if she were not the betrothed of the Black Scot, Stephen Gordon would do more than stroke her cheek.
And that is what hurts the most. I want him to do more. As God is my witness, I do. I do…
The sound of his voice pulled her back from her thoughts. “And what is in your heart that is sure to provoke his anger?” he asked.
She looked at him with hurt in her eyes. “Don’t mock me,” she whispered, intending to run away.
He caught her before she could move. “Come here, lass,” he said.
“No.”
Unexpectedly, his arms came around her and he drew her against him, kissing her slowly, thoughtfully, and quite thoroughly. She felt herself drawn to him, as if she were sinking into a warm, long-awaited bath.
Then suddenly his grip tightened. He loomed over her, dark and dangerous, crushing her mouth until her senses reeled. His tongue forced her lips apart, expertly probing with ravishing implication. His gentle softness had become punishing roughness.
She knew that he deliberately meant to frighten her and thus snuff out the desire that still burned inside her.
He did not want her to want him. She understood that. She was forbidden to him, dangerous and destructive, yet there was something within him that was unable to resist. His struggle touched her.
Is that what love was?
Her thoughts vanished as he continued to kiss her, allowing his mouth to do to her the things the rest of his body could not. She arched against him in complete surrender. Her hand came up to rest against his bristled cheek. His jaw was hard and masculine. Her hand slid around his neck. His hair was silky and cool to the touch.
She knew they should not be doing this, but something strong within her pushed her farther into his embrace, until it was difficult to know where she ended and he began. Everything he did touched her more deeply than anything she had ever experienced. She made a small sound of need. He responded by drawing her even closer, close enough to feel the hardness between his legs. She moaned again, floating…drifting…wanting…
Suddenly, he broke the kiss, and she understood that he had not mocked her, that he had revealed his feelings in the only way he knew how.
His voice came to her from out of the mist that seemed to surround her. “Now you know,” he whispered, releasing her completely.
A moment later, she was left standing cold, wet and lonely in the rain.