“If you do no’ wish to speak of it…”
“I do not. He was fall-down drunk that night, yes, and stuck his nose into business that did not concern him. An argument broke out.” She lifted cool, blue eyes to Finnan’s face. “I got all this from Geordie, you understand—I was not there. My father decided to tell someone how to treat his servant, got knocked down for his trouble, and hit his head.”
Finnan contemplated it. Was that arrogance, or conscience? The man’s daughter plainly thought the worst of the man.
“Geordie came and told me,” she concluded. “I fell apart in his arms. We were already two months past due on the rent, had pawned most anything of worth. My father drank it all.”
So she had decided to wrap Geordie around her finger, had she? Use his vulnerability against him?
Aye, well, any sympathy he might feel for her, reluctant or not, would not stand in the way of his intentions. But it might make him see her well-settled with a year’s rent when he sent her back to Dumfries. If only for Geordie’s sake.
Chapter Thirteen
“Are you sure you should move Danny so soon?” Jeannie asked as she stepped out into the morning sunlight. Golden radiance flowed over the mountains to the east and, as so often at this time of year, the air quickly warmed.
Just as well, she reflected, for Finnan MacAllister still went but half clad. The sunlight brushed his shoulders as he moved, and defined the muscles of his chest and arms.
Her fingers tingled, and she acknowledged how she wanted to touch him. What had come over her last night, speaking to him as she had in the depth of the darkness, telling him of her past? She so rarely confided in anyone. But something about the moment, or the man, had invited confidences.
She had to admit, Danny looked a bit better. The lad actually sat upright on the back of his horse, pale but able to speak.
As she watched, Finnan reached up and closed the lad’s single hand more firmly about his reins.
“I have no wish to intrude upon you further, Mistress MacWherter,” Finnan told her, and added softly, “You have been kindness itself.”
Aggie slipped out the doorway behind Jeannie and went to Danny’s horse, where she spoke to him.
Finnan stepped to Jeannie’s side and gazed down at her. “Geordie was right about you, it seems. He said you were an angel.”
Among other things, apparently. Jeannie schooled herself to remember the anger Finnan had directed at her when first they met, and not fall victim to the seduction in those half-veiled eyes.He’s changed his mind about you,her traitorous emotions whispered to her.He’s learned better.
She said, “Are you certain you can get safely past Avrie House? Danny will not be able to stand another attack.” She wanted to make it clear her concern was all for the lad and not for him.
“We will take a different route, up along the hillside. Trust that I know every path through this glen.”
“Still, you might be better leaving him here and coming back for him with a guard.” Jeannie looked again to where Aggie now leaned up to Danny’s horse, her hand covering the lad’s.
Finnan said ruefully, “I have no guards. Unlike the Avries, I ha’ no force of hired men. And as I say, I would impose on you no longer.”
Jeannie nodded, unwilling to admit she feared for him. Or how thoughts of him—of his safety, that was—would occupy her mind. She moved to step back, but before she could he reached out and caught her hands in his.
And just like last night beside the fire, when he had stroked his hand through her hair, the shock of it—the pure, searing pleasure—flared through her from where his warm, strong fingers clasped hers. Her gaze flew to his and held, caught like a hare by a hound.
What did she see in his eyes? It was difficult to read his mood at any time, and now the light there held only mystery. Its gleam might be that of desire, or gratitude—or even malice.
Danger, her mind screamed at her a moment before he said, “Thank you, Jeannie MacWherter. You ha’ been most kind.”
He leaned toward her, and her pulse sped unpreventably. His lips found her cheek in a kiss that should have been chaste but instead burned like the touch of hot iron on her soft flesh. Ah, how she felt those lips! The warm, agile texture of them, sending ripples of awareness through her, seemingly carried by her accelerated heartbeat to that place where no man had ever touched her.
She ached to turn her head so her mouth met his, desired it with a deep and sudden hunger she’d never dreamed of feeling. Heart, mind, and body all reached for it, and only shock kept her still.
He straightened, withdrawing all the promised pleasure, and stood there looking at her. The newly risen sun made a halo of his hair, flamed red.
No halves for him, Jeannie warned herself. He is indeed a wicked man. But everything within her wished to experience, in full, his wickedness.
“You will have a care going home,” she said in a voice that sounded nothing like her own. His fingers still held hers captive, and heat still thrummed through her in waves.
“Aye, you may rely upon it. And, Jeannie MacWherter, will I be welcome to call on you again?”
