By all that was holy, he had to stop thinking about it or he would embarrass himself here in the darkness, and he had not done that since he was a green lad. He had to stop thinking of her. Or if he did he must focus on his revenge, because this was all about Geordie. Jeannie had denied Geordie everything Finnan had enjoyed yestere’en.Remember that, my lad, he told his cock.
It refused to listen and bade him instead remember the scent of her, filling his senses when she became aroused. Her desire had beat at him like a wall of fire.
Perhaps, his maddened brain whispered at him, taking up the demand started lower down, he should punish her again soon.Now. He might walk to her door and—
Nay, but Jeannie MacWherter’s cottage lay down a rocky slope at the other end of the glen. He and Danny should remain safe here.
Curse it.
For she would be so warm on a wet night. He imagined how she might strip the dripping plaid from him, and then all the clothing beneath. He thought on how her narrow white hands might move over his body, collecting moisture, followed by her lips and then her tongue.
What was it about the woman? She exerted a powerful attraction. He pictured the men of Dumfries lining up behind her like dogs behind a bitch in heat.
But that line of men included Geordie.
In truth, she had been fortunate it was Geordie she had wed, else she never would have remained unplucked. Any other husband would have pressed his suit, claimed his rights, and had her. Geordie, beneath all his muscle and brawn, had been a gentle soul and almost ridiculously courteous to women.
As two young, wandering mercenaries, they had both received more than their share of female attention wherever they went. He could remember many a time a woman had been drawn to the big, sandy-haired highlander, like a bee to honey.
Why not this time?
Jeannie hinted that Geordie had changed since Finnan last saw him. But Finnan knew that for a lie. He had the letters, after all.
Upon the thought, he reached into his leather pouch, wherein he kept his treasures, and extracted a folded piece of paper. Only three letters remained, and he kept them with him at all times. The others Geordie had sent were all destroyed, some to wet and one to fire. He should not expose one to the rain now. But he needed to remind himself just what Jeannie MacWherter truly was.
He smoothed the oft-folded paper open on his knee. Barely enough light remained for him to catch the words scrawled there. In truth, he had no need to. Everything Geordie had written was more or less inscribed on his memory.
Unlike him, Geordie had not received a decent education while young. When they met, Geordie had barely been able to write his name. Finnan had taught him that and enough to let him get by, in their quiet moments and over the long winters when time weighed heavily upon them. As a consequence, he knew Geordie’s hand as well as his own.
Which of the three missives had he drawn from the pouch? Was it the one that began, “Finn, I have met an angel,” in which Geordie poured out all the tender emotion in his heart? Was it that written after his marriage, that expressed his disappointment? Or the final outpouring of grief that held all Geordie’s pain and inability to comprehend why the woman he adored did not love him?
He could see enough words on the page to tell it for the last. Quickly, he folded the paper and tucked it away again.
The words filled his mind:
Why will she not love me? I would give anything—all the days I have left of my life—for her to take me even once to her bed. But she does not look at me the way I wish. She does not see me the way I wish.
It is some terrible punishment, Finn. Fate is repaying me for all the evil I have done: the men slain for silver, the homes burned at the direction of some vile chief. And Culloden. She sees all that when she looks at me. What we did at Culloden. That is why she breaks my heart.
Finnan closed his eyes and stopped trying to remember.Culloden.Aye, it always came back to that. No man who had been there could have come through that battle unchanged.
A thought stole into Finnan’s mind: maybe Jeannie was right in that Geordie had altered a bit in Dumfries. But the truth of him, the loyalty that made up Geordie’s heart, could not alter.
It was a sin to throw the love of such a man, unstinting and genuine, back in his face. But that Jeannie had done, hard-hearted woman that she was.
Did that make Finnan want her any less? Damned if it did.
****
Jeannie looked up from the doorstep where she sat spinning wool, and the spindle went still beneath her hands. After two days’ rain, this morning had dawned awash with heavenly blue, smeared like watery paint across the sky. She had taken her work outdoors, and Aggie had walked to Avrie House to see what she might learn.
As an agent, Aggie left much to be desired. Impulsive and voluble, she had little talent for deception. But she was Jeannie’s only choice, and Jeannie knew she would go mad without news.
She fumbled with the wool in her lap and tried to concentrate on the task at hand. In no fit state of mind for spinning, her usually competent fingers had gone all clumsy, and the yarn broke time after time. Yet winter would soon be at their door with cold and snow. They would need warm clothing.
Frustration caused her to mutter a word oft-spoken in the taverns from which she had coaxed or dragged her father. She wanted to lay the spindle aside, wanted to walk down the path and meet Aggie.
Or anyone else who might be on his way.
