Finnan MacAllister failed to come and collect his man when the dark descended like a deep blue curtain over the glen, even though Jeannie, Danny, and Aggie sat up talking long into the night. At last Danny fell into a fitful doze, and Aggie retired to the loft, but Jeannie dared not take to her bed.
She knew the scent of Finnan MacAllister remained there, along with his essence. She supposed she might strip herself naked, crawl among those blankets, and revel in memories. But she felt far too restless.
When the cottage lay quiet, she stepped outside and into the beautiful night. Stars spread overhead like bright clusters of jewels, or the eyes of pagan gods. A clear night, and not the best to be abroad and hunted. She stood silent, with her breath held, but heard nothing. No shadow stirred, approached, or transformed itself into Finnan MacAllister, and she trailed back inside, disconsolate.
By dawn, her desire had reached fever pitch, but he did not come then either. Danny was up by first light, moving under his own power and seeming as restless as Jeannie. She watched Aggie fuss over him, watched them converse together with their heads close.
She dissuaded the lad when he said he wished to leave.
“Laird MacAllister promised he would come and collect you. He will do so when he thinks it safe.”
Twice before noon they heard and glimpsed mounted parties that rode by and splashed through the ford that lay not far off, and Danny hid in the loft. But the horsemen did not stop at the cottage, and at last, in mid afternoon, Danny fell into a doze, with Aggie nodding beside him.
Jeannie, unable to quell her uneasiness, went out into her garden. Here the warm sun found her, and she told herself digging in the dirt would bring a measure of calm. But the surrounding quiet called on the sleep she had missed the past two nights, and she was more than half asleep when the first pebble landed beside her.
And from whence had that come? She raised her eyes to search for a source, and a second pebble joined the first, just beside her knee.
The third gave her a direction—a lone pine just up the slope from her garden wall. And did her eyes catch a hint of movement there?
Abandoning her hand trowel, she got to her feet. Her heart began to pound double time. She narrowed her eyes against the glare of sunlight and saw—
A flicker of well-known plaid: MacAllister tartan.
She allowed her gaze to sweep the immediate vicinity, searching out danger. Then she gathered her skirts, climbed the wall, and went up the slope, keeping her eyes down as if searching for herbs. Through the coarse grass she swept, and the bracken, and beneath the branches of the pine.
And there he stood, whole and breathing—the answer to all her prayers.
Oh, and he might as well be the spirit of the place, his hair the color of the tree bark behind him, his eyes full of reflected sunlight, far more handsome even than she had remembered.
And she had remembered him generously.
“Whisht,” he said at once. “Speak softly; sound carries far too well.”
She nodded, her throat tight with desire.
He reached out and drew her closer beneath the branches of the tree, his hand warm on her bare arm. His gaze moved all over her, like fingers in the dark.
“How fares Danny? I did not dare come last night and risk leading the hounds to you.”
“He is much better.” Somehow Jeannie drew her gaze from his lips. “Sleeping now, but he was up earlier and clear in his mind.” She barely breathed the words.
“Good. Keep him for me until nightfall, if you will. We will away then.”
“And, between now and nightfall?” Jeannie stepped still nearer to him, close enough that she could catch the wild, dusky smell of sunshine and pure male. His hand still grasped her arm, and her breath came more quickly.
“You must go back down and pretend I am not here.”
“No.”
“No?” He quirked an eyebrow and parted his lips, no doubt to protest. Jeannie did not give him the chance. She rose on tiptoe and covered his open mouth with hers.
Ah, bliss! The taste of him flooded upon her and promptly seduced all her senses. She had been craving just this, with every heartbeat.
This, and far more.
She raised her hands and pressed them against his chest even as she consumed him with her mouth. She wanted to draw his soul from him, possess it, own it—own him. Could such a man, so wild and wicked, be owned?
After a stunned moment, he began to participate in the kiss with enthusiasm. His tongue swept Jeannie’s mouth, trailing heat, in blatant domination. Jeannie’s knees promptly wobbled, and she tumbled forward against him.
