Scowling, he released the wall and put his hands around her waist. Her legs a little unsteady, she lowered them to the ground again, brushing her skirt back into position as he took a step away.
“I ken,” he murmured, resettling his kilt. “I pushed ye to come here tonight. It’s on me that ye had to dance with Stapp, that ye had to smile at him and Dunncraigh. I reckon I have ’em aimed at me, now. I’ll nae put ye into the middle of this again.”
“Brush the leaves off my back,” she countered, and turned around. Once she felt his hands on her back and tickling deliciously through her hair, she squared her shoulders. “I’ve noticed,” she said, picking and choosing her words, “that when I’m not about, you take more chances. I saw you talking with His Grace. And I saw your expression. That was not the least bit subtle or polite.”
“I r—”
“I know you were trying to make them see you as the largest threat to their plans, you big brute. My point is, I have as much to risk as you do. Perhaps more. And I’ve been wronged by them, to a greater degree than you. So no, you are not going to set me aside and go lay waste to clan Maxwell on your own. We shall do it together.”
It was more than the wish to be near him, to chat and jest with him as she used to do. Now that he’d returned, now that she’d met this new, much-improved version ofCallum MacCreath, the idea of watching him leave again, or of allowing harm to come to him, made her physically ache. And if she allowed him to view her as some delicate hothouse flower no matter how ill-prepared she felt for this task, then that old relationship she’d enjoyed so much, when they’d been equal, if wild, partners, would disappear.
“Together, aye,” he commented, as music began for a quadrille. “With me standing between ye and the vermin.”
That wasn’t much of an answer, but he hadn’t argued with her, either. “I have to go back. I’m to dance with Lord Braehaudin.”
“And I’ve his wife for a partner.” She started back to the pathway, but he took her hand. “I ken that ye’re nae the lass I pined after ten years ago. Ye’re an entirely different lass—a lady. And ye—you, standing right there—fascinate me. I’ve nae wish for harm to come to ye, but aye, I could use yer help. Just for God’s sake, be careful.”
Rebecca put a hand on his chest. “I’ll be careful if you’re careful. You used to be a man I liked despite my better judgment. You’re different now, in ways I can’t even describe.”
“Good ways, or bad ways?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.
Tightening her grip on his fingers, she towed him in the direction of the steps and the balcony. “Good ways, mostly.”
“I’ll see if I can do someaught about that.”
In truth, over the past fortnight she’d probably had more conversation with him than she had with Ian in the last six months they’d been married. Yes, they’d chatted about the weather, and meals, and Margaret, but clearly he hadn’t thought to confide in her about hisgrowing suspicions of his partners. And she saw now that that had begun to consume him. He’d worked hard to improve the profitability of Sanderson’s, but she didn’t know if owning part of a shipping company had been his dream—or if he had dreams. And he’d never,ever,had sex with her in someone else’s garden, as if he couldn’t stand the idea of not having her for another minute.
Back inside the ballroom Callum relinquished her to their host, the Marquis of Braehaudin, while he partnered with the marchioness. She tried to keep her attention on what she was doing; stepping on toes wouldn’t impress, and it had been quite a while since she’d danced with anyone. Even so, her mind kept wandering back to the garden, to the man who’d so unexpectedly stormed back into her life.
For heaven’s sake, more than once she’d actually prayed that he was dead, so she would never have to wonder what if. That was when she’d imagined him as he had been—a quick-tempered, easily offended rake in pursuit of any of a dozen different women at any given time. The man he’d become—a protective, hard, clever warrior—felt much easier on her conscience, but at the same time much harder on her heart.
As the quadrille ended, Donnach Maxwell came forward to collect her for the next country dance. She was beginning to feel like a tennis ball, batted back and forth and not even knowing on which side of the court she found herself. And she still managed to smile as he led her back onto the well-polished dance floor.
Callum wasn’t dancing, which should have pleased her. Instead, though, every unmarried female with whom he’d been previously acquainted seemed to have picked this moment to stroll by in front of him, accidentally notice his presence, and stop for a chat. As if theycould have avoided noticing such an Adonis in their presence until now.
“I wondered,” Donnach said, as they bowed and curtsied, then hopped forward in one of the sillier dances she’d learned as a young lady, “if ye would consider meeting me for a stroll tomorrow.” He hopped beside her, keeping pace. “I’m nae to call on ye at MacCreath House, but surely ye dunnae mean to allow him to keep ye from seeing yer own friends.”
She tried not to linger on that word, because her definition and his seemed to vary wildly and she needed to remain cordial. In her dictionary a friend did not murder husbands and fathers to gain control of a business. But then she wasn’t supposed to know about that. Or if she did, she wasn’t supposed to believe it. Even now, even reading Ian’s letter, she could still find room for doubt. It was so mad, after all. Could anyone commit two murders and then smile and pretend perfect innocence to the degree that Donnach and his father apparently had?
Every word he said needed now to be examined for a hidden, second meaning, every compliment for a secret threat. It was dizzying, and after her interlude in the garden she already felt off balance. “I’m residing in Callum’s house,” she said, keeping a smile on her face. “I shall honor his rules. But no, he didn’t say I couldn’t go walking with you. Where shall we meet?”
“Along the river walk in front of the cathedral,” he said promptly. “We’ll take a stroll south to the Ness Islands for a picnic luncheon.”
“You have it already planned, don’t you?” she asked, just barely refraining from sending a glance in Callum’s direction. He didn’t want her to risk her safety, but at the same time, all they had by way of proof was Ian’s note and Callum’s unwavering conviction.
“I’ve missed ye, Rebecca. We had plans, ye and I. Am I wrong to think we still do?”
If she hadn’t known, if Callum hadn’t insisted that she listen to his mad accusations and then provided Ian’s letter as proof, she would have been touched by Donnach’s pleading tone. She would have worried that he stood at risk of genuine heartache. If Callum had never returned at all, she would have been tempted to tell Donnach that wooing wasn’t necessary, and she would of course marry him.
But Callum had returned, and whatever lay between them was like lightning, bright and dangerous and mesmerizing. She craved it. Whether this was just her clinging to an old memory, an unfulfilled desire, or something that had a future, the idea of anything pulling her away from it—from him—before she’d had a chance to figure it out made her angry and almost… frantic.
This flirting with Lord Stapp was for a cause, though. It didn’t mean anything. Not any longer. It wasn’t real, and it would more than likely help. More importantly, by spending a day with Donnach Maxwell, she might discover enough information to save Callum’s life. All it would take from her was some courage.
She waited until they’d danced separately down the lines then rejoined again at the end of the row. “You are not wrong, Donnach,” she said, following that with another unfelt smile. “I have missed our chats.”
“I renew my offer to settle ye in at Samhradh House with me. Or at Edgley House, if ye prefer. Ye dunnae need to remain under Geiry’s roof.”
“I do,” she returned. “He is Margaret’s guardian. I won’t leave my daughter behind.”
