Relief began to heat the ball of ice in Veronica’s stomach.
The crowd greeted Montgomery like a hero. Tom clapped him on the back. Ralston did the same, then surreptitiously wiped his eyes. Most of the maids fell behind Mrs. Brody, even Millicent, adding their words of relief.
He was one of them, their laird, their Lord Fairfax.
Montgomery glanced in her direction, made his way through the grove of trees, accepting the words of those who pressed close.
He reached her, stood in front of her, bits of leaves still clinging to his hair. She wanted to reach forward and brush them loose, but she’d lost the power to move.
They stood looking at each other, only an arm’s length separating them. The distance might as well have been miles.
The breeze blew around them, tousled his hair, and swept one leaf off his shoulder. The crowd around them grew silent, no doubt interested in their conversation.
Or their lack of it.
He didn’t say anything, but neither did she. Moments ticked by like sluggish snails. The sun beat down on her head since she’d dispensed with a bonnet. She smoothed her hair back from her forehead, looked away, then back at him.
“Where were you?”
“Where was I?”
“Yes, madam, where were you?”
She hadn’t raced toward him; she hadn’t rushed into his arms. She hadn’t laughed with delight at his safety. She hadn’t screamed his name. Instead, she’d stood on the fringes of the crowd, calm and unaffected.
She had nothing to say, no explanation to offer him even as he waited.
Abruptly and insanely, he wanted to hurt her. He wanted to wipe that half smile off her face, bring misery into her eyes. He wanted her to feel the depth of betrayal he felt at this moment.
“Should I apologize for surviving?”
She blinked at him. Just that and no other reaction. As if she were so cold that the heat of his anger could not melt her.
She was hot enough in passion. Was that the only way to reach her? Had he been a fool to think that she might have cared for him?
Hewasan idiot to have felt so vulnerable around her, to have confided in her. Hewasan idiot to think that passion could lead to something greater, something more.
They were no better than rutting animals. He’d be her stag, her stallion, her boar, taking her when he wanted. But he’d be nothing else. Not companion or confidant or love.
He glanced at Elspeth, an unspoken request. The maid nodded and slipped away.
“Very well, Veronica. We’ll use each other and fuck each other. But I’ll be damned if I ever tell you another secret, and I sure as hell won’t ever trust you again.”
Veronica took a step back, her fingers resting at the base of her throat. He wasn’t going to let her escape. He stepped forward, leaning close so only she could hear his words.
“I could almost believe that you had something to do with my crash. Do you want to remain in Scotland so much you’d make yourself a widow?”
“You think I had something to do with your accident?” she asked.
“Was it an accident?” he asked, his voice cold. “You were in the old distillery last night. What were you doing there?”
“I wanted to talk to you,” she said. “I told you that.”
“Did you touch anything?”
She shook her head.
He studied her for a few moments, wishing she’d say something, hoping she’d offer up a word, an explanation, an excuse. When she remained silent, he turned and walked away, motioning for several of the men to follow him.
