Bride of the Black Scot by Elaine Coffman Page B

things to me…things I do not understand.” She shook her head.
    He stood holding her hand and looking down at her. He drew
her toward him and his gaze searched her eyes as if he were looking for some
hint of truth. “You had best be careful, lass. That kind of talk sets a man to
thinking things he has no business thinking.”
    “Then that makes us well matched, for I have been doing so
all day.”
    “Come on,” he said, pulling her along.
    “Where are we going?”
    “Back to camp before we both do something we will regret.”
    “You should speak for yourself.”
    “That is what I am trying to do,” he said, and she wanted
nothing more than to go to him, to kiss that hard mouth into such passion he
would take her for his own—take her and never let her go. She realized suddenly
that it was truly what she wanted, that she had thought of little else since the
moment she had first seen him. It took every ounce of pride she had to keep
from asking him to take her in his arms, to kiss her as he had kissed her
before.
    “Are you really afraid you might do something you will be
sorry for?” she asked.
    “Aye, I ken I already have.”
    “You should never say something like that to an
impressionable woman,” she said. “If it is your wish that I wed the Black Scot,
you should be doing all you can to dissuade me, instead of telling me you find
me appealing.”
    He jerked to a stop. “You misunderstand me, lass. I dinna
find you appealing in the least,” he said harshly. “My desire to return to camp
was only my desire to spare you the humiliation of my rejection.”
    “You don’t lie very well,” she said, thinking his dark,
cynical beauty made him only more attractive to her. She came up on her tiptoes
and kissed him softly on the mouth. “You like me more than you are willing to
admit…”
    He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.
    “I know you better than you think, m’lord, and I find you
transparent as glass,” she said. She didn’t find him transparent at all, but it
sounded good and made her feel as if she had some power in this situation,
which had gotten terribly out of hand.
    He jerked her against him, his hand coming behind her head
and holding her there, so her mouth was against his. He kissed her fiercely,
possessively, using the pressure of his mouth to force her lips apart.
    She kissed him back with all the untutored passion she had
within her, knowing it was an inexperienced kiss at best. He seemed to take
over, his tongue coming roughly into her mouth again and again, as if he were
trying to frighten her. She moaned, not frightened at all. The kiss turned
suddenly gentle. She arched against him, melting when he groaned deep in his
throat, his hand coming up to close warmly over her breast. A desperate craving
consumed her and he whispered something in a language she could not understand.
    He released her suddenly. “There will come a time,” he said
bitterly, “when you will find you dinna know me at all.”
     
    Stephen sat before the fire, staring over the smoldering
coals to where Juliette lay sleeping in his tartan.
    “I ken it is hard looking one way and rowing another,” Angus
said.
    Stephen looked at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”
    Angus sat down near him. “You seem to find yourself sinking
deeper and deeper into the quicksand of deceit. You should have told the lass
who you are while you had the chance. Before it was too late.”
    “It isna too late.”
    “Aye, it is.”
    “What makes you say that?”
    “You waited overlong, lad. The lass’s heart is involved
now.”
    “It doesna matter. I will simply tell her.”
    “Aye, but not without suffering her hurt and anger.”
    “What do you think I should do then?”
    Angus shrugged and picking up a stick, stirred the fire.
“The lass cares for you.”
    “Aye, that complicates things for now, but it makes the
future look a bit brighter.”
    “Aye, if you can tell her the truth without losing