Devil's Highlander (Clan MacAlpin #1)

Devil's Highlander (Clan MacAlpin #1) Page 25

“Ah, you're Lowlanders, I see.”

“Aye, from a village east of the Clyde,” Marjorie said. “But not for long—”

“Not for long, however,” Cormac interrupted, “as we find ourselves on the brink of a great move. My wee trout here” — he gave an exaggerated squeeze to her shoulders — “has a sister who just married into a Jamaican coffee plantation.”

Marjorie shrugged, attempting to jostle Cormac's arm from around her shoulders. Clearly, he wanted to speak for both of them. The thought that he might believe her incapable of sustaining their drama vexed her.

“Jamaica. Of course,” Forbes said with a knowing nod. “Croydon, is it? I've an uncle who's spent much time in the Indies.”

Marjorie saw Cormac's jaw tighten. They were on dangerous ground. They'd armed themselves with rudimentary information about the coffee business in the West Indies, but they'd also known that nothing could prepare them for the detailed questions that would invariably arise.

She decided that, as a woman, her mistakes would be seen as excusable, expected even. The notion galled her, but she dove in all the same. “Yes, in Croydon. My brother-in-law will be pulling Hughie in as a partner.”

“Aye,” Cormac broke in quickly. “'Twas most generous of my in-laws. Though it's a bigger enterprise than I've ever faced before. 'Tis why we came here… for… “ Cormac looked meaningfully at the ship.

“Ah. You'll be wanting introductions, of course.” A smile spread across the bailie's face. “I'm hosting a dinner tomorrow, and I insist you come. There will be folk in attendance whom you must meet.”

“I'd be honored.” Cormac glanced down at Marjorie and gave her an assessing look. She imagined she saw a warning in his eyes, and it rankled. “Though I imagine yours isn't an affair for women.” She glared back up at him. “But Hughie,” she said through gritted teeth, “I would simply adore dining with the bailie.”

“And so you shall,” Forbes said merrily. “Wives are most welcome at my affairs. In fact, you'll have much to discuss with the other women. It's a whole new world in the Indies; there will be much for you to prepare for, my lady. There is the intense heat, for one. And such a remarkable variety of flora and fauna!”

“Oh! Flora and fauna?” Marjorie clapped her hands. Hughie's little trout wasn't done yet. “How uniquely fortuitous! My husband does adore our feathered kin.”

“Truly?” Forbes looked taken aback.

“Truly,” Marjorie replied before Cormac had a chance to. She avoided his gaze and the daggers she felt pointed her way. But really, she couldn't abide being silenced or shut out.

“Any particular… species?” Forbes asked Cormac. “That is the correct phraseology, is it not?” Marjorie wrested the attention back to her. “Rare varieties of duck are an especial favorite. A veritable duck expert is my husband. Isn't that right, Hughie?”

She finally spared Cormac a glance, deciding he looked not unlike a cat ready to pounce. He managed a tight twitch of his head, which she imagined could be construed as a nod.

“Ducks… “ Forbes mused. “Are there ducks to be found in-?”

Marjorie didn't know the first thing about ducks. Nor did she, at the moment, know just how she might go about bringing her extemporaneous ramble to a close. “Oh, sadly it's no more ducks for Hughie. My Lord Brodie finds himself eager to move on. He's greatly anticipating recording the various tropical species found in the Indies.” She and her foolish temper had her talked into a corner. Forbes seemed to be formulating a question, and the prospect alarmed her.

Just when she began to worry that Cormac was going to leave her hung out to dry, he chimed in. “That's quite enough about me, trout. I'm certain our new acquaintance has no interest in the banalities of my pastime.” He gave a patronizing — and, she'd daresay, overly firm — pat to her arm.

Forbes looked visibly relieved. “Well, I must admit to a dreadful lack of knowledge where… uh… birds are concerned.”

Thank goodness. Marjorie breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Her whimsical speech had really been quite reckless.

She was certain she'd hear about it later.

She glanced up at Cormac and pursed her lips not to smile. Reckless maybe, but how it had been worth it. The man needed to learn a little humor, and if ducks were the thing to chisel through that stony facade of his, then so be it.

“I may not know birds,” Forbes continued, “but I do know business. And the plantations of the Indies are quite the opportunity. Your brother-in-law sounds like a very generous man indeed. But I'm afraid I didn't catch his name… ?”

Panic skittered up her spine. She hadn't reckoned on the bailie actually knowing anyone in Jamaica. She forced a brittle smile onto her face. “His name is John. Oh, John! Our dear, lovely John!” With exaggerated dismay, Marjorie brought a hand to her nose and mouth. “But Hughie, I'm afraid this stench is getting to me. Shan't we be on our way?”

As much as Cormac wanted to watch her flail in her own verbal traps, he knew he needed to get them away from there as soon as possible. “I see I've been remiss, my wee trout. If you'll excuse us, Forbes.”

“But of course,” he replied grandly. “The docks are no place for the fairer sex. I shall send my own carriage for you, tomorrow at six, at the… ?”

“Cross Keys Inn. Dockside.” Cormac whisked Marjorie around, putting space between them and the bailie. Fairer sex? How about more unruly, wore taxing, more maddening… He strained to keep their charade while Forbes was still in sight. Mustering affected cheer, he called over his shoulder, “Tomorrow at six then!” When they were out of view, he dropped her arm as though she were leprous. “What in blazes were you thinking?”

“Well, nothing, obviously.” She shook her arm, flinching away from him even though he'd already separated from her. “Seeing as mere wives are good for naught but thinking about the weather and—”

“And don't forget flora and fauna.” Blasted woman. He didn't know where she came up with such nonsense. “Seems as though you had much to say on that particular topic.”

“You provoked me.”

“I?” Cormac stopped in his tracks, “I provoked you?”

“Yes. You've been goading me since we left Dunnottar, in fact.”

He merely stared at her. She'd dressed as a wealthy lady would, in a blue-green gown that set off the color of her eyes. The tight bodice pressed her breasts into two perfect globes; all day it had been an effort to keep his gaze above her chin. And she claimed he provoked her?

She stormed on, toward the inn, and he jogged to catch up.

“How, exactly, have I managed to so bedevil you? By helping you on this mission of yours? By keeping you safe?

Or was it when I fed you and gave you a bed while I slept on the floor?”

“You didn't have to—” She stopped herself from

saying something, and Cormac couldn't help but imagine her completed thought.

“Didn't have to what, Ree?” he asked in a low whisper. Stepping closer, he took her arm, and he might as well have stepped before an open flame, so much did her proximity scorch him. “Sleep apart from you?” She blushed, giving him a breathless look that made him wild and wishing he had crawled into bed with her.

Marjorie pulled away and strode on, entering the inn with an angry sweep of her skirts. “You didn't have to speak for me at the docks. I am perfectly capable—”

“Of getting yourself into trouble.” He lowered his voice so as not to be overheard, nodding a perfunctory greeting to the innkeeper as they passed.

“Oh Hughie, I know a fine husband like you would never allow that to happen.” She stormed up the stairs to their door, fumbling with the lock.

Cormac snatched the key from her to open it.

“And Hughie, how wonderful that your little trout has such a great man like you to open doors for her.” She stomped into their bedroom. “To make her decisions, and to speak for her.”

“Och, Ree, stop this.” He closed the door. The woman had lost her head. Force decisions upon her? The concept was laughable. Cormac would be first in line to swear there wasn't a man alive capable of taking control of Marjorie. “I only worried—”

“You worried I'd mess it up, didn't you?” She struggled to unlace her shoes and finally just kicked them off.

Standing, she panted before him, lips parted and cheeks flushed. “You worried I couldn't handle a simple act.” He worried she'd get hurt. He worried she'd never find her Davie. He worried the lad was already dead. He worried her heart might break as irrevocably as his had so many years before.

He worried that the sad look in her eyes would never go away.

“That's not it at all.”

“You worried I'd ruin everything like I always do.”

“Stop it, Marjorie.” She was intentionally misunderstanding. She'd whipped herself into a lather, her breasts rising and falling with each breath. He stepped closer.

“Isn't that it, Hughie?” She tore the comb from her hair, and slammed it down on the table. Long curls cascaded over her shoulders. “You didn't think I'd be able to carry on a simple conversation without—”

“Stop.” He took another step.

She sneered. “Oh Hughie, am I bothering—”

Another step. “Stop it with this Hughie business.”

“Make me!”

He did — with a kiss.

Chapter 17

He couldn't fight it. Feeling had seared back to life in his numb heart, and he'd awoken ravenous. Ree was nothing but feeling and passion, and it set him on fire.

He kissed her, pouring the whole of his godforsaken soul into it.