Lord of the Highlands (Highlands #4)

Lord of the Highlands (Highlands #4) Page 23

“Me? Oh, from . . .” She took a moment to make sure she remembered all the details. “From outside Glasgow.”

“I see.”

Lady Rollo seemed frosty again, and Felicity couldn’t figure out what might have happened.

“Hello dear.” She nodded a greeting over the younger woman’s shoulder.

Felicity’s anxiety was replaced with a little thrill of anticipation. Will? She’d been dying to run into him. A whole day had passed since they’d last seen each other, plus she was wearing a new dress. It was the prettiest lavender color, and she’d shimmied her breasts high in the corset herself.

She was getting the hang of this period thing, for sure. If he isn’t going to take charge, she thought with a quick perusal of her bodice, I’ll just have to drop some serious hints myself.

Drawing her shoulders back, she tried to mimic Lady Rollo’s elegance. She turned, and deflated at once.

Jamie.

His eyes were waiting for her, an oily little smile wrinkling at the corners.

Creep creep creepy.

“Jamie, dearest, our guest seems quite . . . taken with our Duncrub. Perhaps you’d take her for a stroll.”

“Oh, it’s really not—”

“It would be an honor,” he said at once, striding over to help her from her seat. Jamie took her arm in his. “I fear my brother has been neglecting you.”

She bristled. The close proximity was unwelcome, the feel of this man’s body touching hers repugnant. “Not at all,” she mumbled, wondering how she could possibly get out of it.

“Has he yet shown you our lovely Kincladie Wood?”

“He . . . no.” Her eyes brightened. “But there’s really no possible way I could go into woods with these shoes.”

“Nonsense.” Jamie used the excuse to peruse the length of her.

Creep.

“The path is dry, and you are perfectly outfitted.”

“I’d really rather not. I . . . I’m feeling quite tired all of a sudden.”

“Then a walk is just the thing to invigorate you. I shall show you the Roman fort. Has Willie told you about it?”

Rollo was so not a Willie. And why hadn’t he shown her around more? “No,” she replied, trying to hide her frown.

“Then we must go. Come,” he said with a little tug to her arm. “I just saw Willie himself, outside. Perhaps he’ll join us.”

At the possibility of seeing Will, she demurred. And though they didn’t run into him, the walk was surprisingly pleasant, along gentle rolls through lush pastureland, amid old trees, clumps of wildflowers, and the reddish fronds of late-season ferns.

He told her how the Roman Empire had made its way there centuries ago, and they walked among the furrows of what he claimed were an old Roman rampart and ditch.

Felicity found herself growing a little easier. Maybe Will’s brother wasn’t all bad.

“Scotland has so much texture,” she said, unthinking.

Jamie was silent for a moment. This Felicity truly was a peculiar one. But so lovely, and unaffected, and he found he couldn’t take his eyes from her.

The last woman he lay with was his wife, and she had the jowly, tight- lipped look of a Campbell. The woman he’d married was nothing like this flower. The walk had flushed her cheeks pink, and her décolletage glowed dewy and pale. He knew she’d have dressed with his damned brother in mind, but it was Willie’s own fault if he chose not to appreciate the boon he’d been offered.

“Aye, and just there”—he pointed to a low shrub—“you can see the brambles have ripened.”

Jamie couldn’t help but flick his gaze down, taking in Felicity’s own ripened fruits. He licked his lips, studying her profile.

“Brambles? I’m afraid I’ve never seen . . .” She roved her eyes over the sea of greenery, uncertain what he was pointing to.

It couldn’t be so easy, could it? Jamie chuckled low. “Have you not seen brambles then?”

The girl shook her head in guileless wonder, and he thought how Willie really was missing a good bet.

He walked to one of the bushes tangling the edge of their path and began to pluck a handful of small, ripe berries.

“Oh, blackberries!” she said brightly. “How funny, you call them brambles?” She looked up at him and Jamie watched as Felicity caught herself, schooling her radiant exuberance into something flatter and primmer.

Too easy.

She reached her hand out to try one, but Jamie gave a shake to his head, and brought a berry up to her mouth. Her lips parted automatically, but she blushed at once, looking away.

A small drop of juice darkened the corner of her lip, and Jamie inhaled sharply, fighting the urge to lean down and take her mouth with his.

He raised his hand instead, and, cupping her face, he dabbed his thumb along Felicity’s lower lip. He’d meant to pass it off as a cavalier gesture, but his groin tightened at the silk of her skin against his roughened hand, and he dragged the tip of his thumb slowly along her mouth.

She recoiled. “Get your hands off me.”

He laughed.

Hastily, she turned to walk from him. His heartbeat sped. He imagined grabbing those hips, spinning her in his arms.

She walked briskly from him, a nervous filly. “I . . . You . . .” She fumbled for words. What was that he heard in her voice? Excitement?

He watched the play of her fine shoulder blades under that creamy skin. Followed the line of her spine down to what he was sure was a tight little ass.

Giving a shake to his head, he adjusted the growing thickness in his britches.

She stopped before a crude stone monument—a cross atop a pile of gray stones. Simple white lettering declared: MAGGIE WALL BURNT HERE 1657 AS A WITCH.

“You’ve found our monument to dear, mad Maggie.” Jamie came to stand at her side, resting his hand on her lower back. “She was burnt here, only last year. Pity.”

He eased his hand down. Felt the answering rustle of layers of crisp petticoat. She hopped a step to the side.

“The more zealous of our townsfolk claimed she was a witch.”

“A . . .” Felicity swung to look at him, her face blanched the color of the whitewashed letters. “A witch?”

“No need to fear.” He chuckled, amused by her naïveté. “They say the flames sear the soul from the body. Maggie’s spirit is long gone from here.”

Felicity looked frightened, her face the picture of vulnerability and innocence. Now is the moment to offer comfort, Jamie thought, and he reached for her. Wrapped his hand behind her neck to pull her close.

“No,” she shrieked, swatting his hand aside. “Pig.”

The venom took him aback, and he felt an answering wave of hostility sweep cold through his chest.

“Saving yourself for the cripple? You need a man. I don’t imagine wee Willie could get his prick hard if he tried.” He grabbed her hand, brought it to his crotch.

“What the . . .” Felicity screamed, pulling her hand hard from his.

Fury flushed her cheeks red, and Jamie laughed at the sight. He should’ve known she’d not be up for a good game. Pathetic, just like his brother.

“I’m going home.” She strode ahead, and Jamie had the sense of her being a small and weak thing.

“And by the way,” she ranted, “you are such an unbelievable jerk to be hitting on your brother’s woman.”

His lust soured into loathing. “You’re a fool if you think our Willie will marry a girl like you.” He watched as she marched ahead, fighting the impulse to catch up to her and shove her faster along the path.

Until he looked over his shoulder, glimpsing once more the stone grave marker.

MAGGIE WALL BURNT HERE 1657 AS A WITCH.

And Jamie’s glower eased, chilling into a slow, calculated smile.

Chapter 15

Will opened his bedroom door to find Felicity in the hallway, panting, and with her fist poised to knock.

“Finally,” she exclaimed, bursting into his room. She was breathless and agitated, but it only made her look all the more radiant.

She was wearing her new gown, and the bodice molded to her body like a second skin. The light purple color set off the blonde in her hair, and the effect was like lavender flowers and sunshine.

Will scrubbed a hand over his face. What madness had him waxing so rhapsodic?

Fool. You’re naught but a fool.

“Where have you been all day?” she demanded.

“Just here,” he replied cautiously. Looking from her to the door, he added, “Where you should not be. It’s entirely inappropriate for you to be in my rooms.”

“Screw that.” She stormed back, pushing the door to. “Your brother just made a pass at me.”

“A . . .” He furrowed his brows, a cold knot settling in his belly. “What did Jamie do to you?”

“You left me alone all day, and he, you know, he tried to touch me.”

The chill in his gut froze into white fury. “I’ll kill him.”

“No,” she said, startling him. “I’ll kill him. Jerk. He’s a total jerk.” She stormed to the window, staring out.

“Och,” he bit out. “Felicity.” It was all he could say. He wanted to go to her. Comfort her. And then murder Jamie.

Instead, he fisted his hands at his sides. He needed to get her out of there. His brother and mother were poison. The latter had spent the better part of the afternoon interrogating him about their guest’s origins.

Will would have Felicity safe and away from prying eyes. And from roving hands especially.

“I hate how he keeps calling you Willie,” she grumbled.

Rollo’s eyes shot to her. The woman had a knack for seeing things as he saw them.

“And I am sorry.” She rounded on him. “Your mom isn’t going to win any hospitality awards either. Your poor dad. Sitting down there all by himself all the time. Jamie and your mom treat him like he’s part of the furniture.”

The chill in his heart warmed at her words. “Are you quite finished?” he asked patiently.