Her Outlaw (15 page)

“But wait a minute,” she began.

No, he didn’t want her to have time to think. Emma was too intelligent. Better to close the deal now. “So, Emma. What will it be?” He reached out, fingered the ruby pendant. “Will you join me in the coach, or shall we ready your horse for a ride?”

She slapped his hand away from her necklace. At the show of spirit, Dair felt a surge of lust and he halfway hoped she’d refuse him. Look at her, dressed like a man, those britches showcasing her curves. He wanted his hands on her. He could easily visualize scooping her up and tossing her into the coach. He’d hold her tightly to restrain her, and he’d be forced to muffle her angry screams with his kiss. Either way, Dair came out a winner.

“I’m not a fool,” she said, crossing her arms, her right foot beginning to tap. “I don’t entirely trust that doctor and I certainly don’t trust you. I recognized your attempts to prick my curiosity. I suspect that if I tried to climb on my horse right now, you would attempt to prevent me from leaving. You wouldn’t succeed, MacRae. I’ve taken precautions.”

“Oh?” He bit back a smile. Damn, she was something.

“I despise men who lie. That’s one reason why I find the idea of traveling with you so disturbing.”

“So, you’ll come with me,” Dair said, sensing victory, if not in the battle, at least in this initial skirmish.

“It’s expedient,” she said, shrugging. “However, we’ll do this on my terms. You keep to yourself. I don’t want you talking to me any more than necessary or touching me at all. We’ll travel together, but separately.”

She’s scared of me. Good. I can work that to my advantage.
He studied his fingernails and said, “If that’s what you want…”

“It is. Now, a few other details. We’ll need to hire someone to return my horse and arrange to have my things sent…where?”

“I own a town house. Number three Bennington Place in Edinburgh.”

She looked up, then down the street. “In the meantime, I need to find a dress shop. My highwayman’s adventure is over and I need more appropriate clothing.”

“A pity. You look fetching in pants.”

She offered him a droll smile. “I suggest you begin the no talking part now, MacRae. In fact, I can use a bit of a break from your company. Why don’t you see to my horse and baggage while I make my necessary purchases. We can meet back here in say—” she thought for a moment and her hand reached up to hold the pendant “—three-quarters of an hour.”

It was a test. Of that, Dair had no doubt. In an effort to show his cooperation, he kept his mouth shut and answered her with a nod. Turning to Charlie, he said, “If you’ll see to Mrs. Tate’s horse, I’ll take care of the baggage arrangements.”

He checked his pocket watch, gave Emma a two-fingered salute, and walked away whistling. She’d be waiting at the coach forty-five minutes from now. Emma Tate’s word was gold.

So, then what? How best to accomplish his goals? Ride all the way to Edinburgh without talking to her? Sounded boring as hell. And no touching? That would be sheer torture. But it appeared to be important to her, and he guessed it’d be a good way to start earning back her trust. As he entered the telegraph office, Dair decided that particular task needed to be top of his list. To win the battle, he’d need Emma to trust him. Smart, intelligent Emma Tate.

“Can I help you, sir?” asked a man behind the counter.

“Know where I can find a miracle?”

T
HE TRIP TO
E
DINBURGH
proved to be a nightmare. The coach broke down twice. Charlie took a wrong road three times, and Dair had another spell of sickness that had him holed up in a village inn and left her twiddling her thumbs and wondering if she’d made the biggest mistake of her life by tagging along. Her doubts increased the following day when he again claimed illness and asked for what he’d termed the “touch treatment.”

Emma smelled something fishy about that whole Malaysian Syndrome business, but she couldn’t deny his suffering. Though he hadn’t been pale and shivering like the first time, no one could fake the glassy sheen of pain in his eyes. Could they?

So as he lay with his head in her lap, her fingers stroking the furrows from his brow, threading through the thick, silky locks of his raven hair, sliding over the hard bulge of muscle in his arm, she’d reminded herself that she’d chosen to pursue the mystery of the ruby because that’s what she wanted to do, not because it meant prolonging her contact with the lying thief. She’d made her decision in spite of that fact, in fact. Being around Dair MacRae all day every day was pure torment.

The man was a veritable sneak. When not incapacitated by his illness, he played by the letter of the law she’d laid down, never touching her, speaking to her only when necessary. And yet, he…hovered. He surrounded. He intruded. Without saying a word, he made her think and remember and feel. The sound of his breathing as he dozed reminded her of their night spent together. The scent of sandalwood that clung to him called to her. The lazy stretch of his leg as he propped a boot on the seat beside her drew her gaze and made her fingers itch to touch.

And then there was the way he watched her. She’d made a huge mistake by not including staring in her list of the forbidden. Time and time again she’d felt the weight of his gaze, and she’d look up and discover him watching her, his gray eyes intent. Sometimes smoldering. Sometimes downright hot. He’d look her over slowly and despite her effort to prevent it, her body would respond. Her nipples would tighten, her pulse increase. An aching heat would pool in her womb and she’d have to force herself not to squirm in her seat. It was maddening. Humiliating. She despised him. Abhorred him. He was a liar, a thief and a rogue.

A liar, thief and rogue whom she’d allowed past her defenses, allowed into her bed. A mental image of his hard, naked body rising above her flashed in her mind until she quickly quashed it.

He’d done as she’d required; she couldn’t fault him for that. And yet, she sensed he went along with her demands because doing so fell in with his own plans. He was a predator stalking his prey. Biding his time and waiting for the right moment to pounce.

They finally arrived in Edinburgh in the middle of a rainy night, a full week later than she’d expected. They retired to a town house Dair claimed to have won in a card game the previous year. Dair immediately made himself scarce, and a maid showed Emma to her room. She welcomed the privacy of bed and adjoining bath with relief. If she’d had to spend another day shut up inside a carriage with Dair MacRae she’d have lost her…objectivity.

Emma wore her necklace to bed and locked her bedroom door.

Little did she know that the man would go missing.

When Dair failed to put in an appearance the next day, Emma had supposed he’d suffered a spell. She attempted to be patient. The second day when he again failed to show himself she’d quizzed the suspiciously tight-lipped servants. Whether clueless or loyal to their employer she couldn’t have said, but it wasn’t until she threatened to bring in a lawman to make sure the man didn’t lie dead in his bed that they produced a key and let her into his suite. His empty suite.

Emma’s hand slapped against her chest as she made sure the pendant hadn’t somehow disappeared.

Furious and frustrated, she pondered her options. She could catch a train to London, a ship home. She could take a seat in the entry hall with a shotgun in her lap ready to blast the blackguard when he walked through the door. While both of those options offered some appeal, neither would have solved the ruby’s mystery. So Emma had decided to work on the effort herself.

She spent her third day in Edinburgh tracking down Robbie Potter only to learn he was away on holiday. The fourth, fifth, and sixth days she spent haunting bookshops and circulating libraries for information about Clan MacRae. To please herself, she spent some time playing tourist. She observed the Black Watch on the Castle Esplanade, explored the Princess Gardens and toured the open exhibition of the Edinburgh Photographic Society where she purchased a photograph of Donald’s Hospital. The architecture reminded her of the Texas Spring Palace before the awful fire that destroyed it.

It was late on the afternoon of the seventh day that she first ran across the name Roslin of Strathardle in a bookshop on Princess Street. In the time of Kenneth McAlpin, Roslin had been a healer who’d saved a village from an outbreak of a deadly, never-before-seen disease. Excitement sizzled through Emma as she purchased the book and headed back to Dair’s house. She read late into the night and fell asleep to dreams about magic-makers, secret spells and potions.

She awoke to find a rose on her pillow.

Dair. Panicked, she grabbed for her necklace and breathed a sigh of relief to find it still around her neck where it belonged. “The cad.” She stalked to the balcony doors and flung them open, prepared to fling the flower into the street.

He was down there on the sidewalk in his shirtsleeves playing marbles with a trio of neighborhood boys. Upon hearing the window open he looked up, shot her a carefree grin, and gave her that jaunty salute he favored. Emma stopped herself from smiling back. Just barely.

Instead, she worked up a scowl and made a show of tossing the rose away. Dair’s grin widened as it floated downward, and graceful and powerful as a panther, he moved to catch it. He sniffed the blossom, then offered her a courtier’s bow and tucked the rose inside his shirt. Against his heart. Then he winked at her, and Emma let out a frustrated groan and slammed the door so hard that it bounced right back open.

His laughter echoed on the morning air.

A knock sounded against the door, a feminine voice calling, “Ma’am?” Emma bade her to come in, and the door opened to reveal a maid with a breakfast tray. “Mr. MacRae thought you might like breakfast abed this morning, ma’am. Would you like it served there or at the table?”

It took Emma a moment to get past her surprise at hearing three whole sentences come out of the normally taciturn maid’s mouth to register just what she’d said. “The table is fine, thank you.”

“I’ve other good news to share. The railroad office finally located your baggage and it arrived here first thing this morning. We’ll bring it up as soon as everything is pressed.”

“Excellent,” Emma said in a dry tone. She didn’t believe that pack of lies for a minute. She’d bet her favorite hairbrush that Dair MacRae had held her things hostage up til now.

Nevertheless, she’d be glad to get her own possessions back. Emma had purchased one dress during the trip to Edinburgh and another upon her arrival. Neither fit her particularly well and she’d been tempted more than once to return to the comfort of her highwayman’s costume.

“Mr. MacRae says you’re to have anything you request,” the maid continued. “I’ll be honest and tell you that we’re all a little out of practice around here when it comes to caring for women. We’ve been a bachelor abode for many years now. Mr. Campbell—he’s the man who owned this home before Mr. MacRae—he seldom entertained overnight guests. We never have any ladies like yourself for an extended stay, so from now on if service is lacking, it’s because we’re new at it.”

Ladies like myself? What sort of “ladies” did he ordinarily entertain? She could guess. “So as a rule, Mr. MacRae’s guests stay only overnight?”

The maid smiled sheepishly. “Oh…I see…no, ma’am. You misunderstood. Mr. MacRae doesn’t have guests at all. He seldom spends the night here himself.”

Oh. Now she really did see. “Well, then. I’m sure your service will be fine. The bacon and warm biscuits smell delicious. I do have one request, however. Please relay a message to Mr. MacRae that I wish to see him downstairs in half an hour.”

“Certainly, ma’am. Enjoy your breakfast, ma’am.” The servant made a little half bow then left Emma alone.

Emma took a seat at her breakfast table, then set the newspaper aside to read later. She’d been following the exploits of the Highland Riever with interest since her arrival in Edinburgh. After an extended period of inactivity, the jewel thief had struck in a flurry of activity in recent days. Newspaper interviews with both the authorities and victims proved quite entertaining. The man was a veritable legend.

The news, however, could wait. She planned what she’d say to Dair as she ate, working up a good mad while she was about it. Her temper gained steam while she bathed, but it wasn’t until she reached for her towel that the most disturbing thought occurred.

During her visits to bookshops and circulating libraries over the past week, she’d searched for information about Malaysian Yellow River Syndrome. She’d found nothing. What if he’d lied in order to hide his true sickness? A sickness he’d contracted through his dissolute lifestyle.

What if Dair MacRae had the clap?

He could have given it to her.

Oh, no. Emma’s hand trembled as she reached for a fluffy white towel. What did she remember about the symptoms of Venus’s Curse? She’d spent a good chunk of her childhood growing up in a saloon befriended by whores. What had the women of Rachel Warden’s Social Emporium had to say about such things? She recalled that syphilis made people crazy. Gonorrhea hurt. She didn’t remember anything about causing severe headaches.

Emma simply didn’t know enough. As a schoolteacher, she should be more knowledgeable, but the fact was she’d had no reason to concern herself with sexual diseases. She taught young children, for one thing. For another, sexual things simply weren’t a part of her life!

Emma gave her body a close examination as she dried off. How long did it take for disease to take hold? Would a woman’s symptoms be different from a man’s? She didn’t see anything unusual on the outside, and she hadn’t noted anything peculiar happening inside her since that night at Chatham Park. She had suffered one mild headache earlier in the week. And, thank the dear Lord, she’d had her monthly right on schedule.

But…the clap? “I’ll kill him,” she murmured. “I really will.”

Sounds from her bedroom indicated that the maid had returned with her baggage. “Leave my yellow silk out for me, please,” she called, picking up her brush from atop a cabinet. “That’s all I’ll need.”