Her Kilt-Clad Rogue (5 page)

Then he politely released her and stepped back, permitting her to regain her balance and go into the room. After a moment he followed. It seemed far too intimate a place to be with him, but he did not seem the slightest ill at ease. Instead, he seemed to fill the room with his mere presence, his scent and his gaze. She tried not to think about the other circumstances that might make him so comfortable in a woman’s chamber.

“Where did ye last see it?” he asked.

“It?”

“The snake.”

Her cheeks grew hot as she pointed to the bed. “Under there. It was in the wardrobe. When I opened it, the snake fell out to the floor and proceeded to slither under the bed. I looked, but couldn’t see it.”

“Did ye get a look at it?”

She shuddered. “It was green and grey. Rather small, actually.”

“Naught more than a garden snake likely. Completely harmless.”

“I didn’t think otherwise. I’d just rather not have it under my bed, harmless or not.”

He bent down to his knees by the bed and glanced up at her, a glint of humor in his eyes. “There are a lot more dangerous things a lady could have in her bed, ye know.”

She pursed her lips at him. She had accused him of insolent humor and he had obliged. Odd how that was one of the few aspects of their relationship he seemed to remember. Although when she thought about it now, she, too, had greatly enjoyed matching wits.

He lifted the bedcovers and searched beneath the bed, giving her a most spectacular view of his bum. It strained against his breeches, tight and well-formed, tapering off into a remarkable pair of muscular thighs and calves. Unbidden, heat rushed through her. Appalled at her thinking, Genevieve tore her gaze away and settled it on the window.

“I canna see a thing under here.” His voice was muffled as he swept his arm back and forth beneath the bed. “I didna feel anything either.”

“I sincerely hope the creature departed.”

“Perhaps.” He rose and dusted off his breeches. “If ye’d like, I’ll check the bedsheets and blankets.”

For a fleeting moment, Genevieve pictured herself tangled with him in those very sheets and blankets and flushed even hotter. “Please, I’d appreciate it.”

He lifted the covers one by one, shaking them out. Erotic images leapt to mind as she watched his hands. He had the most beautiful fingers she had ever seen—long, tapered and capable of great gentleness. For a moment, she remembered how it felt to have those wondrous hands pressing into her back, tangling in her hair and stroking her cheek.

Cease this at once,
she commanded herself. Her face burned so hot, she was certain he would need only one look to know exactly what she’d been thinking.

“Clean.” He turned to face her. “Ye should be able to sleep safely.”

She turned away and walked to the window, staring out. After those improper reminiscences, she doubted she’d sleep a wink. “Thank you. You make me feel safe.” As soon as she said it, she snapped her mouth shut in mortification. What in the world had come over her?

“That is good to know. Well, I should bid ye a good evening, then.”

“Yes. Good night.” She hoped to hurry him along and end this torture.

But instead of walking to the door, he approached her at the window.
What in God’s name is he doing now?

Gathering her composure, she turned to him. “Is there something else…sir?” Better to remind them both of her position here.

He reached out, cupping her chin in his warm hand. “I asked ye to call me Connor. Didna forget again, aye, Genevieve?”

She wanted more than anything to resist his charm and ignore the way he made her feel. But at that particular moment, standing in the intimacy of her bedroom with the only man she’d ever loved, she couldn’t.

“Connor.” The word came out as a whisper.

His fingers tightened on her chin. She knew that their closeness was not proper, but she couldn’t move. The faint stub of whiskers on his cheeks and the muscles that twitched in his jaw captivated her. His powerful chest and muscular shoulders were both within reach of her hands if she dared to reach out and touch him like she once had. A hot rush of warmth swept through her, his nearness kindling long forgotten feelings of desire.

He smiled slowly, a look of both knowing and understanding in his eyes. So he was aware of his effect on her—the scoundrel!

“’Tis good to see ye again, Genevieve. Being here wi’ ye, it seems as though no’ much time has passed.”

The emotion and longing in his voice tugged at her heart and she struggled to set her resolve against him. She had no idea why he said such things or why he toyed with her emotions, but never again would she open her heart to such pain and grief.

The spell broken, she pulled her chin from his hand, tears pricking her eyes. “I beg to differ. Times have changed and so have I.”

He shook his head. “No’ in the ways that matter most,” he murmured.

Rain started to fall outside the open window, the pattering sound soft and familiar. She closed her eyes when he reached out and twined a strand of her hair around his finger.

“With your permission, I’ll go have a talk wi’ Ewan about the snake.”

Shaken by the tenderness of his gesture and dismayed at how vulnerable it made her feel, she stepped away from him. “I wish you wouldn’t. It will only make matters worse. I can manage this alone.”

“Are ye certain?”

Her body longed to return to him, but she stood her ground, wrapping her arms around her waist. “I am.”

“As ye wish, then.”

“Thank you.”

He turned and walked to the door, pausing on the threshold. “Good night, lass. I wish for ye the sweetest o’ dreams. We have a custom here in Scotland that whatever ye dream on the first night in your new home will come true.”

Without another word, he left, leaving her standing there with her heart hammering foolishly and her body tingling from the encounter with him.

The sweetest of dreams, indeed. If only he knew what she dreamed about him.

Genevieve sank into a chair, her knees weak. She had never felt so unnerved, so completely unable to control her emotions. Horrified, she realized it was as if she
were
sixteen years old again, without either the willpower or sensibility to conduct herself in a proper manner around him. How could he still manage to have such a disturbing effect on her after all these years?

She pressed her hand to her breast, willing her pulse to slow. This was a most unfortunate turn of events. She had no intention of engaging in any sort of misconduct with him. But she couldn’t seem to stop her heart from beating quicker when she saw him, nor could she manage a cold indifference. Yet for the sake of her future, she had very well try harder.

She glanced at the mussed bed sheets and remembered the way he touched them, like an intimate caress. She drew in her breath sharply. His actions had been innocent, not to mention done upon her request. Men like Connor were so practiced in the art of seduction that it clung to them as second nature.

Sighing, she changed into her bed gown and sat in front of the fire. As the heat from the fire warmed her body and the sound of the rain comforted her, she began to relax. She’d manage this. She’d handle Connor Douglas despite his reputation as a rogue extraordinaire.

She was strong, she was English, she was a Fitzsimmons. She would persevere.

Feeling emboldened by the thought, Genevieve retired to the bed, ignoring the mussed sheets. Slowly, she let her eyelids drift shut, overwhelmed by all that had happened to her this day.

As she drifted off to sleep, the lingering scent of him gave her an odd comfort. Sleepily she made a vow not to dream of him during her first night at
Caisteal na Mara.

But despite her best intentions, Connor’s mocking blue eyes were exactly what she saw as the darkness reached up to pull her under.

Connor stood in front of the hearth in his bedchamber completely naked, drinking a cup of wine and staring into the fire. The room was dark except for the flickering light of the flames that cast grotesque and eerie shadows across the wall. The darkness suited his mood at the moment.

He’d been utterly unprepared for the strength of the desire that had slammed into him as he caught her scent and remembered the soft touch of her skin.

Christ, it had felt so good.

He still needed her, wanted her. Badly. Even ten years hadn’t been able to diminish the feelings and the longing he felt for her.

He was still in love with her. Except this time around there was no one in charge of his future but himself. Since Janet’s death, his financial situation had become quite secure. Now all that was left to him was to apologize to Genevieve for his past mistakes and gain her trust once again. It seemed simple enough.

Except there were a number of complications on the horizon, ones that could pose troubling and potentially damaging problems if he did not deal with them quickly. Now he no longer had the luxury of time to lure her to his bed. Damn his father for insisting that he hold a foxhunt and ball at the end of the month. But neither had foreseen the unexpected death of Genevieve’s grandfather. Connor’s plan had to be put into action far earlier than he would have liked.

But he would manage.

In the past he’d been manipulated, cajoled and forced into a life he hadn’t wanted. Never again. He was fully in command of his own destiny, of his own desires. This time, he had every intention of getting what he wanted.

Genevieve Fitzsimmons would be his, and he’d use whatever methods he could to win her. But he would have to act carefully. He didn’t want her to come to him bitter or trapped or deceived. He wanted her to come of her own free will. Because she knew, like he, that they could not deny the bonds that linked them.

He took a sip of his wine. He was not the man she thought he was. Would it make a difference to their bond once she discovered that?

Sighing, he set his wine cup aside and sank into a chair. He didn’t dare contemplate that question for too long because he feared the answer.

He must win her back. There was simply no other way.

Genevieve sat alone in the schoolroom, trying not to continually glance out the window as the sun rose and Ewan didn’t appear. She fully expected him not to appear, but had nurtured a small hope that he might. Her head ached after a fitful night of sleep. She had dreamed of lying abed with Connor, both of them laughing and tangled in the bedsheets. He’d kissed her as moonlight streamed in through the open window, forming golden puddles across the bed. She’d given herself to him, and then he’d gathered her in his arms. In one easy movement, he swept her from the bed and over to the window. Before she could utter a word, he smiled and tossed her out the window. She woke up screaming, her heart thundering and her body slick with sweat.

She glanced out the window, a tight ball forming in her stomach. Ewan was a half hour late now and she knew he wasn’t coming. Not of his own accord anyway.

She stood, deciding to check his room first. To her surprise, the door was open. Ewan still lay abed, huddled beneath his covers. Encouraged by this small stroke of fortune, she pulled up a chair and sat by his bedside.

“Good morning, Ewan.” She kept her voice light and cheerful. “It’s a lovely spring day. Perhaps we can have our lessons outside today.”

He peered out from beneath the covers. “Go away. I’m no’ coming.”

“Very well. We’ll do our lessons right here. I’ll go get your primer.”

That got his attention. He sat up, wide awake and pulling the covers to his chin. “Are ye mad? I’m still abed and clad in my night clothes.”

She smiled. “Did I mention that I’m quite accommodating?”

He stared, his mouth agape. “Ye are daft.”

“Just determined. Ewan, I know you don’t like me, which really isn’t fair since we’ve not yet had the chance to get to know each other. But I do have this feeling that we’ll get on.”

“Go have your lessons by yourself, English.”

She shrugged. “It’s your choice not to attend. But I feel it’s my duty to mention to you that your father said he’d stop by this morning to see how the lessons are going. In fact, I’m expecting him any time now. I’m certain your absence would greatly disappoint him.”

With that Genevieve left the room, closing the door behind her and praying her words would get the reaction she wanted. After a few minutes she heard Ewan get up and stomp around. Finally he stalked into the schoolroom, his clothes wrinkled, hair mussed and eyes glinting. He flopped down in a chair, slouching.

“I canna be learned if my stomach is grumbling.”

Genevieve walked over to a lowboy where a tray with milk and sweet biscuits sat. “Isn’t it fortunate that I happen to have some nourishment on hand?”

Clearly intending to annoy her, he stuffed them in his mouth, daring her to challenge him on his manners. Instead, she ignored him, readying his math primer and using the opportunity while he couldn’t speak to talk to him about the day’s plan. From what she had already observed of him, he was an active boy, so she decided to intersperse writing and sitting lessons with some physical exercise and a bit of fresh air.

After he finished, he sat at his desk, at first quite rude and uncooperative. Genevieve gently persisted, keeping the lesson light and easy. Eventually he began to come around as she increased the difficulty of the material. Most likely, she suspected, to prove that an Englishwoman couldn’t possibly know as much as a Scot. She kept adapting the lesson, making it more competitive between the two of them and much harder.

To her astonishment, Ewan met her challenges. Unlike the reports he had heard from Connor, the boy was neither slow nor dimwitted and, in fact, had a curious and lively mind.

She was grateful when Connor stopped by about an hour into the lesson. He leaned against the doorjamb, clad in dark riding breeches, a white linen shirt and boots. His hair had been combed back and tied with a leather strip at the nape of his neck and his intense blue eyes raked over her as if taking in every detail of her appearance. Emotion caught in her throat at the simple sight of him, and she was barely able to tear her gaze away.

“Good morning, Miss Fitzsimmons. Ewan, lad, it warms my heart to see ye hard at your lessons.”

Ewan grunted something and Genevieve realized it had fallen to her to carry on the conversation. “Are you riding this morning, Mr. Douglas?”

“I am. I’m preparing for the foxhunt to be held in a fortnight here at the castle.”

Genevieve blinked in surprise. “Here? A foxhunt?”

To her chagrin, his mouth twitched with amusement. “From the tone of your voice I get the impression that this particular activity does not sit favorably with ye.”

“I did not state my opinion in any way.” Nonetheless, she could not help but be annoyed he could read her so well.

“Aye, but your expression did.”

She sighed. “Well then, no use denying it. I just don’t see the point in hunting down a poor defenseless animal.”

He chuckled. “Defenseless, hardly. The fox has a remarkable wit.”

“All the more reason not to hunt it.”

“Miss Fitzsimmons, I had no idea ye were a champion for the defenseless.” He was openly teasing her now.

“I am a champion for reasonable, not barbaric sport.”

Ewan interrupted excitedly, “Well, I think foxhunts are grand. If ye would let me come, Da, I would—”

“Nay.” The word came out so sharp that Genevieve blinked in surprise.

“But, Da…”

Connor cut him off with a curt wave of his hand. “I said nay. A foxhunt is no place for a bairn.”

“I’m no’ a bairn.”

“Then show me by behaving.”

Pouting Ewan slumped back in his chair, disappointment evident on his face. Genevieve watched the interaction both with interest and dismay. Something changed in Connor’s demeanor when he spoke to the boy. His tone was cooler, almost indifferent. She sensed no warmth, no affection. How strange. Tragedy should have brought them closer together.

Connor directed a question at her. “How are the lessons going?”

Genevieve brightened. “Quite well, actually. Ewan is an apt pupil.”

“That’s no’ what I’ve heard.” Connor’s gaze turned back to Ewan.

Irritated at the thoughtlessness of the comment, Genevieve put a hand on Ewan’s shoulder as if in some way to comfort him from his father’s coolness.

It was a mistake. Ewan practically snarled at her and leaped from his chair so quickly he knocked it over.

“Well, I have interrupted enough.” Amusement shone in his eyes. “I can see ye have your hands full, so I shall let ye return to your lessons.”

With those words, he walked away, his short visit ruining all that had been accomplished between her and Ewan this morning. Her irritation at Connor grew as did her pity for the child.

She pretended not to notice Ewan’s glare and instead picked up his reader and shut it. “I think we’ve done enough for this morning. Would it be acceptable to you if we adjourn until after the midday meal?”

She saw surprise and then suspicion cross his face and she realized he’d probably never been consulted on how or when he wanted to do his lessons. “Ye mean I’m done?”

Genevieve nodded. “You finished the first reading lesson more quickly than I expected. We’ll resume with math problems after the meal. Then, since it is such a lovely day, perhaps we’ll take a visit to the bog to examine some of the herbs growing there.”

He stared at her a moment longer, not certain what to say or do. Finally he just turned on his heel and walked out of the schoolroom without a word.

Genevieve sighed, picking up the rest of the primers and stacking them neatly on the table. She certainly hoped she knew what she was doing.

She ate her midday meal alone in her room then returned to the schoolroom to await Ewan. She wasn’t terribly surprised when the boy did not appear.

Making a conscious decision not to be angry, she wandered downstairs and outside, thinking she had the best chance of finding Ewan there. She walked past the stables, but the stable master told her he hadn’t seen the boy. She decided to take a stroll through the garden and admire the colorful buttercups and poppies. Bushes were also in full bloom and she stopped along the way to smell the fresh, pungent scents. For a moment she closed her eyes, imagining herself back in England surrounded by her own beloved garden.

A thorough examination of the gardens indicated Ewan was nowhere around. Resigned, she decided to follow the sound of barking dogs. Soon she came upon a large pen surrounded by a low fence made of rough-hewn logs roped together. Inside the fence, a man ran around with a pack of dogs, presumably the hounds that would hunt the fox. To her surprise, she spotted Ewan not far away, sitting under a tree and watching the handler work the dogs. Ewan hadn’t seen her yet, so she stood quietly, catching the boy in an unguarded moment. He looked very young and dejected, his knees pulled to his chest. There was something inherently sad about him and it tugged at her heart.

Taking a deep breath, she hitched up her skirts and walked toward him, being certain to make noise. He lifted his head and narrowed his eyes when he saw her, but he didn’t move away. Silently she sat down beside him on the grass.

“I’m no’ coming back for lessons.”

“Actually, I thought we might work a bit outside. Not all of life’s lessons are learned in the schoolroom.”

“Why dinna ye just give up, English? ’Twould save us both a lot o’ trouble, ye know.”

“Why don’t you give up? And then we’d have a lot more time for pleasurable activities.”

“I dinna want to do pleasant things wi’ ye.”

“Well that’s too bad. Because I simply do not subscribe to the theory that schoolwork has to be hard and boring.”

He curled his lips in distaste. “Ye are an odd duck. And it isna going to work if ye think this approach will make me like ye.”

“I am quite aware of the fact that I can’t
make
you like me no matter what I do. What I
can
do is make learning interesting.”

He snorted in disgust. “Have ye ever been a governess before?”

“No, I’m afraid you’re the first,” she admitted.

“Ye have a lot to learn about bairns.”

“I suppose I do. Perhaps we’ll end up teaching each other something.”

He rolled his eyes and resumed staring at the hounds. Genevieve followed his gaze to where the man was being chased about by several of the dogs. They barked and growled until she noticed the trainer held a fox pelt in his hand. She shivered.

“What’s the real reason your father doesn’t want you to go on the foxhunt?”

Ewan turned to her, annoyed. “Dinna ye ever stop talking, English?”

“You may call me Miss Fitzsimmons. And to be truthful, I’m rarely at a loss for words.”

“’Tis just my luck,” he grumbled. For the first time Genevieve noticed the underlying current of hostility had faded.

“And you have effectively avoided the question. Why won’t your father let you come on the foxhunt?”

He sighed in resignation. “Ye heard him. He thinks I’m still a helpless bairn.”

“Fathers are naturally protective.”

“He’s no’ protective. He’s ashamed.” Then realizing he’d let something personal slip, he frowned and fell silent.

Genevieve was taken aback by his words. “I’m certain that’s not true, although I’m puzzled why he’d object based solely on your age. In England, children as young as six hunt with their fathers. Perhaps he’d change his mind if he knew that.”

“He willna change his mind. Ever.”

“Perhaps it would be beneficial if I spoke with him.”

Ewan glared at her. “Nay!”

“Why not?”

Ewan turned away, his cheeks reddening. “Because I said so.”

Just as he spoke the words, the hounds starting barking furiously. Genevieve saw that a hapless squirrel had run into the pen. The dogs began chasing it, whining when it slipped beneath the fence to safety. A large black hound that had been separated from the others and tied to a wooden pole, began barking and thrashing about viciously. Shocked, Genevieve watched as the dog snapped its binding and leaped over the fence directly toward them.

Ewan screamed in terror and dove behind Genevieve. Stunned, she didn’t move a muscle. The dog darted past them and into the forest in pursuit of the squirrel. It returned moments later when the trainer whistled angrily.

The trainer jumped the fence and addressed Ewan who still cowered behind Genevieve. “I’m right sorry about that, young master. I didna know Charlie had gotten so strong. I’ll have to double his bindings to keep ’im under control. Are ye both all right?”

Genevieve’s heart still pounded. “Thank you, we’re fine.”

Charlie approached them at last, stopping to sniff at Genevieve’s hand. Ewan trembled behind her.

“It’s all right, Ewan. Charlie’s actually quite friendly as long as you aren’t a squirrel. Why don’t you pet him?”

“Nay, I dinna want to touch him.”

“Come on then, Charlie,” the trainer said. “I’m sorry to have bothered ye both.” The dog followed at a trot, looking back at them once over his shoulder as if amused.

As soon as the hound was safely fenced in, Ewan stood and began stalking back to the castle. Genevieve hastily rose as well, brushing off her skirts and following him.

“So that’s the problem? You are afraid of dogs.”

He stopped in his tracks, his face flushed and furious. “I’m no’ afraid of dogs. Now leave me alone.”

She ignored his command. “You shouldn’t be ashamed. I used to be terrified of dogs.”

Ewan began walking again, his fists clenched at his side. “O’ course ye were. Ye’re a lass.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Do you know how I overcame my fear?”

“Somehow I have a feeling ye are going to tell me no matter how I answer.”

“My grandfather helped me by taking me down to see the dogs a little every day. Soon they got used to me and I wasn’t so afraid of them either.”

“It willna make a difference. Da knows about the dogs.” His face flushed with shame. “He knows. So just forget about it.”

Genevieve was not deterred. “Let’s not give up so easily. I have an idea. Let’s come down here to the pen everyday until the foxhunt. To start, we’ll ask the trainer, Mr.—” She paused, waiting for him to fill in a name.