Desiring the Highlander (11 page)

Memories of Ellenor’s laughter, her ability to see right through him, know what he was thinking, refused to be suppressed. The woman seemed to understand him at levels no one else did. Maybe that was the reason why she wasn’t scared of him.

She had called him intolerable, but her eyes had raked over him with a feminine desire that made his heart sing. He could recall not another woman ever looking at him with such incredible longing. Her eyes had roamed over every morsel of his body, lingering on his face in the shadows. It had been hard not to stare back. Then Fàire Creachann was mentioned.

He could see her standing on one of the battlements, tawny curls of her long hair swirling about, her chin proudly thrust into the wind. And though everything about her was English, the image in his mind said that was where she belonged. He forced himself to dismiss such fantasies and returned back to camp, thinking he had himself back in control.

Then he heard Jaime’s assessment of Dugan and saw Ellenor’s face go ashen. Whatever his friend had said, it had transported her back into another time. A time he suspected that was at the heart of her so-called madness. Terror filled her eyes and he could see she was about to flee, not from him, but from whatever haunted her. He knew what he had to do.

Make her mad. Boiling mad.

Odd though it would sound to others, anger was the best way to yank her back to the present. She needed someone safe to focus all those emotions onto, and a safe manner to do so. He was that safe place…at least for the next few days.

He braced himself as best he could for her snapping emerald eyes. Intense emotion brightened them, and their rich swirling color fed his inability to concentrate.

Stepping through the brush, Cole looked at Jaime and asked with unmistakable disgust, “Is the
babag
bothering you?”

Ellenor jumped, startled. “Stop referring to me as
babag!
”

“Or what?” Cole challenged, squeezing his palms into fists, wishing she would look away, even if just for a second.

“Or I might just start calling you
sunndach
, Scot,” Ellenor quipped proudly, refusing to budge her gaze.

Jaime raked his fingers through his red hair and said with unhidden mirth, “I’ve never thought of you as the cheerful type before, Commander, but aye, lass, it is a nice sarcastic accounting of his character.”

A second later, she became fully aware of her mistake. Cole’s face had hardened by several degrees. Jaime’s mouth had dropped wide open as realization dawned on him. “Did you…Was that…Did I just hear you correctly?”

Ellenor wished she could disappear. In her anger, she had called Cole joyful and good-humored.

But she had said it in Gaelic.

Now they knew. Now
Cole
knew she understood everything he had been saying.

Her lids slipped down over her eyes. She had two choices. Be apologetic, deposing of herself of any remaining pride, or take advantage of her folly.

Ellenor chose the latter.

Ignoring Cole, she looked Jaime straight in the eye and then said in flawless Gaelic, “You mentioned assumptions, earlier, Jaime Ruadh. I just thought you should be aware you have been making a few yourself.”

With confidence she didn’t really possess, Ellenor marched over, picked up her bag, and sashayed past Cole, heading toward the river.

Moments later, she arrived at the same place she had washed her hands and face earlier. The river was the exact opposite of last night’s trickling stream. It was wide as one of the taller trees and deep enough to fully immerse herself in. Plunging her hand into her bag, Ellenor pulled out one of three bars of soap she had been saving. She lifted the small mound to her nose and took a whiff. The fragrance filled her nostrils.
The overgrown giant won’t be able to ever say I stink again
, she thought to herself.

All around her childhood home, flowered purple spikes of lavender grew wild. The art of making the carved scented soap mounds had been handed down in her family for years. Very few practiced the laborious craft of soap making and many had forgotten how, but her mother had taught her, just as her grandmother had taught her mother and so forth.

Ellenor flipped the carved purple and gray item over and felt a tear fall down her cheek. The initials EF were inscribed on the bottom. Ellen Frances. These were the last three her mother had made. There once had been four.

When she had been forced to move to her sister’s, she had been given no warning, still she had managed to throw a few of her most precious treasures in a small trunk her father had crafted for her when she had been a child. Spying the trunk upon her arrival, her sister had announced that a woman crazed with madness didn’t deserve such items as fancy dresses, gemstones, and a chest. Gilda had rummaged through the few things, angry Ellenor had not remembered to take a single Howell jewel. In a fit of rage, Gilda had thrown her a bag, two of her most worn gowns, a handful of chemises, a tarnished comb and brush, and a knotted ball of ribbons. Last, she had tossed the soap. One had broken into small pieces upon impact. At that moment, faking madness had gone from difficult to easy.

“Elle, are you all right?”

Ellenor jumped up, dropping the soap and the bag on the grassy bank. “Am I…” She paused midway through her question. She had been waiting for accusations, roars, bellows of deceit, not inquiries to her health. “What did you just say?”

“I asked if you were all right,” Cole replied, pointing at her wet cheek. “Jaime can be thoughtless when he speaks, but he was not talking about you.”

“Jaime?” she murmured, still puzzled. “Why aren’t you angry…” Then understanding dawned on her. “You…you did it on purpose, didn’t you? You
knew
I spoke Gaelic and was trying to trick me into revealing myself!”

“Trick you?” Cole choked. “Elle, I would first have to understand the workings of your mind, and
that
I have determined is impossible. I just noticed Jaime had inadvertently reminded you of some ghosts so I riled you some. It always works for me.”

“You
intentionally
picked a fight?”

“Aye,” Cole answered with a touch of self-satisfaction. “You cannot deny it worked.”

“And you’re not angry about my understanding your language?” Skepticism filled her voice and stance.

Cole stepped past her and knelt down by the water’s edge. He cupped his hands and drank the cool water. “I’ve suspected you knew the Celtic tongue since last night. I watched you when my men were talking. Your face gives a lot away,
babag
.”

Hearing his pet insult reminded her of why she was there. Ellenor pivoted, bent down, and grabbed the three pieces of soap. She stuffed two in the bag and stood back up, wagging the third back and forth. “You won’t be able to say that for much longer,
sunndach
.”

Cole’s dark eyebrow arched mischievously, distracting her as he plucked the small item from her hand and began to unknot his leather belt. His mouth twitched with amusement seeing her stunned reaction.

Ellenor watched in horror as his dark tartan pleats began to unravel. “What are you doing?” she squeaked.

“You should know,” Cole grinned. “I’m going to take a bath.”

“You can’t! I’m here!”

Cole grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “Didn’t stop you last night. Turn around or watch,
babag
. Makes no difference to me,” he replied, just as his kilt dropped to the ground.

Ellenor felt her jaw slacken in shock. He meant it. The man’s blue eyes were practically dancing with pleasure, and her protests were only fueling his enjoyment. The only thing between her and his nakedness was his thankfully long shirt. He was baiting her, daring her to watch—something she both wanted and feared to do.

Suddenly, Ellenor was struck with inspiration. Without considering the ramifications, she grabbed the soap from his fingers and dove into the cold water. She held her breath and let her body adjust to the temperature before rising to the surface. Immediately her eyes sought Cole. The second she caught his sapphire glare, she knew she had succeeded.

The man was furious, but the weight of anger boiling in his eyes could not outweigh her glee. She waved at him and smiled. “Looks like your bath will have to wait until I am done, Highlander!” Then, she dropped below the surface again before he could retort.

Cole watched the wet copper locks disappear back under the dark swirling water. Terror had leapt through him a moment ago. She had plunged headfirst into the strong current and had not emerged until several seconds later. He was on the verge of diving in when she had finally broken the surface with a smile that could light up the night. There was no way she could have missed his fury at her reckless behavior. But did she care? The woman had actually
waved
at him. He should go ahead and jump in. Not to save her, but to throttle her neck.

He squeezed his eyes shut and clung to his remaining patience. A second later, he heard a soft thud and felt a light splash of water on his leg. Cole looked down and saw the familiar white material of her chemise. He picked the sopping item up and glanced at the water. Ellenor was not in sight. Panic again invaded his thoughts. “Elle,” he called out.

No answer. “Elle!” This time he shouted her name. Her head popped up from the water. Two green eyes were frowning at him.

“Cole, don’t wad it up like that. I threw it to you so you could lay it out over one of those bushes over there.”

Cole stared at her. He could not believe what he was witnessing and hearing. Ellenor was holding her bliaut in front of her as she pointed to a cluster of thick juniper. He had no idea what she was going to do next, but he was not going to wait and find out.

He threw her chemise back into the water so that it landed practically in front of her. “Don’t disappear again.”

Ellenor was about to explode when she caught the warning in Cole’s eyes. There was real fury in him and it stemmed from fear. The revelation made her own emotions shift between hesitant joy and sheer aggravation. Carefully choosing a response, she reached out, grabbed the sinking undergarment, and slid down in the water until she was submerged up to her chin. “I’m fine, Cole. I have swum in rivers all my life and never got a scratch.” Pausing, she tossed the item back to him and again pointed to the bushes.

Instinctively, Cole caught the object. He was flummoxed. He could threaten her, but unless he really intended to jump in and physically force her to the shore, there was little he could do. He stepped over to the bush and splayed the flimsy material over the prickly branches. “You may be a good swimmer, but the water here is cold and the current is strong. Even a man can lose his footing and drown, especially at night. Now either put that thing on or throw it here.”

“I plan to just as soon as you turn around.”

Cole shook his head firmly. “No. I meant what I said. You’re not to disappear out of my sight.”

“Well, I cannot finish bathing with you looking at me. What if you turn around and I promise to keep talking?”

Cole let go a sigh and rubbed his face. He knew he wouldn’t be able to watch her bathe, and her proposal was a solution to his predicament. He just wished he had come up with it. Resigning to her wishes, he gave a single nod, turned around, and prepared himself for a long speech about why he was so wrong and she was so right. Instead, a soft simple melody hit his ear. Ellenor was singing.

The lilting timbre of her voice was just like the rest of her, gentle, yet with some dark edges luring him in, like a siren driving him mad. The song was just as haunting. The words were soft and full of sadness about a woman who had overcome great evil only to die alone.
Was that how she felt? Alone?
The thought she might feel that way bothered him. He was about to turn around and ask when her bliaut landed in the grass by his feet, followed by her slippers. Both smelled of her lavender soap.

“Mmm, this feels wonderful. You should think about jumping in once I am done. It will do wonders for your bad mood, Scot.”

Cole reached for the garment and threw it haphazardly next to her chemise. “My mood is not likely to change until I am home and you are no longer my responsibility,
English
. And if you recall, bathing was exactly what I had planned until you rushed in.”

Ellenor’s laughter rippled through the air, sending a shiver down Cole’s spine. “Not true,” she argued. “We both know that I had arrived at the river and was preparing to bathe first. And as far as rushing in, I had no choice. You’re just annoyed that I surprised you.”

“I’m not an—”

“Hold on, I’m going to rinse my hair.”

A soft splash followed by silence filled the air. Cole raked his hands over his scalp, hoping the pain would distract him. The random splashes and her soft moans of pleasure were playing havoc with his ability to concentrate. His loins had been tight since seeing her slick and wet, holding her bliaut to shield her nakedness. Now the dark heavy garment lay alongside the white chemise. The only thing between the two of them was his self-control. Something that was rapidly slipping.

“Cole, are you listening to me?”

“How could I not be?” he grumbled, refusing to admit that he hadn’t been.

“I said I had a problem.”

Cole looked back and swallowed. She was standing low in the water so only her bare shoulders were visible. Cursing the direction of his thoughts, he reminded himself that she was bossy, brash, and far from his definition of a perfect woman. “I have no experience in helping women bathe.”

“I don’t need help bathing, Scot! And don’t turn around again.”

The hint was all he needed to discern the nature of her anxiety. “Let me guess. Your well-thought-out desire to seize an opportunity to surprise me didn’t include dry clothes.”

“My
plan
had been to undress on the shore, and whose fault why I didn’t is rather pointless as it does not change the facts.”