“How far is that?”
“From here? Probably a two hour drive by coach.”
So far. Emma’s teeth tugged at her bottom lip as she gazed at Dair worriedly. As she watched, his brow creased and his face stretched in a grimace. “Dair?”
Nothing.
“Tie my horse to the back, then drive us as fast as you can to the doctor.” Emma didn’t know what else to do.
Once the coach was on the move, she tried to spend her time looking out the window. She’d never traveled this particular road before. She might see some unique and unusual sights if she kept a close watch. At the very least, she’d be able to give her students a thorough description of the area during their geography lesson.
Instead her gaze kept drifting back to the man slumped against the seat across from her. She hated him. She did. She truly did. Nonetheless, he looked so pitiful she couldn’t stand it, and she switched seats, sat beside him, and lifted his head into her lap. Almost against her will, her fingers stroked his thick, silky hair and smoothed away the creases at his temples.
He appeared to be in pain. She wished he’d open his eyes. She wished they weren’t out in the middle of nowhere far away from a doctor’s help. “What’s wrong with you, Dair?” she murmured. “How can I help you?”
“Don’t stop,” he mumbled into her lap.
Her hand froze midstroke, her thigh muscles beneath his head went tense.
“Please, don’t stop.”
Her fingers curled into his hair all ready to pull. But something in his voice—a note of pleading pain—caused her to hesitate. “What’s wrong with you, Dair?”
“Head. Hurts.”
Emma continued to pet him. She’d do that much for a dog, she decided, making the excuse her pride demanded. This was basic human kindness. She’d do this much for anybody. That’s the way she’d been raised.
It’s not like she was enjoying having his head in her lap or anything, because she wasn’t. Truly. It was difficult to be near him. Hard to touch him. Each time she did, she was reminded of what a fool she’d been. She’d loved touching him. Thrilled at being touched by him. She burned with embarrassment at the memory of it. “You’d better get better so I can hurt you, MacRae.”
“Mmmm,” he responded.
The coach continued to move forward, Emma continued to stroke, and Dair continued to lie quietly in her lap as both minutes and miles rolled by. From time to time she checked his pulse, his body temperature, her watch. Time crawled in circumstances like this. The half hour they traveled seemed more like an hour and a half.
The change occurred slowly, so slowly that Emma almost missed it. It was more a difference in the air than in the way he rested, and it took Emma a moment to figure out what it was.
“You’re better.” She shoved him off her lap, then scrambled into the opposite seat.
Dair grimaced as he sat up. “So I wasn’t dreaming. You really are here. And you’re wearing pants?” He paused a moment, winced, then added, “Emma, did you hold up my coach?”
“Yes I did,” she snapped. “I got what I came for, too.”
Dair frowned, then reached into his pocket. “Well, hell.”
“Are you sick, MacRae? What happened to you?”
“You stole the necklace.”
“Excuse me?
I
stole the necklace?” Rage, hot and volatile, bubbled up inside her like lava. Drawing her gun, she demanded, “Are you recovered, MacRae? Tell me now so that I can get on with killing you.”
Dair eyed the gun, then the light in her eyes. “My thinking is slow right now, so you’ll forgive me if I’m confused.”
“I’m not forgiving you anything.”
“All right, then. Just let me see if I have this straight. You followed me in order to reclaim your necklace and shoot me.”
“Stabbing you is an option, too. After I cut off various appendages, that is.”
Dair grimaced and rested his hands over his lap. “I never realized you were so vicious.”
“And I didn’t realize you were such a villain.”
Dair leaned his head against the seat back and closed his eyes. “Should I be grateful I still have all my body parts?”
“Definitely.” He still looked pale, Emma thought. Concern battled with anger inside her. She appeased both by asking in a snotty tone of voice, “So, are you going to die or what?”
It took him awhile to respond, and Emma’s stomach clenched. His mouth quirked. “Eventually. We all do. Although, my demise is evidently not at this particular moment unless you have a hand in the process. While you’ve been quite convincing with your threats, I doubt you’ll actually follow through—”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so certain if—”
“—once I explain why I stole the necklace.”
“—I were…what?”
“Aren’t you curious about why I stole your beloved jewel and left you lying naked in my bed following the most thrilling night of my life?”
The most
thrilling?
A shiver danced up her spine.
Emma almost fell for it, but then she remembered that he was a liar, a thief, a rogue, a blackguard, a cad, and undoubtedly another dozen similar monikers not presently popping to mind. She cocked the gun. “Whether I’m curious or not doesn’t really matter. I can’t trust anything that comes out of your mouth.”
She could see in his eyes that he didn’t like that. When speculation replaced irritation and his gaze dropped to focus on her mouth, she shook her head. “Don’t even think about it.”
“I haven’t stopped thinking about it, Texas.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Do you believe in fate, Emma Tate?”
She shrugged, unwilling to engage him in any more conversation. Doing so would only encourage him, make him think he’d stirred her curiosity. Never mind that he’d succeeded. Pride wouldn’t allow her to let him know it.
“I do,” he continued. “I believe fate brought you and me together. Fate and perhaps the mystical power of a mysterious engraved ruby.”
Mystical power? Emma about chewed her tongue in order to prevent herself from asking him to elaborate.
And he didn’t, the bounder. He just sat there with his eyes closed, relaxed as a cat sleeping in sunshine, totally ignoring both her and the fact that she still had a gun trained on him.
Emma decided she’d never met another human being as annoying as Alasdair MacRae.
After a five minute or longer silence during which she fantasized about taking her knife to him, toe by toe, he finally spoke. “So, where are we going? Back to Chatham Park?”
“No. To the nearest physician. I thought you were dying. It’s unsanitary to leave corpses beside the road, and it’s my understanding that in small towns, physicians also often serve as morticians.”
Dair, the bastard, started laughing. “Definitely a vicious streak. I’ll have to remember that.”
The sound of his laughter grated on Emma’s nerves, and in that moment, she wanted away from the man. Far away. She rapped on the window and called to the driver. “Stop. Let me out.”
“Is he dead?” came the reply.
“Not yet,” Dair called back.
“Might not be long, though,” she added. “Stop the horses, Charlie. I’m leaving.”
The coach began to slow and Dair casually propped his feet on the seat across from him. Next to her. Blocking her exit. “That won’t stop me.”
“I never thought it would. I’m simply stretching my legs, getting comfortable while I tell you the story of Roslin of Strathardle.”
Roslin of Strathardle? How did he know about her? Emma shot him a look. He studied his fingertips as if he hadn’t a worry in the world.
He knew he had her, of course. The villain. He didn’t say a word when the coach rolled to a stop and Charlie climbed down from his perch and opened the door. “Ma’am?”
It hurt, but Emma grumbled, “I’ve changed my mind.”
Charlie opened his mouth, but apparently thought better of complaining when Emma shifted her gun. He nodded, shut the door, and moments later, their journey resumed.
The bastard had the good sense not to make her wait this time. After rolling his tongue around in his mouth, he said, “I believe I told you that I was born in Texas. I never knew my father, but I’d like to tell you about my mother. She was a Scot. Her name was Roslin and she grew up in Strathardle Glen.”
Emma reached to hold her pendant. “You think your mother gave us our necklaces?”
“That’s a tough one.” Dair rubbed the back of his neck. “While I do believe in fate, I’m not so certain about ghosts. My mother died when I was a child.”
Emma leaned away from him. “No. I don’t believe…”
“I don’t know what I think about that. What I do know is that I recognize the engraving on your ruby. It has something to do with my family.”
She stared at him long and hard before giving her head a shake. “You’re lying. You’re a liar.”
“Yes, it’s a fair accusation. However, I’m not lying about this. I’ve seen a similar carving before, and I know that it’s something important. Think about it, Emma. You and your sisters received your necklaces from a woman named Roslin of Strathardle.”
“How do you know that?”
“We had you investigated.” Ignoring Emma’s outraged gasp, he continued, “It’s too coincidental not to mean something. Jake with his interest in the emerald and—”
“Why did he steal Kat’s necklace?”
“That’s his story to tell, not mine. I will say this, however. After meeting Kat, I believe she’s destined to become his wife.”
“You think she’ll marry him?” she asked, thinking of the bride hunt.
“I do. And the two of them will make a family with the children left to his care.”
Emma’s thoughts drifted back to the night when she and her sisters were given their necklaces. It was shortly before Emma married Casey, and the three McBride sisters had decided to act like McBride Menaces one last time by visiting Fort Worth’s red light district, Hell’s Half Acre, and having their palms read. Instead of Fort Worth’s own Madam Valentina, they were met by a beautiful, ethereal woman who called herself Roslin of Strathardle. She read their palms, declared they had a Bad Luck Love Line, and announced that as a circle of three in the thirty-third generation, they had the opportunity to end the bad luck curse for all time. Roslin told them they could break the curse if they each found a love that was powerful, vigilant and true, and accomplished a mysterious task.
Emma’s pulse began to race. Love that is powerful, vigilant and true. What if Dair was right? “Is he a good man, Jake Kimball?” she demanded. “A worthy man?”
“Worthy of what?”
My sister’s love.
Emma could use a little reassurance. The ramifications of what he was proposing were daunting. “All I know about him is that he’s a thief and a treasure hunter. Kat’s already been put through hell by a scoundrel once, and she doesn’t need to go through a similar trauma again.”
“Jake doesn’t give his word often. He doesn’t commit himself very easily. Once he does, he’s fierce about it. If he marries your sister, he’ll be loyal to her. He’ll be faithful.”
But will he love her?
Would Jake Kimball be the one who finally helped Kat heal? Would he be the love who helped Kat meet the requirements to fulfill her part in breaking the curse? If so, what did that mean for Emma?
Mari had found a powerful, vigilant and true love and accomplished her task. If not for her sapphire necklace, that might not have happened. If Kat found similar success with Jake Kimball, her emerald pendant would have played a significant role in the process. Logic then suggested that the ruby might play a similar role for Emma. Oh, my. Did that mean…could it be…surely it’s not.
He’s
not.
“What is it, Emma?” Dair asked. “Why such a sour look?”
Emma swallowed hard. No, she couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t believe it. He’d lied to her. Stolen from her. After he’d slept with her!
Dair MacRae could not be her destiny.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“W
HY THE SOUR LOOK
?” Dair repeated, wanting to know what he’d said to cause such a strong negative reaction. He’d be sure to avoid a similar mistake in the future.
“I just…I don’t…oh, my.”
She drummed her fingers on her pants leg and Dair was momentarily distracted by the intriguing sight of a woman wearing male clothing. Tight-fitting male clothing. His fingers itched to touch her.
Instead, he cleared his throat and searched his mind for something to distract them both. “Jake will be good for your sister. Rest assured.”
“This isn’t about my sister!” The words exploded from her mouth. “Why does everyone always think the world revolves around Kat. What about me? If your theory is correct, where do I fit into the equation? If you’re trying to tell me that since my necklace is somehow connected to your family that means I’m fated to be tied to…to…to you, then I have to tell you, MacRae, you’re crazy.”
“What? I don’t think I ever said that.” Fate was tying him to the grave, not a beautiful woman. He opened his mouth to reassure her that he wasn’t crazy, but dying instead, when instinct stilled his tongue.
He didn’t want her to know he was dying. Be damned if he’d open himself up that way, to her or to anyone. He didn’t want pity. Didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him. He’d rather Emma think he’d lost his mind.
Dair reached for her hand and kissed her knuckles. “That’s exactly what I think, Texas. I think you and I are destined—” he bit back a grin as she snatched her hand away “—to be lovers.”
“My God. You
are
crazy.”
Warming to the game, he continued, “We’ve exciting times ahead of us. It will be a real adventure to—”
“Stop it!” she demanded. “I won’t listen to this. Not only do I not believe a word you say, it’s asinine for you to think I’d even consider the possibility of a relationship with you.”
“Why? We were great together in bed.”
She blinked hard twice. Aha. That struck a blow, didn’t it? She might not admit it, but he’d curled her toes.
Now, color crawled up her skin. If a cartoonist were portraying the moment, he’d draw her with steam shooting from her ears. Maybe the top of her head blowing off. It was all Dair could do not to chortle, to guffaw, to laugh out loud. She was so damned beautiful when she was angry.