Much Ado About Marriage (6 page)

Her lashes dropped over her gaze, shielding her expression. “I’m old enough, Sassenach.”

Hmm. She didn’t look more than seventeen, but her self-assurance told him she had to be older. Still, she wanted this Mary and Angus to be with her . . . Why should he argue? As long as she was right about Angus’s talents as a guide, of course.

“Very well. If this Angus is as knowledgeable as you say, then we’ll take both him and Mary.”

She smiled, and it was as if the sun had broken through a rain-darkened sky. With a gentle click of her tongue Fia urged Thunder on, and the horse began to make its way down the path with amazing sure-footedness.

“Come, Zeus!” Fia called. The ugly dog rose from where he’d been sitting. Panting happily, he loped along behind them, his gait uneven like a cart with an oval wheel.

“Must he come with us?” Thomas grumbled.

“But of course. No one else would feed him.”

Thomas thought of a thousand answers, none worth saying aloud. Besides, the horse was moving steadily down the path, much faster than he could walk.

Thomas wrapped his arms more securely about Fia. He was a solid mass of bruises, aches, and lumps. The only thing keeping him upright in the saddle was the thought that if anything could speed his recovery, it would be her lush, naked body lying in his bed, her incredible hair spread across his pillows. His loins tightened uncomfortably and he called himself sharply to order. The last thing he needed was to spend his entire time in the saddle fighting his own lust.

Safety beckoned. All they had to do was reach his ship before MacLean returned home. Thomas glanced at the sun to estimate their arrival time. By late afternoon he and Fia would be safely ensconced on the
Glorianna
, sailing to London and away from the nightmare of the last few hours.

He relaxed in the saddle, and Fia snuggled back against him as if she’d always ridden within the circle of his arms. The sweet scent of heather filled him with the inexplicable desire to grin like a complete lackwit.

And for the briefest moment, despite his aches and pains, Thomas was warmed by the hope that the Wentworth luck was once again shining.

Och, Thunder, what have you done now?” Fia rubbed her cheek against the horse’s rough mane.

Thunder’s answering whicker sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

“Lord Thomas was right about you,” Fia chastised the mare. “’Tis poor sport to pretend to be lame just as we’re nearing the coast. Mary will be wondering where we are, too. I told her we’d be there by supper time, and ’tis at least an hour past that now.”

The mare hung her head and lifted one foreleg.

“Don’t try that with me, you silly nag. As soon as Thomas stomped off into the forest to find something for us to eat, you forgot all about limping and started scrounging for clover, as healthy and well as a young colt. I saw you myself.”

The horse swished her tail and stared off into the distance.

Zeus whined at her feet.

Fia frowned at him. “Don’t you play the innocent, either!
’Twas ill mannered to gobble up all of our food when our backs were turned.”

The dog wagged his tail and Thunder snickered again.

Fia threw up her hands. “There’s no speaking with either of you. ’Tis a wonder the Sassenach hasn’t washed his hands of the lot of us.”

And oh, had he ever been angry. After cursing for an entire five minutes at their predicament, Thomas had finally admitted they were stuck for the night. Growling about being too hungry to think, he’d stomped into the woods to find some food.

Fia sat on a small log, her stomach protesting noisily as she cast a disparaging look at the dog curled up beside her. Zeus met Fia’s condemning gaze and whined pathetically. Even stuffed with all of their food, he looked ravenous.

“I hope you get a stomachache,” she said.

Zeus cocked his good ear and wagged his tail.

“Don’t try to cozen me; I know your tricks.”

He sighed heavily and threw himself back onto Thunder’s discarded saddle blanket. His sad eyes pleaded for forgiveness.

After a long moment, Fia gave in and patted him. He was such a sweet beastie and only doing what was in his nature.

She rubbed his ear and the dog wiggled about so that his chin rested in her lap, his eyes slowly closing. She hugged him, shivering slightly in the wind. ’Twas cold and damp this evening, the breeze carrying a hint of rain.

As the darkness deepened, the wind turned every shrub into a shadowy threat. Fia’s imagination began to simmer. She was used to facing the dark from the inside of a well-fortified
castle. It had never dawned on her that the world would look so different from outside, every bush a possible wolf, every looming tree a potentially hungry giant.

She shivered and rubbed her chilled arms. Perhaps she should light a fire; Thomas had suggested she start a small one, making sure to diffuse the smoke so it couldn’t be detected.

Fia gently pushed Zeus’s head from her lap and set about gathering sticks and several large branches. When she had enough, she used her flint on some dried pine needles and soon had a merry blaze. “There,” she said with satisfaction, comforted by her efforts to keep the night at bay. She settled onto the saddle blanket and snuggled up to the heat, Zeus resuming his place by her side.

Fia wondered how Thomas was doing. As he’d marched into the woods, it had been obvious that he was both stiff and sore, favoring his leg. His clothing hadn’t fared well either, covered in mud, the fine cloth ripped thanks to Thunder.

Though the old nag had agreed to carry Thomas, she’d taken great delight in snapping at him every chance she’d gotten. The poor man’s sleeve had been in tatters by the time they’d arrived.

Fia stirred the fire and wondered how long it would take him to return. “I’m hungry,” she announced.

Thunder’s ears flickered.

Fia rubbed Zeus’s good ear, and he gave a heartfelt sigh. “Enjoy the heat whilst you can. Once Lord Thomas returns, ’tis back in the cold you’ll be.”

Zeus gave a disdainful yawn and rolled onto his side, promptly falling back into a deep sleep.

Fia pulled out her knife and whittled aimlessly at a stick, her gaze wandering to the gathering blackness. Where was he?

“He said he’d be back soon,” she told Zeus. The words sounded hollow in the darkness.

He would come back. He had to; he’d promised. But . . . how much was a vow worth when one was pressed into the cold mud beneath a huge horse? The thought held her fast as she stared into the forest.

Night crept into the campsite inch by inch, bringing dampness and uncertainty. Thomas had warned her not to build the fire too large, for fear Duncan might see the smoke and discover them.

But now Thomas was gone, and she feared—nay, she
knew
—he would not come back. Why should he? She’d forced his cooperation. She wouldn’t blame him for making his own way.

An uncomfortable lump rose in her throat, and suddenly the forest seemed alive. Fia’s imagination began to tickle her thoughts, adding sinister meaning to every wind-brushed shrub, every crackling tree limb.

The shriek of an owl made her jump. Heart pounding, she grabbed the biggest piece of wood from her pile and threw it on the fire.

The flames blazed, and she tried to calm herself. “I don’t need the Sassenach’s help to get to London. Once I arrive, I’ll find another patron, and he’ll be better than His High and Mighty Lordship, won’t he, Zeus?”

Zeus rolled onto his back, a deep snore emitting from his slack mouth.

Fia looked at him in disgust. “Some guard dog you are. Here I am, alone in the midst of the great forest filled with
dangerous creatures, and all you do is snore fit to wake the dead. Lord Thomas was right about you being a la—”

The forest crackled, the bushes swirling mightily as if a great bear had stirred them to life.

Thunder shied, prancing frantically as Fia whipped out her knife. Zeus bounded to his feet and snarled viciously.

Thomas stumbled from the bushes, a bag over his shoulder, his temper as frayed as his horse-nipped sleeve. He regarded his arm sourly. ’Twas yet another pain in a long and painful day. “Damn all of Scotland! You can’t go anywhere in this land without stepping into a bog or being punctured by a thistle. God only knows why anyone would want to conquer such an unsightly, ill-favored land. Once we get to London, I’ll never step foot in this—”

Fia launched herself into his arms, her small body flattening against his broad chest. He reflexively closed his arms about her, sinking his hand into her cloud of hair and holding her cheek to his chest. Her heart thudded so hard that he could count each beat.

Surprised, Thomas stood completely still. The woman was plastered to him like wet silk, her arms wrapped uncomfortably tight about his waist. He could feel every soft curve of her, every warm bit of skin.

She lifted her face to his. “I-I’m sorry. I don’t know why I—” Her lips quivered.

He grinned. “Hello, poppet. Miss me?”

Her cheeks colored and she moved as if to step away, but it was too late; he had her tight and wasn’t about to let her go. An uncertain laugh passed through her soft lips. “I-I thought you weren’t coming back.”

“You thought wrong, then.”

“So it seems.” Her eyes, as black as the night sky in
the midst of a storm, seemed mysterious in the uncertain light.

Thomas was as fascinated with her eyes as with her long lashes; they were so tangled and luxuriant. He lifted a finger and brushed it over her cheek, which glowed with vibrant color and health.

And her body . . . he almost groaned. He was stirred beyond thought by the warmth of her curves pressed against him.

He had to taste that lush mouth. He already knew the honey-sweet flavor of her lips, and nothing was going to stop him from tasting them again. Her face flushed rosily in the light of the roaring fire as he—

The fire?

The
roaring
fire?

“Damn it!” Thomas pushed Fia away and kicked dirt onto the smoking branches. “Didn’t I tell you to keep the fire small? Woman, what were you trying to do, alert the whole isle?” He kicked more dirt onto the crackling flames, and the light dimmed as the fire sputtered. “What in hell were you thinking? If you wished Duncan to find us, all you had to do was sit upon your arse and he’d eventually appear! God knows the laird doesn’t need a beacon to find us, you fool!”

No sharp reply met his tirade. The fire damped, he turned to find Fia behind him, her head bowed, her arms crossed over her chest as though warding off the chill breeze. Even without seeing her eyes, Thomas knew there were tears in them.

Weariness flooded through him. He was too tired and battered to deal with this most difficult of all tasks—a woman’s tears. Especially
this
woman’s tears.

He’d known Fia but a day, yet it was obvious that she was a spirited lass, not one to cry lightly. She had to be just as aching and exhausted as he was.

He sighed. “Fia, please don’t cry.”

She immediately wiped her face with her sleeve, her bottom lip quivering like a child’s. He grimaced. Until he had run over her with his sharp temper, she had been genuinely glad to see him. There hadn’t been many times in his life when his arrival had been greeted with such unabashed pleasure, and like the clumsiest of fools, he had crushed her spirits.

He had a fleeting memory of his father returning home to their manse after months in London, serving the king’s court. A mere child of nine at the time, left alone for those long months with a strict tutor and uncaring servants, Thomas had heard the coach and had run to the window to see his father’s entourage approaching.

It had been an unusually cold and dreary winter, and for a lonely boy confined to endless Latin, Greek, script, and other dull subjects, Father’s arrival had been beyond exciting. Ignoring his tutor’s shout, Thomas had dashed down the stairs and had run to meet the coach.

Frowning at Thomas’s exuberance, Father had climbed from the coach, flicked a cold glance at his son, turned his back, and entered the house. Thomas didn’t see his father for three days, a punishment for his unrestrained behavior. In the earl’s world there was no room for emotion, unless it was fealty or fear. Thomas had promised himself to do better, to treat others with more consideration.

Now Thomas looked at Fia’s downcast face, a tear trailing down her cheek. “Forgive my temper. I’m in a horrible mood because of the horse and that damn dog, and then I grew hungry and—”

The bag slung over his shoulder wiggled, and Thomas grinned. Supper.
That
was how he would make his little Scottish thief smile once again.

He sat on the saddle blanket, placed his foot on Zeus’s back, and shoved the mongrel to one side. Zeus staggered to the other side of the fire and collapsed in a boneless heap.

Thomas patted the blanket next to him. “Fia, come and sit.” He flashed his most winsome smile, one that rarely failed him. “Please?”

Fia dried her eyes, then went to stand beside Zeus. Across the fire, Thomas met the dog’s grin with a hard look that made the dog drop his head in submission.

The old nag snorted indignantly and shuffled around until her rump pointed directly at Thomas.

He fixed his gaze on Fia. “I brought you something, but you can’t see it from way over there.” He held up the bag, which shook as something struggled within.

Fia’s eyes widened in reluctant fascination. “What is it?”

“Come and see.” He held the bag toward her. It had taken an hour of laying traps and praying faithfully to catch some dinner, and he was as proud of this plump rabbit as if it had been his first successful hunt.

Her gaze locked on the bag, she moved toward him. “Och, let me have it!” Her rich voice settled about him as rich and warm as a thick, fur-lined cloak.

She dropped to her knees on the blanket beside him, her face abeam alight with curiosity. “Is it very large?”

Every ache Thomas possessed melted into insignificance under the warmth of her smile. She was as lovely as a morning mist, even with leaves in her hair, her eyes bright with tears, and her nose reddened by the cold. He
handed her the bag. “Open it, Mistress Impatience, and see what I’ve caught.”