Much Ado About Marriage (7 page)

She tugged on the tie and yanked the sack open. “Och! ’Tis a rabbit!” She pulled out the plump animal and held it from her. The animal immediately stopped struggling and stared at Fia, his little nose quivering furiously.

Thomas could almost smell the roasting meat.
Should we skew it on a stick and—

She turned toward his. “Thank you.”

He shrugged. “’Tis naught.”

“Nay, this is the loveliest present anyone has ever gotten me.”

Something about the tone of Fia’s voice gave Thomas pause. “Present? I wouldn’t call him that, exactly.”

“What would you call him?” Fia cuddled the rabbit close and cooed softly, “He’s such a sweet little bunny.”

Thomas’s smile faded completely.
Bunny?

She rubbed her cheek against the rabbit. Across the soft brown fur, Fia’s eyes met Thomas’s, their softly glowing light telling him all he had to know.
Bloody hell, the wench thinks ’tis a pet.

He looked at the way she cradled the rabbit, her cheek pressed to its soft fur, and his heart sank.
Damn. I’m getting no supper tonight.
His stomach immediately growled in protest.

Fia apparently heard his stomach, for her gaze grew concerned. “Thomas?” She glanced from him to the rabbit, and then back.

Thomas read her thoughts as clearly as if she’d spoken them aloud. She realized the probable truth of the rabbit’s appearance but was loath to believe it. She liked the rabbit, which was curled into her arms as if recognizing his one and only path to freedom.

It was rather odd to see the wild animal turn tame just by her touch. How had she done that?

“Thomas? Is the rabbit . . . did you mean us to—”

“He’s yours,” Thomas blurted. “He was caught in a trap and I rescued him to, ah, bring him to you.” That much was true . . . more or less.

“You
saved
him?” She positively beamed at him.

Normally Thomas was completely unaffected by approbation. But it had been a long time since someone had looked at him with such unadulterated admiration. “I didn’t do much. I merely removed him from the trap.”

“Poor bunny! Was he hurt?” Fia’s dark head bent over the rabbit, delicate fingers carefully looking for injuries. “Och, look, the poor dear has an injured leg.”

Thomas winced as his stomach growled again.

Fia smiled. “’Tis not as bad as I thought; he’ll recover without any permanent damage.”

I wish I could say the same for myself. I’ve never been this hungry.

Fia settled the rabbit in her lap and stroked it, her long fingers graceful as they trailed over the soft fur. “He’s so tame!”

Thomas frowned, thinking of the struggle he’d had getting the creature into the bag. “Aye, ’tis unnatural.”

“Mary says no one has a way with animals like I do.” She peeped at Thomas through her lashes. “’Tis magic, you know. From my mother.”

“I don’t believe in magic.”

“I do.” She spoke calmly, without a hint of braggadocio. “I understand animals.” She frowned. “I wish I understood people as well.”

“Together, we would rule the world, for I understand
people well enough. If they don’t do what I wish, I crack their heads together.”

She chuckled. “Duncan has the same manner about him. ’Tis effective but doesn’t allow for much warmth.”

Thomas felt the rabbit’s accusing gaze, and he stared determinedly back at it. He’d be damned if he would let a hare make him feel uneasy.

Even though he could do nothing about it, he imagined how the plump rabbit would taste, basted with honey, turning slowly on a spit over a crackling fire—

He watched morosely as Fia made a soft bed for her new pet out of the blanket. The
only
blanket, Thomas reminded himself.

As she tucked in the wounded rabbit, she lifted shining eyes to his. “Thank you, Sassenach.”

The soft words curled into the hollowness of his stomach and filled it. As he gazed into Fia’s fathomless eyes, something inside his chest shifted and warmed.

Drowning—that’s what he was doing. He was drowning in the eyes of a wench who brought him the devil’s own luck. He ached for the taste of her, the sweet fragrance of her hair and the lushness of her rounded body.

His gaze dropped to her lips, which were delectably moist. He couldn’t look away from that tempting mouth.

He had to have her.

Now.

Thomas reached across the small space that separated them and buried a hand in her hair, pulling her to him. She leaned into him, offering herself so sweetly that his lust burst into flames.

With every ounce of the desire that burned through his body, he kissed her, devouring her sweetness. Fia didn’t
hesitate, returning his ardor as passionately as he could have wanted. Her fingers tangled in the folds of his shirt as her soft moans sent him spiraling toward heaven.
God’s wounds, she is a hot little piece.

She made him as addlepated as a youth, but oh, what a delectable madness it was. He sank his hands deeper into her hair and tasted the smoothness of her cheek as he feathered sensual kisses over her face, her eyes, her sweet neck, making her gasp with pleasure.

She clung to his shirt, pulling him closer. As he nipped at her ear, he impatiently tugged at the lacings on her bodice. With a soft pop, the tie gave way and the material gaped open, revealing the silken white chemise that barely covered the mounds of her breasts.

Thomas rained kisses down her throat to the hollow of her neck.

She gasped. “Duncan!”

Thomas froze.
She couldn’t have said another man’s name.
His ardor cooled, he pulled back. “No, comfit, ’tis not Duncan. ’Tis Thomas. My name is Thomas Wentworth.”

Deep and rumbling, a masculine voice filled the small clearing. “That is useful to know. ’Twould bring my clan ill fortune were I to kill a nameless man.”

His heart thudding sickly, Thomas met Fia’s pleading gaze.

She gave a weak smile and pointed over his shoulder. “Thomas, ’tis Duncan. I fear he’s found us.”

Where is he?” Fia demanded.

The guard remained solidly in front of the great oaken door.

She stomped her slippered foot, wincing as her heel met the stone floor. “MacKenna, I asked you a question. Did you not hear me?”

The large man simply stood, booted feet wide, kilt hanging below his knees, his bulging arms crossed over his wide chest.

She crossed her arms and set her feet apart, too. “MacKenna, don’t make me lose my temper.”

MacKenna’s gaze finally flickered, a look of unease crossing his red-bearded face. “Now, lass, dinna be threatenin’ me. I’m only doin’ the laird’s biddin’ and ye know it.”

“Where is he, then?”

“Ye know where the laird is, or ye wouldn’t be a-standin’ there tappin’ yer foot.”

“I wasn’t speaking of Duncan. I want to know where the Sassenach has been taken.”

“The Sassenach is with the laird, and the laird dinna wish to be disturbed.”

Fia squared her shoulders. “He is about to be disturbed whether he wishes it or not.”

Concern flickered in MacKenna’s blue eyes. “Settle down a mite, lassie. The MacLean is as mad as a bear with a sore paw. Ye had best wait ’til—”

The huge door slammed open. “MacKenna!” Duncan bellowed. “Send for my daft cous—” His dark gaze locked on Fia, his mouth tightening. “There you are.”

“Aye, and I want to see the Sassenach.”

Duncan glowered down at her. If MacKenna was huge, Duncan was a giant. Tall, broad-chested, and as dark-haired as the night, he filled the large arched doorway. His arms bulged with muscles that made MacKenna look like a lad.

Yet for all that he was as big as a house, his face held a beauty rarely seen in such a large man—something she didn’t often notice, since she thought of him as a brother. Duncan had taken care of Fia since she was but a wee bairn; he treated her with the fondness and exasperation of natural-born sibling, and she returned the favor. She’d been mildly surprised when she’d begun to notice how many maids succumbed to his flashing black eyes, strong jaw, and dark hair, like grass before a roaring brushfire.

Duncan stood to one side and jerked his head to indicate she was to precede him. “We must speak.”

“Yes, we must.” Fia lifted her chin to a lofty angle suitable for one of the many princesses who populated her plays and swept past him into the great hall.

As she did so, she cast a considering glance up at Duncan through her lashes. He was angered, there was no
doubt of that. His mouth was a bleak slash and his eyes burned with suppressed fury.

“I take it by your expression that your quest to find the White Witch came to naught?”

His dark glower did not abate. “I didn’t call you here to discuss that.”

“You didn’t call me here at all; I came myself. What happened with the White Witch?”

Duncan shrugged, his gaze shadowed. “I found her.”

“And? What was she like?”

To Fia’s surprise, a deep red flush rose over Duncan’s face. “She was infuriating and damnably proud.”

Fia lifted her brows. “Was she as beauteous as they say?”

He didn’t answer for the longest time. “I did not notice.”

Ha!
“I would wager you did.”

He shot her a hard look. “It matters not. I have declawed that particular cat.” He touched a heavy silver chain around his throat, pulling a magnificent amber amulet free from his clothing. The chased silver work that held the jewel depicted an odd mixture of flowers, grass, and a sinuous snake.

Fia blinked at the seductive beauty of the amulet. “Is that
hers
?”

“’
Twas
hers.” Duncan’s face held a sense of exquisite satisfaction. “Now ’tis mine.”

“Good God. Won’t she come to get it back?”

Duncan’s smile was pleased and secretive. “Perhaps.”

“But she’s a witch! She’ll not tamely sit by and—”

“Enough.” Duncan’s smile was gone. “That’s
my
concern and no one else’s. I wish to speak about your behavior with the Sassenach.”

“Fine. Where is he?”

Duncan nodded to the far side of the great hall, and she saw a tall chair facing toward the fire. She knew the arm that rested on it was Thomas’s by the ragged fringe of his sleeve. As she drew closer, she realized his head was bowed.

That was odd. Was he praying, perhaps? Or—She frowned. He wasn’t moving. She hurried her steps.
What’s wrong? Is he—

Her heart ached as she realized he was unconscious and bound to the chair. “Duncan, what have you done to my Englishman?”

“Nothing he did not deserve,” Duncan said, walking behind her.

She knelt beside Thomas, noting the trickle of blood running down one cheek. One eye was swelling, while the other was a telltale red.

Fia smoothed back Thomas’s thick, black hair and carefully examined the large lump on his forehead. “Och, you’ve beaten him to a bloody pulp!”

“He’s an intruder on my land. I could have rightfully killed him and no one would have said a word.”

“He says he’s an English earl. I don’t know that I believe that, though.”

Duncan gave a grim smile. “I know exactly who he is.”

“Aye, he’s a Sassenach. Queen Elizabeth’s not one to greet with a smile the news that someone has beaten one of her subjects.”

“My men wouldn’t have done so much if he’d talked. The damned fool wouldn’t say a word.”

“Ha! You were looking for an excuse; I know you too well.” Fia gathered a pitcher of water and a cloth from the sideboard and returned to Thomas’s side. She carefully bathed his bruised face.

“Let the man be,” Duncan grumbled. “You’d think he was made of glass, to be hurt by a few light taps.”

“Light? And who among your men is given to delivering ‘light taps’?”

Duncan scratched his bearded chin. “Well . . . young Fitzgerald has a light fist.”

“I should hope so; he’s only twelve.” Fia pinned Duncan with an exasperated glare. “You had my Englishman trounced soundly, and not by young Fitzgerald.”

Duncan rubbed his ear, a sheepish look on his face. “Aye, but—”

“I’m ashamed of you, Duncan MacLean, for causing harm to an innocent man!”

“Innocent, my ass.”

“Innocent. And if you weren’t such a hothead, you’d know it for yourself.” Fia dabbed at the cut on Thomas’s mouth. She hoped it wouldn’t leave a scar.

Duncan took a chair and watched as she tended the wounded Englishman.

“I cannot believe you’d treat a man such, and for nothing more than giving me a kiss.”

“’Twas more than just a kiss. I saw it. If I had not arrived when I did, there is no telling what might have happened.”

True. Still . . . “He didn’t deserve this.”

“If you hadn’t put yourself in the most damnable position, I wouldn’t have been forced to take such an action.”

“No one forces you to do anything, Duncan.”

His jaw tightened. “Life forces us all to make decisions we dinna like. For example, I returned home and found you gone. Then I discover you wandering about in the middle of the night with an Englishman, like a common—” He snapped his mouth shut and glared. “What were you thinking?”

Fia rinsed out the cloth and dabbed at a bruise beneath Thomas’s eye. “I was on my way to London.”

“Och, London again.”

“Aye, where my destiny awaits. I’ve told you that time and again.”

“So you have.” Duncan regarded her grimly. “But not with an Englishman you didn’t even know.”

“That was a stroke of good fortune.”

“Lass, you’re daft, you are.”

“No, I’m not. I had everything planned.”

“Really?” Duncan scoffed. “What were you doing with the candlesticks? A house full of valuables, and all you could think to steal were some paltry candlesticks?”

“Borrow,” she corrected as she rinsed out the cloth. “My household goods are all locked away.”

“Where they’ll stay until you marry.”

“So I borrowed some of your house goods. If I’d sold some of my jewels or silver plate, you’d easily have tracked me down. The candlesticks were nondescript; I doubt you’d have even missed them.”

Duncan looked sour at this calm assertion. “How did you propose to sell your loot? Just walk into some crofter’s hut and flash it before their amazed eyes?”