Authors: Heartstorm
His
experienced hands moved slowly, sensually, igniting a flame that flickered up
from somewhere deep inside her and began to burn with a sweet intensity. She
had tried to imagine his touch earlier, but her fantasies had fallen far short
of this! She was aware of nothing save the hungry weight of his body against
hers, and of his heart thudding heavily through the thin cloth between them.
Without
warning, Francis released her and drew back against the wall. "I think I'd
best get you back inside, lass," he said, drawing an unsteady breath.
Anne
struggled to regain control of her own cartwheeling senses. His abrupt
withdrawal surprised her. She swallowed hard, suddenly aware of the danger with
which she had so recklessly flirted.
Leaving
the moonlit battlements, the pair descended the darkened stairs, pausing only
long enough to secure the outer door. Neither spoke as they moved along the
hallway, but Francis's possessive touch was reminder enough of what had passed
between them.
When
they reached her chamber, Francis opened the door and followed her inside.
Lifting a hand to her cheek, he traced the angle of her jaw with one gentle
finger. "No more fears?" he said lightly.
Anne
stared at him, amazed at the joyous rush of feeling inside her. She boldly
threaded her fingers through the cool silk of his hair, drawing his dark head
down to hers and meeting his lips with her own. "None," she whispered
when he released her.
Francis
leaned back against the door, tiny flames flickering to life in the depths of
his eyes. His lips curled into a bewitching smile. "I think I'd best leave
you now, lass, else you might get more than you've bargained for this
night."
With
that he was gone. Moments later, she heard his door close softly down the hall.
Hugging herself in jubilation, Anne whirled madly about the room, finally
falling into bed with a smothered giggle, the feel of his lips still warm upon
her own.
The
morning was well advanced when Anne awoke. A brilliant ray of sunlight
streaming unchecked through her window reminded her instantly of the evening
just past. She had forgotten to draw the curtain, she realized with a sleepy
smile—but curtains had been the last thing on her mind that night!
Closing
her eyes, she gave one languorous stretch and then lay still. An overwhelming
happiness welled inside her, submerging every other thought beneath the
incredible memory of that hour alone with Francis. She could still feel the
heat of his mouth upon hers, the wild throb in her veins that began the moment
he stepped from the shadows. She wondered at the strange power he held over
her, that even now the memory of his touch set her body atremble.
She
laughed aloud, filled with a confidence in the future she had never before
possessed. No longer was she friendless and alone; with Francis beside her, the
dread thought of her father might even cease to haunt her.
With
a gasp she sat bolt upright, dismay flooding over her like an icy bath.
Glenkennon would never countenance a match between his daughter and the rebel
chief of the MacLean clan. How could she have forgotten?
Francis's
words came back to her with a haunting clarity: "...your value to him in
cold, hard gold." Her father needed her for the gold and for the alliance
she could bring through marriage. Such arrangements were to be expected for
women of her station.
Suddenly
her dreams seemed naught but the foolish fancies of a love-struck maiden in the
throes of her first affair. Her father would take delight in thwarting Francis
and would care little if he broke her heart in the process. Glenkennon could be
ruthless in achieving his ends. She had learned that lesson early and well.
She
tried to think
calmly, but her earlier confidence was shaken. Nagging
doubts slipped into her consciousness like creeping trails of mist settling
over the moor. Francis was a canny Scotsman, by all accounts. He'd not underestimate
Glenkennon's determination to use her to his advantage. And if she realized the
futile chance of a match between them, certainly Francis had foreseen its
impossibility.
But
the man never mentioned marriage, a small voice whispered to her. Slowly the
warmth drained from her heart to be replaced by a cold, empty ache. Perhaps
Francis planned to enjoy her company only until such time as she left for
Ranleigh. Had he not warned her himself that he was seldom interested in a
woman for long?
Her
cheeks burned at the memory of the way she had responded to his touch. He would
consider her an easy conquest—an "innocent," as Elizabeth had called
her. And what better way to be revenged upon Glenkennon, the nagging voice
whispered. He could easily ruin her and spoil her chances for an advantageous
marriage.
Closing
her eyes tightly, she took a deep, calming breath. She'd not believe it.
Perhaps Francis had forgotten what having the full enmity of the king's
representative would mean. Perhaps he had been caught up in the magic of the
moonlight, as she had. It was easy enough to see only what one wished on such a
night!
But
now it was morning, and the seductive glimmer of moonlight no longer hindered
her thinking. Francis had to see to the best interests of his clan, and she
must return to her father and the marriage he would plan for her. She had to be
practical. Regardless of the feelings on either side, this affair ought go no
further; it could only end with hurt on both sides. Anne would not have Francis
endangered because of her, nor did she wish to become more deeply involved with
a man she could never marry—if marriage had, indeed, been his intention.
She
rose and dressed slowly, the cold weight of despair hanging heavy on her
rebellious heart. She would avoid Francis for the day, she determined. It ought
not be difficult in the press of his many guests. Elizabeth Macintyre could
occupy his time easily enough if given half a chance.
A
brief knock interrupted her ruminations, and Kate entered, carrying breakfast.
Anne
forced herself to smile. "It's kind of you to bring up my breakfast, Kate.
I know you've more important duties with the house so full of guests." She
took the tray with a show of interest. "I should have been made to wait
till noon since I've slept away half the morning."
"'Twas
the chief's orders," Kate returned. "You wasn't to be 'wakened due to
the long night you had, and I was to bring your breakfast once I heard you
astirrin'." She looked at Anne speculatively. "The laird seems to be
in marvelous good spirits this morning for a man who danced the night away and
was up again at the crack o' dawn."
So
Francis was in a good mood that morning. Anne imagined how he would look at her
with that hint of a smile dancing in his eyes. Pain stabbed her heart. Ignoring
him was going to be more difficult than she had imagined. "Thank you,
Kate," she said quietly. "And where is Sir Francis now?"
"The
last I saw, he was in the hall with MacDonnell and Machines. They were
refightin' the battle of Byrely Moor, though God knows it couldna' ha' been
planned better than the way the chief ordered it near five years ago."
Kate chuckled and left the room, shaking her head.
To
Anne's surprise, the remainder of the morning passed easily enough. Discovering
that Francis had ridden out with several of the men, she went to work helping
Janet entertain those ladies of the party who were not yet preparing to depart.
It was not until midday that she caught sight of Francis's broad-shouldered
frame. He stood laughing with her uncle halfway across the room. She had only a
moment to prepare herself before he turned, his face lighting at the sight of
her. A small, private smile, little more than a change in the expression of his
eyes, altered his face subtly and found its way into her heart. It almost drew
an answering smile from her.
Francis
shouldered his way through the press of friends, moving quickly to her side.
"You missed a glorious morning, sleepyhead," he teased softly.
"I was hard pressed not to wake you when I passed your door at dawn."
She
ignored the unmistakable intimacy of his whisper and the heart-shaking smile he
seemed to wear just for her. He's a master at this kind of thing, she reminded
herself, summoning up all her pride to give him only a slight smile. "Kate
was foolish enough to let me sleep half the day, leaving poor Janet to attend
all your guests. As a matter of fact, I'm on an errand now for Lady MacInnes.
Pardon me, but I've tarried overlong as it is." Sidestepping him, she
moved quickly away, but not before she noticed the look of hurt surprise that
registered fleetingly in his eyes.
By
practicing the utmost caution, she managed to keep from running into Francis
for most of that long, wretched afternoon. There were several close calls, but
she kept herself occupied in remote parts of the castle whenever he was
indoors. Even Kate, sent by her chief to discover Anne's whereabouts, was sent
away with the lame excuse that she was "busy."
By
late afternoon Anne was thoroughly sick of feigning a gaiety that she did not
feel among a host of people with whom she was scarcely acquainted. Her head
ached and she longed to be alone. Slipping out the postern door, she moved
disconsolately across the courtyard toward the stables. She had not seen Cassie
in two days; the mare would forget her if she was not careful.
She
passed out of the harsh daylight into the musty dimness of the stable. The
place was devoid of humans this afternoon, its only inhabitants contentedly
munching the fragrant, dried meadow grass or stamping sleepily in their stalls.
The warm, familiar smell of horses and manure engulfed her and, for a moment,
she was transported to a simpler life when she had played in the stables and
counted her father's knowledgeable stable hands the only men worth knowing.
She
walked slowly along the aisle until she reached Cassie's stall. The mare
nuzzled her hand, pressing a warm, inquisitive nose against Anne's pocket, her
velvety muzzle sniffing out the dried fruit Anne had taken from the kitchen
larder.
She
stroked the mare's satiny neck, combing the tangles from the heavy black mane
with her fingers. "You're a beauty, sweetheart, and I'll hate to leave you
when I go. Will you miss me?" she questioned, looking steadily into the
great, liquid, brown eyes that stared at her soulfully. She smiled as the mare
nuzzled her arm, looking for more treats. "Well, you'll miss the things I
bring, anyway. You'll just have to make up to someone else when I'm gone."
"And
do you think you're going somewhere, mistress?" Francis's voice cut in coldly.
Anne
turned in surprise. Francis was leaning against the stable wall, his dark
garments blending perfectly with the shadows. It was no wonder she'd not seen
him when she left the blinding sunshine of the courtyard.
She
studied him wordlessly. His face was hard, the corners of his fascinating mouth
set and unsmiling. She felt a quick pang at the possibility she might cause him
hurt. "I suppose I'll be going sooner or later," she said, turning
back to the mare before she could betray herself.
"You'll
go when and if I choose and not before," he said softly, moving away from
the wall to within a few threatening inches. "I've been trying to see you
all day, mistress. You can't have been unaware of the fact."
His
voice was carefully controlled, yet she read the anger beneath its surface
calm. "I've been busy helping Janet," she said, feeling the pace of
her own heart quicken. "There are tasks to see to. She shouldn't have to
handle them all herself..."
"I'm
aware of that," he broke in curtly, "but I doubt they'd have kept you
from a moment with me had you been so inclined. What is it, lass?" he
questioned, sudden tenderness blunting the edge in his hard voice.
Anne's
gaze shifted nervously from his, dropping to focus blindly on the rough wood of
the stall. "Nothing," she replied, shrugging her shoulders with
feigned indifference.
"Be
bloody damned, woman! What kind of game are you playing?" Francis
exploded. "Did I dream last night or do you just enjoy making a fool of a
man?"
Underlying
the obvious anger in his voice, there was something else. Was it pain, she
wondered. Perhaps Francis hadn't been deluding her for the sake of revenge on
her father. Perhaps her doubts were unfounded.
But
if that were the case, it was all the more imperative to break off this misbegotten
relationship. She could bring the MacLeans nothing but trouble.
"Last
night was the result of too much wine and moonlight," she said with a
shaky laugh. "This morning I found I'd changed my mind. I'm sure you
understand. It... it just happened." She turned to move away from him,
catching her breath at the look of cold fury on his face. "If you'll
excuse me," she said nervously, "I think we've said all that needs
saying about the matter."
A
hard muscular arm shot out, blocking her way. "But I've not yet had my
say," Francis whispered silkily, his dark face close to hers. "Is
this the way you tease a man, lass? Christ, I'm sorry I left you last
night!" Without warning, he jerked her against him, one arm clamped
tightly around her slender waist, the other behind her head, fingers digging
painfully into the tender flesh of her neck. His mouth descended angrily upon
hers, bruising, hurting, demanding.