Sword Dance (16 page)

She took a deep breath. ‘Of course I am,' she managed to answer in a choked voice. ‘I told you life at Bou Saada was dangerous, didn't I?' Turning to the other two men, she added, ‘Wallace, Fraser, it's nice to see you.'

‘It's nice to see you, too, Miss Rose,' they replied in unison.

‘How did you get that gash on your forehead?' Bruce stepped forward and frowned as he stared at her dress, her bare feet and the veil hanging loose on her shoulders. ‘Come to think of it, why were you out dressed like a dancing girl tonight when soldiers roam the town, torching buildings and shooting at everybody?'

She waved an impatient hand in front of her but the harshness in his voice and eyes cut deep. ‘I had things to do… But I can't believe you came all this way to comment on my clothing. Why are you here?'

He bent down slowly towards her, held her in his serious, intense dark grey gaze. ‘I wanted to see you, to talk to you.'

Her head spun and all she wanted was to give in to the need to fall into his arms, feel his heat, his strength. Instead, she hardened her heart, crossed her arms on her chest and tilted her face up to look at him.

‘Perhaps I don't want to talk to you. Perhaps I'm not interested in what you have to say.'

The words tumbled out before she realised what she was saying. All the pain she'd endured this past year bubbled up and pushed her to lash out and hurt him too. Of course she wanted to see him, talk to him, hold him close. That's all she dreamt of for months.

She took a deep breath and looked at Bruce's two companions who now guarded the end of the lane, hands on their pistols and anxious looks on their faces.

‘However, we can't stay here. It's not safe, the soldiers might come back. I'll take you to my house. Follow me.'

As she started down the alleyway tears filled her eyes. She brushed them off with the back of her hands. This wasn't the reunion she had dreamt of. She had imagined Bruce lifting her into his arms, kissing her senseless and telling her he loved her. Instead he was cold, distant, critical, and talked to her as if she was a dim-witted, silly girl.

She could hardly see where she was going and stumbled against a sharp stone and let out a whimper as pain shot through her bare foot.

‘Here, let me help.' Bruce scooped her into his arms and pressed her against his chest. Instinctively her hands gripped his shoulders and her face nestled in the crook of his neck. At once his scent enveloped her – pine forest, salt and heat – and made her dizzy with longing.

She stiffened and tried to wriggle out of his grasp. ‘I don't need you. I can walk.'

‘No, you can't, and you do need me, whether you want it or not,' came his answer, snarled through clenched teeth.

She looked up and shook her head. ‘Well, I see you haven't changed one bit. You're still the same charming Lord McGrowl. My house is just over there at the end of the lane, by the way,' she said, pointing to the garden's white walls and the thick, carved wooden door.

‘I know. We came round before with our guide but there was nobody there.'

‘I live alone these days.'

Bruce looked down. ‘What about your mother, your servants?'

‘My mother is in Djanet with my brother, his wife and their baby son. She turned our estate into a cooperative a few months ago and I stayed behind to oversee the transition and finalise the arrangements. Everything is sorted now and I too will leave for Djanet as soon I have packed everything up and closed the house.'

He glanced down, his gaze dark and stormy. ‘Living on your own is dangerous, isn't it? It's more than that: it's downright irresponsible! You didn't answer earlier when I asked what you were doing out tonight. Didn't you realise how risky it was to go out''

She shrugged. ‘Of course I did, but I had an important message to pass on.'

His face darkened further. ‘Don't tell me you're involved with those rebels the French are chasing all over town.'

His tone was so sharp that anger suddenly ripped through her and she squeezed her fists hard and pushed against his chest. It was pointless, he didn't even appear to notice.

‘Whom I'm involved with is none of your concern. You made it clear you wanted nothing to do with me when you cast me aside, when you didn't even say goodbye before the
Sea Eagle
left. I waited and waited that morning…' Her voice broke as she remembered the heart-wrenching moment when she realised he wasn't going to come to Wrath Harbour and Captain Kennedy said he couldn't delay any longer.

‘I waited in Algiers for weeks, I wrote to you, to Doctor Kilroy, even to your friend MacBoyd, but
you
never wrote back. In fact, without the note doctor Kilroy sent me after the trial, I would still believe you in jail – or dead.'

He sighed and pain flashed through his eyes. ‘Aye, and I'm sorry for that. More than I can ever say.'

Wallace opened the garden door and the three men walked into the courtyard.

‘Which way now?'

‘Through the archways across the courtyard,' she said, tugging on the sleeve of Bruce's black shirt. ‘I want you to put me down.'

Once again, he ignored her. Damn. Why did the woman have to be so contrary? Everything was going from bad to worse tonight. He'd had months to think about the moment he'd be with her again, able at last to hold her in his arms and feel her slender body against him. When they rode into Bou Saada earlier after a gruelling few months travelling from Algiers through mountain ranges, deep cedar forests and scented orange groves, through desert plains and parched, rocky terrain, he could hardly contain his excitement… He'd even asked their guide to teach him a little French so he could surprise her! Yet all they'd done for the past half an hour was snap and snarl at each other.

It was his fault, of course. He'd been arrogant, patronising and overbearing, but he just couldn't help himself. It made him mad just thinking of Rose alone in this dangerous place, riddled with rogue soldiers and rebels. What made him even more mad was to see that she didn't seem to mind the danger at all.

Ignoring yet another request to put her down, he strode into a vast hallway with mosaic-tiled walls and floors and into a large drawing room. Tall candles burned in cast irons candelabras, large, simmering tapestries and hangings embroidered with gold, red and blue silk adorned the whitewashed walls. Low divans covered with embroidered cushions, dark wood furniture inlaid with intricate mother of pearl and copper patterns and colourful rugs completed the décor.

He stopped in front of a lioness's hide which was nailed upside down on the wall, its huge yellowing teeth sticking out of his open muzzle, its glazed, amber eyes forever blind. A shiver went through him – a mixture of pity and dread. Even the most lethal, the strongest and proudest predators could end up as a pathetic display like this, nothing but than a vulgar ornament.

At the other end of the room a dining table had been set for two, with white porcelain plates, silver cutlery and tall crystal glasses which sparkled in the candlelight. Jealousy ripped into Bruce's heart, and his fingers tightened around her slim body. He could almost feel her bare skin under the light, sheer costume.

‘I thought you lived here alone.' He pointed with his chin to the dishes of flat breads, meat and candied fruit laid out on the table.

‘A friend visited earlier.'

‘What friend?'

‘His name is Ahmoud. Not that's any of your business. He is a friend of my brother's.'

‘Ahmoud the rebel?' he barked as he remembered her telling him about the man once, when he was ill at the old cottage in
Sith Coille
… a lifetime before. He was the man who had fought with her brother against the French army, the man who had vowed never to surrender whereas her brother had given in.

‘Are you completely mad to shelter a rebel when the town is full of soldiers?'

‘And what would you rather have me do? Turn a man away when he is being chased like a wounded lion? Ahmoud asked me to deliver a message to his friends to warn them of the impending arrival of the French. They were in a tavern in the bazaar, that's why I dressed like an
Ouled Nail
dancer. I can only hope they all managed to escape in time… Now will you let me down? I'm cold and would like to change.'

He nodded and set her gently on her feet. She said she wouldn't be long and disappeared down a corridor.

As soon as she left, Wallace whistled between his teeth.

‘Miss Rose is as lovely, brave and feisty as I remembered.'

Bruce let out a grunt. ‘She's all that, and more…'

She wasn't a doubt-ridden girl any longer, but a confident young woman. Would she agree to listen to him, and forgive him? What if there was something other than friendship between her and that rebel, Ahmoud? What if he'd left it too late? He rubbed his face with his hands and sighed. Well, he'd soon find out.

He asked Wallace to patrol the gardens with Fraser and keep an eye out for French soldiers or stray rebel fighters. The last thing he wanted was to be disturbed before he had time to talk to Rose – to talk to her properly.

Chapter Thirteen

Bruce stood alone, his hands clasped behind his back in front of the lioness's hide. Her throat dry, her heart beating too fast, Rose pulled on the ends of the shawl she'd thrown on to hide her ripped dress and walked, still barefoot, across the reception room.

‘Where are Wallace and Fraser?'

‘In the garden, keeping watch,' he answered, still staring at the hide and without turning round.

‘This was the first lion my brother killed,' she said as she came closer. ‘He was fourteen at the time. My father said he'd saved his life that day.'

An uneasy silence fell between them.

‘Why did you come after all this time, Bruce?'

He turned to look at her. She'd been wrong when she thought he was the same man she'd left after the dreadful and traumatic events at Wrath, one year before. He
had
changed. His eyes were softer, warmer. He almost looked nervous. If only he knew it was she who was terrified of what he was about to say.

‘I came because I owed you an explanation.'

Disappointment hit her like a blow to the chest but she bit her lip to repress a whimper of pain.

‘Oh… I see.' She just about managed to control the quiver in her voice. What did she expect? And why did she hurt so much? After all she'd had one year to reconcile herself with the idea that she had lost him.

She had learnt so much about herself these past few months. She had worked hard to set up the cooperative, and had realised that people - her mother among them - loved and trusted her. All her new self-confidence now came crushing down, and she felt insecure and riddled with self-doubt once again.

She wasn't, however, about to show him. She stiffened her spine and tilted her face up. ‘You don't owe me anything. So if that's all you came for, you might as well leave'

He frowned. ‘No… No, you don't understand. That's not all. I have something for you.' He patted the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small velvet pouch.

‘There. It's yours if you want it,' he said, holding it out to her.

She loosened the ties with clumsy fingers and pulled out a shiny, crescent-shaped medallion attached to a gold chain. ‘Your mother's half of the medal,' she whispered, tears prickling her eyes.

‘I'll never thank you enough for rescuing it from the fire at the Nag's Head.'

She held the medal in front of her, then resolutely handed it back to him. ‘Why are you giving it to me? You should wear it – together with your father's.'

‘I wear McRae's half, which you somehow managed to rescue too before McRae destroyed the letter. My mother's medal is for you, if you want it…'

His eyes turned a stormy grey as he let out a frustrated sigh and raked his fingers in his hair. ‘Damn it, Rose. I am making a mess of this. What I'm trying to say is I brought you the medal because I want to marry you and take you back to Wrath. So what do you say?'

Her anger and hurt vanished like dew in the morning sun. Her heart beat as hard and fast as a
bendir
drum during a dance, and she suddenly felt so light she could fly. He had come for her. He loved her. He wanted her. Who cared if his proposal was raw and abrupt, and totally devoid of fancy and flowery words?

He looked so cross with her, with himself, and the whole world that she couldn't stop herself from teasing him.

‘This is a very grumpy marriage proposal, Bruce McGunn, even by your standards.'

He sighed again. ‘You're right,
graidheag
. I'm sorry. You asked me why I was here. Well, I came for you, and my only regret is that I didn't do so any sooner. Things were difficult, even after the trial, because the effects of the withdrawal from the datura were just as bad as the drug itself. When I finally got better, I kept telling myself I had so much to sort out I couldn't afford to spend any time away from Wrath. The truth is that I was scared.'

‘Scared? Of what?'

‘I was scared to see you again, scared you'd say no if I asked you to marry me. Scared you'd found another man and would send me away.' He pointed to the table set for two and coughed to clear his throat. ‘I see I was right. This Ahmoud… it's obvious you have feelings for him. I suppose you will say it has nothing to do with me, and you'd be right, of course.'

She shook her head. ‘Ahmoud is an old friend, that's all.'

His eyes closed for a second, relief painted on his face and he took a deep breath. ‘Then it may not be too late… I have so much to tell you, sweetheart, so much to explain, but first I must apologise if I caused you any pain. I believed I was doing you a favour by ignoring your letters and keeping well away. I thought you deserved better than me – you probably do anyway… I convinced myself I was doing the right thing. But all this time I couldn't stop thinking about you, and in the end nothing else mattered but to find you, hold you in my arms and make you mine again.'