Chapter Five

"Elizabeth!"

Lucius reached out to grab her, but he was too late. She tumbled down the eastern side of the ridge on the Huntingdon Hall side.

"Don't you girls move. Do you hear me?" Without waiting for a reply he scrambled after her, falling a few times, dodging trees and fighting the suffocating snow.

Oh, God, not Elizabeth! What have I done?

Lucius tried to hurry, to keep his eyes on her slim form below. His heart pounded in his chest. She lay facedown. Her tawny hair fanned out around her.

"Elizabeth." She was less than ten feet away from him. She moved her arm away from her head.

She is alive.

Then he saw the bloodred snow.

"Lucius," she whispered.

He sank to his knees beside her. "Don't move," he panted, unable to catch his breath. "Lie still. I need to check your wounds." He turned her head slightly. "There's a small gash at your temple. Does your head pain you?"

"I'm dizzy and I feel foolish, but other than that I'm well."

"Let me make certain." He felt over her arms and legs as he had to his brother Templars who'd fallen in battle.

She shifted to her side and reached out to gently grip his hand. She squeezed once before she released him. "Truly, it is just my head."

"Then let's get you back to the manor." At the sound of her weak voice, emotion tightened his chest. She would be all right. She had to be.

He placed his hand at the back of her neck. "I'm going to roll you over. Let me do the work," he urged as he eased her out of the snow to face him. "You're going to be fine." He gathered snow in his palm and gently applied it to the edge of her forehead. She flinched at the cold a moment before she leaned into his touch. "I'm so sorry, Elizabeth. I didn't mean to startle you."

"It was my fault for allowing myself to be distracted by the girls. None of us saw you coming."

He allowed himself a slight smile. "Blame it on the Templars. We were trained to walk silently when approaching the enemy."

Her gaze met his. "Am I the enemy?"

"Nay, Elizabeth. No longer. Let us put that past behind us. Shall we?"

She tried to sit up.

"Rest a moment," he protested, but she ignored him and sat anyway. Lucius leaned back on his haunches and signaled to the girls above that Elizabeth was well.

"I need to get back to the girls." She struggled to stand.

"Let me help you," he said as he stood, then scooped her into his arms.

"I can walk," she protested.

"I insist." He pulled her closer and his body heat warmed her.

She made no further comment as he carried her back up the hillside to the girls. Once they reached the top, the girls gathered around her.

"Are you hurt?" Camellia asked, her gaze straying to the blood at the side of Elizabeth's head.

"She'll be well once we take her home," Lucius said. "Let's get you all out of the snow."

"But she's bleeding," Lily said with a lisp as she captured Elizabeth's hand in her own smaller one.

"It's nothing serious, my sweet," she said, with a gentle smile.

"Two of you grab the basket of greens and let's go." Lucius tightened his hold on Elizabeth. The girls hurried ahead of them, leaving the two of them alone.

"Why were you at my father's house?" she asked in a voice no more than a whisper. "Were you trying to talk him out of our betrothal?" She stared at him, her eyes filled with a fragile sadness he had never seen there before.

"Your father wasn't home. Farnsworth informed me he's in Edinburgh."

He saw a shimmer of tears glaze her eyes before she turned her face into his chest.

Oh, Lord… Her father was gambling again. Lucius felt almost sick to his stomach at the thought. Elizabeth's father had dumped his daughter in the most inhumane way imaginable, then scurried back to the obsession that would ultimately destroy him. For Lucius had seen for himself the Huntingdon estate had nothing else of value left within it.

"I'll tell you what my father would have said had he been at home. He would say that I am no longer his worry. What happens to me will be of my own choosing."

"And your choice is to be with us?"

She bit her lip and looked past him at the girls, who had reached the rear door of the manor. "I had hoped my kiss last night said it all, but aye, I want to be here with you and your sisters."

He was too stunned by her revelation to respond. Was it his own dreadful assumptions that had set them all on this course? If he'd stayed and confronted Elizabeth or even Marcus, would both his brothers still be alive today?

He paused as they reached the manor at the doorway and drew a sharp breath. Was he making assumptions now about this woman and her plans to situate herself in his life?

"Please set me down." Her voice was soft, but insistent. "I need no further humiliation this day."

He placed her on her feet but kept his hand near the small of her back as she wobbled slightly.

Elizabeth moved a step away from Lucius, inside the doorway and out of his reach. She pushed the heartbreak she felt deep inside her as she cast a final glance at the man she loved.

Lucius now knew everything, her feelings for him and her father's dreadful obsession. He'd no doubt figured out that her father was off gaming with what remained of her bride-price. He'd seen for himself she had nowhere else to go as a result of their family's arrangement. And he didn't seem to care.

Elizabeth turned to go inside when Lucius placed his chilled fingers on her arm. He held her there. Their eyes locked.

A rush of emotion passed over his taut features. "Let me help you, Elizabeth."

She swallowed roughly, then nodded, uncertain what exactly he meant by his words. A part of her was frightened, another part hopeful, as she allowed him to lead her inside the kitchen.

Lucius shooed his sisters out of the chamber. "I'll inform you when Elizabeth is cleaned up."

"Goodness!" Marie swung around from where she stood near the hearth, her hands covered in flour up to her elbows. She turned white at the sight of Elizabeth's head and gown. She wiped the flour from her hands with her apron. "What happened?" Marie grabbed a bowl from the table near the hearth and filled it with water from a pitcher.

"A tree," both Elizabeth and Lucius said in unison.

He picked up a length of clean linen folded on the table, then knelt beside her. After dipping the cloth in water, he gently patted it over her sensitive flesh.

Lucius's touch was warm and excruciatingly intimate as he pushed back her hair from her cheek and dabbed at her jaw and her throat. His hand felt heavy, and her throat fragile and vulnerable. She swallowed. "Is the wound deep?"

"Nay. You are very lucky to have no serious injury."

The color returned to Marie's face. "If the two of ye have the situation in hand, then I'll go check on the girls."

"We're well enough, Marie." Lucius's gaze never left Elizabeth's face as he spoke to the older woman.

Elizabeth's heart accelerated as he dipped the cloth in the water, then caressed her skin from her temple down to her neck. She could feel her skin warming at his nearness. A pulse thrummed at his temple, and she was highly aware of the feathery curve of his half-closed dark lashes.

Did he feel it too? The strange tension that flared between them whenever they touched? She caught the faint fragrance of his scent—cinnamon bark and something deeper, more intimate. She leaned slightly closer and inhaled. She had always loved his unique scent. A heartbeat later she realized what she was doing and straightened.

Could he see her response to him? Would he hold himself back as he had last night by Marcus's graveside? Elizabeth willed herself to breathe slowly, evenly. But even that could not stop the flush rising to her cheeks or the tremble that came to her fingers.

He stood and took the linen he'd used to the table before returning with a clean cloth. He tore it into a thin strip and wrapped it about her head.

"Thank you for being so kind to me."

"Kind?" His laugh held a note of self-deprecation. " 'Tis my fault you slipped."

"When you try to be charming, you truly are."

"Nay, I'm not," he murmured as his lips descended to hers.

All her senses became focused on the feather-light pressure of his mouth, on the teasing, taunting dalliance of his tongue as it stroked her lips. He shifted toward her and pulled her close, embracing her in a way that made her feel molded to the hard contours of his chest. This moment was everything she'd ever wanted.

His lips slanted more forcefully over hers, and his tongue slid possessively into the heat of her mouth. Her fingers came up to spread across the thickness of his woolen tunic and inched higher…higher…until her arms circled his neck. She pressed herself into his embrace, thrilling in the strength of his arms as they held her.

The kiss she'd given him last night was nothing compared to this kiss. She brought her hand up to tease the hair at the nape of his neck, needing to feel more of him against her.

She drew a deep breath, and it was then that she surfaced enough from her bliss to note the tension in Lucius's shoulders and the stiffness of his posture. Despite the thoroughness of his kiss, he held himself back. Tears pooled in her eyes.

She pulled back with a sob. "Are you kissing me to kiss me, or does this mean what I want it to mean?"

He stared down at her, the line of his cheeks hollow with tension. "Is this not what you wanted?"

His kiss was everything she'd dreamed of. But suddenly it wasn't enough. She didn't want to be alone in her passion. She wanted him to love her in return. "Do your kisses come with an offer to be your wife?"

"I still haven't decided." The words were weighted as he held her away from him, as though he did not trust any further contact. He remained there for a moment longer, perfectly still, every muscle of his body rigid with tension before he stood. He moved for the door.

Elizabeth found herself holding her breath as she listened to his footsteps in the hall, heading farther and farther from her. When his steps faded to nothingness she cradled her head in her hands. What was wrong with her? The man she loved had finally kissed her, and kissed her like he'd enjoyed it very much.

Why did she have to want more?

A few moments later the girls surrounded Elizabeth, exclaiming over her injuries. She assured them she was well and encouraged them to continue with what they'd planned for the afternoon by decorating the hall.

The girls busied themselves, distributing the greens throughout the room, over the door lintels, and along the center of the wide wooden tables.

"Don't you want to help?" Iris asked Elizabeth as she decorated above the hearth with sprigs of holly and ivy.

"You're doing such a wonderful job," Elizabeth replied. "My head hurts me a little, so I'll enjoy watching you." It wasn't a total falsehood. Her head did hurt. The truth, however, was that she wasn't in the least enthusiastic about watching the girls transform the great hall into a holiday setting. Every moment she stayed in the room with them, her unease increased. What if Lucius sent her away?

She obviously wanted more than he was prepared to give her. Finally, she could take sitting quietly with her own thoughts no longer and made her apologies to the girls, then left the chamber and the festivities far behind.

She walked through the manor, her mind and her body reliving Lucius's kiss over and over in a torturous assault. Only two days until their marriage—a marriage that seemed less and less likely to happen. Was she prepared for the consequences if it did not?

Elizabeth shivered as she looked around her. Midwick was a lovely manor. The home she'd always dreamed of having. She gripped the railing and made her way upstairs, and slowly moved down the hallway to the next set of stairs at the end of the hall. The manor's rooms were spacious and airy, with brightly woven tapestries hung on the thick stone walls to block out the chill air so prevalent in Scotland in the wintertime.

She drifted past the three pairs of tall, narrow windows on the upper level. Late-afternoon light filtered through the glass, casting a golden glow at her feet. Drawn by the light, Elizabeth paused by one of the windows and stared wistfully at the landscape covered in snow, which seemed to go on forever. Lucius belonged here. He had always belonged here.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Lucius walked into her line of vision in the courtyard below, leading a large black horse. He was dressed in a tartan of red, blue, and green instead of in his earlier breeches and tunic. The Carrick plaid. With a fluid leap, the kilt-clad Scottish laird tossed himself onto the horse and rode from the courtyard alone.

Elizabeth turned away from the window. She'd driven him away again. With suddenly chilled fingers, she reached up and pulled the linen strip from her head. The bleeding had stopped, as had her dizziness. Perhaps she should leave the manor and forge out on her own while she had a chance to escape with a shred of her dignity intact.

As soon as the thought materialized, she tossed it away. She could never leave without saying good-bye. She knew what it felt like to be left behind with no explanation. She would not treat Lucius or his sisters that way.

She forced her mind away from the laird of the manor and back to the lovely architecture of Midwick. The end of the hallway drew Elizabeth's attention. She had never been up that staircase before. Pulled forward by her own curiosity, she mounted the stairs. At the top, she found herself in yet another hallway, with many doors on each side. Some were open, some closed, yet all the rooms looked as though they'd lain unused for decades.

A shaft of sunlight drew Elizabeth's attention to a place halfway down the hall. At the closed doorway she paused with her hand on the latch, suddenly suffering an odd premonition that she would be better off to leave this room alone. Yet her curiosity won over as she ignored the warning and pushed the latch down.

A musty scent assaulted her as she took her first step inside. A single window cast a bright splash of light into the center of the room, yet left the rest of the chamber in hazy shadow. Elizabeth took another step forward, then another, passing by furnishings that were covered with linen as well as cobwebs and dust.

Grime dimmed the floor. Sheer, lacy webs surrounded unlit candles in the chandelier above her. Despite their linen coverings, Elizabeth could see that a large bed sat in the center of the room along with several chests and a large wardrobe.

After the initial mustiness of the chamber permeated her senses, Elizabeth also thought she detected the faint scent of cinnamon. Lucius? Could this have once been his chamber before he'd left to join the Templars? Had his family closed the entire wing, waiting to reopen it again once he returned?

The walls of the room were bare of tapestries. The only adornment was hidden behind a linen cloth, just like all the other furnishings.

Elizabeth paused before the cloth. For some reason she needed to see what lay hidden beneath. Gripping the corner of the dust-covered cloth, her heart rate quickened as she pulled the cloth away. Her astonished gaze swept the painting from top to bottom. Unbelievable. Nay, it could not be. "Who did this?" she whispered into the void of silence surrounding her.

She could not tear her gaze from the painting of herself reclining on a padded settee, wearing nothing but a slip of the Carrick tartan that covered her from the rise of her breasts to the tops of her thighs. She should have been offended by such a seductive display. Instead a warmth centered in her core and her breath hitched.

She'd never posed for such a work. Even so, the artist had flattered her. Long dark lashes veiled her large brown eyes, and her long tawny hair cascaded loose about her shoulders. Her expression was alive with humor and mischief.

She looked radiant, and decadent, and beautiful, but for whom?