Chapter Four

Panic rampaged through Calla and she could scarce breathe as she assessed Rebbie's obsidian gaze. Then, unable to withstand the force of it, she glanced away. How could this be happening to her? She should have known… any dishonesty on her part was bound to come back to nip at her heels.

"Please." Rebbie's voice was barely audible above the loud music.

She darted a quick glance at him to try to discern his thoughts, but his eyes were near impossible to read. He did not appear angry. Merely… interested? And intense.

"Very well," she said.

"Do you ken where the solar is?"

She nodded.

He stood and bowed, then headed toward the stairs.

Good heavens! What did he wish to talk about? That night they'd shared? She inhaled deeply, trying to dispel the jitters that had suddenly overtaken her entire body. Even her knees shook as she rose from her seat.

All will be well. He is not a cruel man. And he doesn't know…

At least, she hoped he wasn't cruel and vindictive like her late husband. Would Rebbie keep their secret if she asked him to?

After watching the dancers for a few moments to make certain Elena didn't notice her following Rebbie, she sedately strolled toward the stairs. Hopefully, they would think she was merely retiring for the night.

Her heart pounding, she ascended the steps and started down the dim corridor, lit here and there by a candle sconce. Walking as slowly as she could, she tried to calm herself as she approached the solar. The door was open and, inside, several candles burned along with a low fire in the hearth. A dark form in his black clothing, Rebbie stood before it, gazing into the flames, his hand propped on the mantel.

She stepped across the threshold and halted, knowing not what to say.

He turned. "Lady Stanbury, thank you for agreeing to meet with me. Please, come in." His businesslike tone helped her relax marginally. Maybe he wouldn't get too personal after all. Moving toward her, he motioned to the hearth, then bypassed her and closed the door. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Nay." Saints! Her heart-rate doubled. Was it fear or excitement? Maybe a little of both.

"Come. Have a seat." He took her hand and drew her to the chairs near the hearth. He wore no gloves, and she perversely wished she didn't either. From somewhere deep in her soul, she craved the warm touch of his skin—something she hadn't felt in a very long time.

Once they were seated, she thought he would speak, but he didn't. Instead, he picked up the poker and stirred the fire's coals, then added two pieces of wood. The fire popped and crackled, burning a bit brighter.

Her stomach ached with frayed nerves.

He set the metal poker aside and glanced at her briefly. "I remember that night," he said in a low, deep voice.

Her breath stopped and heat rushed over her. "Pray pardon, I—"

"Nay." He held up a hand. "Why on earth would you apologize? 'Twas me who was a rogue and a scoundrel."

"Nay, you were not." She knew he'd said that because he was a charming gentleman, for she was the one who'd approached him.

She'd told him she was a widow back then. A lie. She squeezed her eyes shut. He could easily learn her husband died a mere five months ago.

"Anyway. 'Tis our secret," he murmured.

She glanced at him. A hint of a sincere smile softened his sensual mouth. Was it too much to hope for… that he would keep their secret? With fathomless eyes, he studied her, waiting for her response. He could've easily taken advantage of her, forcing her to warm his bed in exchange for his silence, but thankfully he didn't appear to be that sort of man.

"I thank you," she said. "I never imagined… that I would see you again."

"You hoped you wouldn't, aye?" He lifted a brow, looking none too pleased about that.

It wasn't that she didn't want to see him again, for she certainly did, dreamed of it every night, but…. She shrugged. "Under the circumstances—"

"And what were the circumstances?"

She bit her lip. Could she tell him the truth, that she had been married at the time? And that she was an adulteress? Although, not by her own choice. Shame consumed her.

"You don't wish to say." His voice gentled. "I understand. 'Tis far different for a woman than for a man."

"Indeed."

"So, 'twas not something you did often?"

Calla's shocked gaze flew to Rebbie. "Nay. Of course not."

"I meant no offense." He could easily tell by her words and actions she was not very experienced at seducing men, then or now. She blushed almost as much as a virgin, for heaven's sake. If she were a practiced seductress, she would be all over him now, wouldn't she? Instead, she would rarely meet his gaze. 'Twas obvious she was mortified that he remembered the night they'd spent together.

He almost wished she would do something. Smile at him, touch his arm. Anything. He wanted to see a glimpse of the lass he'd shared a pleasurable night of unbridled passion with. He remembered the joy in her eyes and her smile.

Memories from that night had taunted him all day and now they flooded his mind. He recalled that her actions had told him she wasn't very experienced. Of course, she hadn't been a virgin. No widows were, unless their elderly husbands had been unable to perform. But 'twas obvious to him Calla had never experienced a bedding like the one he gave her. She had not truly even known how to kiss before he'd shown her.

He'd been in his early twenties at the time and bedsport had been one of his favorite pastimes. There was no way in hades he would've refused such a beautiful lady. Aye, he'd known she was a lady, but a countess? He hadn't imagined.

"I know what you must think of me," she whispered, refusing to look at him. "But, nay, I had not done that before." She shook her head. "You have no idea how embarrassed I am right now."

"There's no need to be. I won't be telling anyone." Of course, he'd already told Lachlan, but he wouldn't breathe a word about it. "I would never think badly of you. 'Twas just one of those things that happens when two lonely people get together." Or in his case, sotted on whisky. He was rarely lonely, but mayhap she had been. And if so, he was glad he'd been there for her. "I don't regret it. And I hope you don't."

She studied him for a longer moment. "Nay."

"Good." He observed her, unsure what was going through her mind, but feeling somehow that maybe she was starting to trust him a wee bit. "I hope you don't feel I took advantage of you in a… fragile state."

"Nay. Of course not. I blame myself."

"There is no blame. 'Twas a memorable night and I have to admit, I think of it sometimes."

The color of her face deepened in the firelight and she again refused to look at him.

"Do you?" he asked, knowing he was a scoundrel for asking such a thing of her. But he hoped she remembered.

"Aye," she whispered.

Her answer and her honesty sent a thrill through him. "Were you truly a widow at the time?"

She shot a panicked glance at him, then leapt from her chair. "I must return to the great hall. Lady Elena will be looking for me."

Moving quickly, he reached the door before she did and blocked her path.

She halted a foot away. "Laird Rebbinglen, I beg of you…" Her breathing hard and erratic, she covered her face and burst into tears.

"Saints. I am sorry." He took her shoulders between his hands and drew her close. "Please forgive me. I didn't mean to upset you."

She nodded, her whole body trembling in his arms.

He was shocked to discover her distress caused his chest to ache. " Shh . 'Tis all right, lass."

She was so curvy and heavenly against him. The feel of her took him back a few years into the past and 'twas almost as if they now stood in the inn's room. Back then, she hadn't cried, but she had been incredibly anxious at first. Until he'd calmed her and shown her what pleasure was all about.

He drew back, looked down into her shadowed face and stroked a tear away from her soft cheek. "Don't cry." He retrieved a handkerchief from his doublet and handed it to her.

She let out a shaky breath and took the embroidered cloth. "I thank you. You must think me a ninny."

"Of course not. I've been insensitive and upset you. I shouldn't have brought up the past, but I… wondered if you remembered. 'Twas not my intent to embarrass you."

What was his intent? He was not mad enough to want a repeat of the experience, was he?

On the one hand, she was an incredibly beautiful woman who sent heat and need rushing over him when she was near, but on the other hand, he couldn't have a tryst with the cousin of the lass his father had betrothed him to, even if he had no intention of marrying the girl. Under his best friend's roof? Nay, he was not quite that scandalous. And yet….

He touched her face and lifted her chin, finding he craved her attention. When her uncertain gaze met his, he shook his head. "Stop fashing yourself," he whispered. "I don't care if you were married or a widow at the time."

'Twas certainly not the first time he'd discovered he'd accidentally bedded a married woman. Of course, he'd never done it intentionally, but if the lady lied before climbing betwixt the sheets with him… Besides, most marriages among his peers were political arrangements and 'twas a well-known fact the husbands strayed to find their pleasures. So, why not the wives, too? He believed in fairness.

Calla released a breath and closed her eyes for a second. "I thank you."

The urge to kiss her beautiful lips consumed him of a sudden. But at the same time, he felt such a move would be taking advantage of her fragile state of mind. "No need to thank me."

She afforded him a hint of a watery smile and, for the first time, he saw a glimpse of the joyful lass he'd spent a night with.

Damnation! How he wanted… He ground his teeth, forcing himself not to move, not to draw her into his arms again… and to hell with everyone else.

"I suppose I should get back to the céilidh ," she said. "I'll make sure this is laundered before I return it to you." She held up the handkerchief.

He nodded, not caring about the handkerchief. All he wanted was a few more minutes alone with her. There were so many questions he wanted to ask her. But, as he'd already seen, she was not yet comfortable answering them.

***

"You disappeared," Lady Elena said, lighting a candle in the room they shared.

Calla raised her head from the pillow. She hadn't been asleep. Thoughts of Rebbie consumed her mind. "I grew tired and decided to turn in early. Your mother said she didn't mind, that she would keep an eye on you."

"Are you mad? That party was the most fun I've had in ages! I didn't even see you dancing."

"Nay. My head was aching." Especially after she'd met with Rebbie. Worry and tension always gave her headaches. In one way, she was much relieved by what he'd said to her—that he wouldn't tell anyone. In another way, though, she found herself even more tense because… well… he stirred up all sorts of disturbing feelings in her. Fragile feelings of yearning that she'd thought long dead. At one point, just before she'd quit the room, she'd both feared and hoped he would kiss her. But, nay. Hoping for such a thing was mad. She must keep her distance from him.

But, when he'd held her, his hard body pressed against hers had felt divine. 'Twas the same intense longing that tormented her after she'd left him at that inn, and that she re-experienced in her dreams.

"You've had a lot of headaches recently," Elena said. "I'm concerned."

"Do not worry over it. I'll be fine."

Elena dropped to her bed and lay down. "Is Rebbie not a dream come true?" She sighed.

Heat rushed over Calla and she was grateful for the dimness of the room. "Aye, he is."

"I danced with him once, but that was not nearly enough. Then, he left to talk to Laird Draughon ."

"Did you dance with anyone else?" Calla asked, trying to change the subject.

"Oh, indeed, I danced until I was breathless. Every man there wished to dance with me."

"Naturally."

"They would've asked you to dance, too, if you'd given them half a chance."

"Mayhap next time." But Calla was not quite carefree enough to dance half the night. She had far more important things to think about.

Elena leapt from the bed and paced. "I'm too excited to sleep. I wish Rebbie had kissed me goodnight."

Calla released an impatient breath. " 'Tis too soon. You will have to give him time." Annoyance gored her for she did not want to even imagine Rebbie kissing Elena. She detested the possessive feelings consuming her.

"I have never been kissed by anyone and I wish to know what it's like. Tell me." She plopped onto the bed again and faced Calla.

It could be either the best experience of one's life or the worst. "It depends on the person kissing you."

"An attractive man, like Rebbie."

"I'm certain ' twould be most pleasant." Aye, she knew for a fact Rebbie was an expert at kissing. But it had been such a long time since he'd kissed her, she found herself bereft.

"Pleasant in what way?" Elena asked.

"Dreamy, sweet and affectionate."

Elena sighed. "I cannot wait."

Her cousin was too young and na?ve to know anything about the other aspect of kissing… the arousal and carnal yearnings a kiss could stir up like a boiling caldron of need. Aye, Rebbie did that without effort.

But she could not think of it, for already her lips itched and tingled, craving the feel of his mouth on hers. At all costs, that could never happen.

***

In his guest chamber, Rebbie sat by the fire while he sipped a wee dram of whisky and gazed at the flames. His earlier conversation with Calla ran through his head and her image taunted him. She was so beautiful, but looked worried much of the time. He hoped he'd eased some of her fears. Of course, he wouldn't want anyone else to know about their prior meeting, other than Lachlan. Rebbie couldn't hide the truth from his friend.

He hoped he could spend more time with Calla the next day, but he would have to be careful and avoid raising suspicions from the others.

His door creaked. Frowning, he turned to find the young Lady Elena slipping into his room wearing naught but a smock and dressing gown.

He shot up from the chair, thankful he was still fully clothed. "What in blazes are you doing in here?"

"Oh!" Backing against the closed door, she pressed a hand to her chest. "My laird… Rebbie… I but wished to see you for a moment."

"Not here. You must leave immediately." He moved toward her, intent on removing her bodily if he had to. No way in hell was he going to be caught in a compromising position and be forced to marry her.

"Wait!" she begged.

"What is it?"

"I but wondered…." She looked at him hopefully.

He narrowed his eyes. "What did you wonder?"

She leapt toward him and flung her arms around his neck. His small whisky glass went flying as he caught her and held her away from him, but she'd already locked her hands behind his neck.

"Are you mad?" he demanded through clenched teeth. After opening the door, he tried to unclasp her fingers without breaking them.

"Kiss me," she whispered fervently, pushing her face closer to his.

"Nay. You must leave now." Turning his head aside, he attempted to disentangle himself from her without injuring her.

Once in the corridor, he pushed her away and held her at arm's length. "Go back to your own room," he ordered while trying to keep his voice low so as to not wake anyone.

A movement at the end of the dim corridor caught his attention. Who was that? A servant? They slipped away.

"Go," he told Elena again, then went back into his chamber and closed the door. He looked about for the piece of wood to bar the door but found none. Nor did he have the key for the lock.

"Damnation."

He dragged a sizable chest in front of the door. That should keep her out well enough. He never thought he'd have to block his door here at Draughon . Damn the lass. He released a harsh breath, then spotted the broken crystal glass on the floor. He picked up the pieces and deposited them safely upon a table.

Dropping into the chair again, he shoved his hands into his hair. What the hell was he going to do? He should break the contract and leave, go home to Castle Rebbinglen. But… if he did that, he might never see Calla again. Obviously, she would go with Lady Elena.

Though he knew he was daft for it, he wanted to remain near Calla a bit longer. Something about her haunted him. He needed to know her story. Since they'd come face-to-face again that morn, he could think of little else. After that night they'd spent together years ago, he hadn't wanted to let her go. That was why he'd searched for her. He'd wanted a hell of a lot more than just one night.

He'd stayed at that damnable inn for a week, hoping each night she would return in her black cloak, looking anonymous and mysterious. But she hadn't returned. Nor had he caught a glimpse of her on the streets of Stirling , or in any of the other inns. She had vanished.

He'd enjoyed their bedsport , but that little ache in his chest told him 'twas something more which fascinated him. Her gray eyes often held a shadow of sadness… loneliness… perhaps even desperation. But when he distracted her and made her smile, she forgot all about it. Her eyes would light up like silvery, sparkling frost and he just wanted to stop and stare.

Hell, what was he thinking? He didn't even know her. Not really.

After removing his clothes, he lay in bed awake a long while, mulling over his quandary. He must have fallen asleep in the wee hours, for he was shocked awake the next morn when someone rudely pounded on the door. Gray morning light gleamed through the narrow window.

"What the devil?" he muttered, sitting up.

The pounding resumed.

"Who is it?" he growled, rising from the bed.

"Barclay," the man outside the door snarled.

Hellfire. Rebbie squeezed his eyes shut. Had Elena told him she'd been in his chamber last night? That manipulative little brat! "You will have to wait until I'm decent."

"That will never happen," Barclay yelled.

What? Why, that bastard! After yanking on his linen shirt, Rebbie grabbed his breeches and pulled them on. He shoved the chest away from the door and yanked it open. "What do you want?" he demanded.

Barclay stabbed a finger at him. "You, sir, have compromised my daughter and I demand that you marry her immediately."

"Are you mad?" Rebbie assessed where the other man's weapons were. He saw none in evidence, but he could have a hidden knife anywhere.

"Nay. Word has spread all over the castle this morn that she was seen leaving your chamber at midnight. And she smelled like a distillery. My daughter does not drink whisky. She admitted to me that you had spilled it on her smock."

"You want the truth, Barclay?" Rebbie seethed, moving closer, wanting to punch the bastard in his smug mouth. "I'll give it to you. I was in my chamber, minding my own business, when she slipped into my room, then threw herself upon my person, causing me to spill my whisky, and demanded that I kiss her. I refused and deposited her into the corridor."

"Ha!" Barclay's eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. "Do you expect me to believe that of my innocent daughter?"

"Believe it or not. 'Tis the truth."

"Well…" Barclay shrugged, obviously seeing himself as superior to anyone else. "Everyone knows she was in your chamber, barely dressed, at midnight without her chaperone. And you are already bound by contract to marry her, so you may as well make it official."

"Nay." Rebbie ground the word out. "I'll not be forced to marry the coddled brat. She's naught but an overgrown child." Rebbie returned to his chamber and drew on his boots, then his doublet, while Barclay blathered on.

Damned if he was going to stay here and take this. He was tempted to throttle the man so he would shut up. After donning all his weapons and grabbing his sack of supplies, including a change of clothes, he shoved past Barclay and strode down the corridor toward the steps.

In the great hall, the servants were setting up the tables for breakfast. The guard opened the exit door for him and he jogged down the steps and toward the stables. Hell! He wished he could've spoken to Lachlan before departing, but there was no time. His friend would figure out what had happened soon enough. More than that, he wished he could talk to Calla for a moment, but… what would he say to her? He could think of naught that didn't sound daft.

"George!" he called, entering the stables.

Moments later, his manservant appeared from the stable loft, his clothes askew and his hair mussed from sleep.

"Saddle my horse, and be quick about it."

"Aye, m'laird ." He hastened toward the stalls.

Rebbie waited just outside the door, his gaze scanning the empty courtyard. He didn't want to have to kill that whoreson, Barclay, in a duel. Compromised his daughter… ha! She needed a sound thrashing.

Rebbie paced. Where would he go? He knew not, but anywhere far away from Barclay and his whining daughter. A life with her would be like being imprisoned in the tolbooth for the rest of his days.

Torture. Absolute and utter torture. He'd rather be tied to a whipping post.

"Robert!" his father yelled as he trotted across the courtyard. "What the devil do you think you're doing? Running away?"

"Nay, I'm not running away. I'm leaving so I'll not be forced to kill that bastard! I won't be trapped into marrying that brat. Not by you. Not by her. And not by Barclay."

" Och ! Calm yourself, son." His father stopped before him, breathing hard. "Let's go back inside and talk about it in a reasonable manner."

"There is no such thing! None of you understand reasonable ."

Fortunately, at that moment, George led his horse out to him.

"I thank you, George." Rebbie dropped three coins into the servant's hand, then hoisted himself into the saddle and took up the reins.

"When will you be back?" his father called after him as he guided the horse toward the portcullis.

"I don't ken," Rebbie yelled back. "Open the gates," he told the guards.

Once outside the walls, he gave the horse his head and flew away from Draughon as thick dark clouds hovered over the green, rolling landscape. He would not stay one more day under the roof with people trying to manipulate him and turn his life into a living hell. Barclay and his daughter grated upon his nerves worse than any people he'd ever met.

Normally, he enjoyed spending time at Draughon , with Lachlan and Angelique. Aye, but not the rest of them. Well… Calla… he enjoyed her company, of course, but damnation, he could not relax around her. His mind constantly drifted back to that night at the inn in Stirling and he would find himself getting aroused at the worst possible times.

He would go to Perth, he decided, and see a horse breeder there he'd been negotiating a deal with. For a while, he'd been considering venturing into horse breeding, especially since he'd acquired Devil.

By the time Rebbie returned to Draughon in a few days, hopefully everyone would have calmed down and he could tell Barclay, in a reasonable tone that the betrothal to his daughter was off. He didn't want to tell him now because once he did, they would leave, taking Calla with them.

***

"How could you have done such a thing?" Calla asked Elena. "Slipping out after I fell asleep and going to Laird Rebbinglen's room?" She was indeed surprised at the girl's courage but not as shocked as her mother had been. After all, Calla had done worse, but she wouldn't think of that now. Without doubt, Rebbie had been furious.

"I am sorry, Calla!" Elena paced from one side of their chamber to the other. "I couldn't sleep for wondering what it would be like if he kissed me. ' Twould be a dream come true, surely."

"You cannot force the man to marry you."

" 'Tis not the reason I did it!" Elena cried.

"Well, no matter your reasoning, your father is now trying to force Rebbie to marry you soon, and I fear that won't work. He's left, and who kens when he will be back, or if he will be back?"

"He will return soon." Elena blinked rapidly at the sheen of moisture in her eyes. "Won't he?" she asked in a meek voice.

"I know not," Calla said gently. The lass was so na?ve she probably had no inkling what took place in the marriage bed. "I heard angry shouts coming from the courtyard this morn and one of them sounded like his."

"Oh, Calla. I could make him so happy. I love him."

Calla forced a sympathetic smile. Maybe the lass wasn't simply na?ve, but truly daft. Or maybe 'twas because Calla knew Rebbie far better than Elena did. She could never make him happy. He looked bored beyond bearing every time she saw them talking. " 'Tis simply the first time you've been smitten," Calla said gently.

"Nay, 'tis not. I was smitten with Hardwick. What I feel for Rebbie is… is so much more. I simply must find a way to convince him to like me."

Calla wanted to shake her head. If he didn't like her already, chances were he never would. She turned away to finish readying herself for breakfast. Where had Rebbie gone? Wherever it was, she doubted he would return. Men like him valued their freedom more than anything. Had he ripped up the contract before he'd gone? She didn't know the details of what had transpired between him and Barclay, but it couldn't have been good.

For a certainty, she would miss Rebbie and the way his mysterious dark gaze lingered upon her in a curious manner. As if questions always waited on the tip of his tongue. Questions she definitely didn't want to answer. Maybe 'twas best for all of them that he'd gone.

After she and Elena finished dressing, they descended the steps to break their fast with the others in the great hall. Rebbie's father and Lachlan talked quietly in one corner of the large room while the others gathered around the high table. Soon, everyone was seated and the meal was served.

The normally boisterous group was near silent this morn and some of them eyed Elena in an inquiring manner, but she seemed not to notice. She picked at her food, appearing lost in her own misery. Barclay was red-faced, his glare searing everything in its path. She would be certain to avoid him. Though he was her father's cousin, she was not close to him.

Once Calla and Elena left the great hall and returned to their chamber, Lady Barclay entered, her face pale and her disproving mouth pinched. Calla expected the lady to give her daughter a scathing speech, but Lady Barclay turned her attention to Calla. "How could you let this happen?" she demanded.