Gather the Stars

  "He didn't!" Rachel cut in, desperate. "I swear that he did not—"

  "Don't you be lying to protect the scoundrel, now!" the Scotswoman warned, charging Gavin, her winsome face that of an avenging angel, or of a brokenhearted mother. "He's a winning lad, and don't I know it—full of charm with that smile that could melt the very stones. But that doesn't excuse him for taking advantage of a poor wee girl the likes of you." Her lips were quivering, her eyes overbright as she confronted the Glen Lyon. "I know you were aching to woo her, but I raised you better than this, I did!"

  "Mama Fee, I swear I did not—"

  Tears welled up in those vague, beautiful eyes, spilling over delicate cheeks, a sob catching in the lilting tones of her voice. "How can you lie to me, now, with the evidence o' your villainy on the bedclothes for all to see?"

  "What the blazes?"

  "Her maiden blood! Look at it!" One slender finger poked at the wad of coverlet Rachel clutched to her breasts. Rachel glanced down, saw bright scarlet stains. Had Gavin broken open his wound sometime during the night?

  She turned to Mama Fee intending to tell her as much. "Truly, this is from—"

  The words were cut off as Gavin's hard arm suddenly grasped her about the waist. "There's no point in lying anymore, sweetheart. They can both see my loving in your face."

  "Your—your what?" Rachel choked the words out, nearly frozen with astonishment.

  "It shines in a woman's eyes, turns her face luminescent when she's been loved by a man. You have that look about you." The man was gazing at her as if she were a pagan banquet laid out for him to devour.

  "That's a creative path to lead to loveplay," Adam observed. "The woman shoots a man to get him into bed."

  "Loveplay!" Rachel exploded. "Don't be ridiculous! The blood is from his wou—"

  Nothing on earth should have been able to stop Rachel from spilling out the truth, regaining some sense of sanity, dignity in this mad situation. But she hadn't counted on the fierce pull of Gavin Carstares' eyes. They delved into her soul, resurrecting his tale of Mama Fee's six strong sons, lost in war, a grief-shattered mother waiting for her last boy to come home. But that boy wasn't coming home. Not ever. And somehow, Mama Fee had filled the gaping hole in her heart with these two men. Gavin Carstares had suffered untold pain in silence to keep this woman from realizing the extent of his injuries. Could Rachel expose the woman to more distress for something as brittle as dignity?

  "I..." She couldn't tell the Scotswoman the truth about last night. But how could she even begin to pretend—what? That she had just shared a bed with the rumpled tiger of a man beside her? That she'd shared his body—allowed him to touch her... taste her... take her?

  "I... I couldn't... couldn't help myself," she all but choked on the words.

  "Of course you couldn't, my poor, innocent angel," Mama Fee crooned, obviously mistaking her stammering for virginal shame. "He's a fine figure of a man, is Gavin. Enough to tempt any maid with a heart. But you needn't fear. He'll do right by you, he will." Her voice took on a steely tone. "You will marry her, or I vow I will thrash you myself for the first time in your life!"

  Rachel couldn't even enjoy the Glen Lyon's discomfiture, she was so touched at Mama Fee's outrage on her behalf.

  "Mama Fee," Adam put in, "she's already betrothed to—"

  "Adam, stop. That doesn't matter anymore. Mama Fee is right," the dread rebel allowed, guilty as a green lad caught abed with his lady-love by his mother. "I've behaved like the most despicable of villains. Mistress de Lacey, I can only pray that you will allow me to make right my sin by becoming my bride."

  "Are you out of your mi—" she stopped, aghast, her gaze flashing from his face to that of the older woman.

  "If I frightened you, I'm sorry. If I was overeager in my... attentions, I can only say that I was bewitched from the moment I laid eyes on you."

  "That is my lad, my dearest boy," Mama Fee caressed the tawny mane of his hair, and cast Rachel a beseeching look. "You see, he might have begun badly, but he is sorry. I vow, he'll make you a grand husband."

  This was insane. Another act in a play of sheer madness. She'd been neatly trapped again, by her own words, her clumsy actions, and an odd sense of loyalty to a woman she'd barely met. Or had she been snared by a pair of mesmerizing gray eyes?

  "I'm certain you must have some tolerable qualities," Rachel muttered to her captor. "I just haven't stumbled across them yet."

  He stifled a tense chuckle as Mama Fee continued briskly. "Never you worry, my sweet lamb. We'll have you wed the instant a priest can be found."

  Rachel caught the inside of her lip between her teeth. She could only hope that the aftermath of the rebellion had driven every priest in Scotland into the bottom of the sea—not that it would matter if the pope himself were riding through the Highlands, Rachel assured herself. It was not as if she and Gavin Carstares truly intended to marry, yet the longer they could protect this old woman from more pain, the better.

  "Adam," Mama Fee said, turning to the mountain of a man as if he were a stripling of twelve. "I shall be counting on you to find a priest so we can get your brother wed as soon as possible."

  Adam all but strangled on a chuckle. "Abducted the girl... she shot him. Hell, yes, the bloody fool would have to marry her!"

  "Adam, I've told you and told you, it is unbecoming to garble up your words so," Mama Fee scolded. "If you've something to say, say it so the rest of us can hear it."

  Adam clutched his head with one huge palm, his face brick red, his eyes dancing with suppressed laughter. But he only muttered. "I'm sorry, ma'am."

  "First, we should move the child out of this chamber at once," Mama Fee said.

  "No!" "Impossible!" Adam and the Glen Lyon erupted almost at once.

  The woman rounded on them, hands on hips, slender brows lowered in censure. "You needn't trouble yourselves to convince me. It isn't proper at all for the girl to stay where she is."

  "You are absolutely right." Rachel leaped in eagerly. It would be far easier to escape if she was in Mama Fee's care, away from this cave prison and the man who watched her with intriguing gray eyes. "Of course, I cannot stay with him until we—we are properly wed."

  She realized her mistake at once, as Adam closed in on her, the amusement that had shone in his features tempered to pure determination. His eyes flashed a warning as if to say Don't dare to play this game, for you can only lose. He started to speak, but the Glen Lyon was already cajoling Mama Fee in practiced tones.

  "Mama Fee, do you remember what it was like to be young and in love?" His voice dropped low, husky, doubtless with shame over his bald-faced lie to this woman he cared about. Why was it, then, that the tones reached beneath Rachel's skin, leaving the places he had touched tingling, burning with renewed heat? "The times are so uncertain, filled with peril. I cannot bear to be apart from her even for a moment."

  A faltering spark of awareness flickered in the old woman's eyes, and Rachel was aware of how important it was for her to remain captive. Gavin had actually risked stirring the embers of the woman's tragic past by hinting at the troubles engulfing Scotland.

  "Hell no. You can't separate them." Adam was blustering in an effort to distract Mama Fee. "You know Gav. He develops an abiding affection for anyone who clomps him over the head with a cudgel. It only stands to reason that a bullet wound would send him into ecstasies of devotion."

  "Damn it, Adam—" The Glen Lyon bit out a warning.

  "Oh, what the devil! Gav is right," Adam said with a sweetness so cloying it made Rachel's teeth ache. "No sense shutting up the stable gate once the stallion has won the mare, if you catch my meaning."

  Mama Fee's cheeks pinkened. "Of all the bold things to say! And with this innocent child present! You make me shamed to own you, the both of you."

  "We're inexcusable wretches," Gavin put in. "And Adam—he's completely hopeless. But perhaps Rachel might manage to civilize me. Please, Mama Fee, let her stay with me. She makes my wo
und feel so much better. Helps to distract me from the pain, don't you know?"

  Twin devils were dancing in his eyes, that pleading curve to his smile enough to charm the angels right out of their wings. The old woman attempted to glare at him, but Rachel could see the effort it took her.

  "You needn't attempt to wheedle me, sir. If you had enough energy to be about making a woman of the lass, your wound can't be too bad. It was the tiniest scratch as of last night, if I remember."

  Gavin smiled. "I've had the most distressing relapse."

  Adam rolled his eyes. "Perhaps you'd best be fixing the lovebirds breakfast, Mama Fee. My brother's had a damn thrilling couple of days. Abducting a woman, facing a villain unarmed, getting shot, falling in love."

  "Of all the absurd nonsense! You mustn't be teasing your brother so. It's not easy, this falling in love. Someday you shall see for yourself." She dealt Adam a smack on the seat of his breeches.

  "I've been in love at least a dozen times or more," Adam scoffed, indignant. "That's not counting the times I was merely infatuated."

  "Of course you have, my sweeting." Mama Fee made no attempt to hide the fact that she was humoring him. "It's only natural to feel a twinge of envy at your brother's good fortune, but I am certain we can find you a lady. You may tell me what you look for in a love while you help me make the bannocks. It's time to leave these two alone."

  "Absolutely. Let's do leave them alone. Perfect. It will be dashed entertaining to see what new disaster they'll have stirred up by the time we return," Adam grumbled, stalking out of the room. Mama Fee trailed behind him, softly scolding.

  As the door shut, Rachel turned to the Glen Lyon, saw him sag back against the pillows with a weary groan. He dragged his hand across his face.

  "Unbelievable," he said into his palm, a chuckle ending on a gasp of pain. "God, why didn't I get out of this bed when I had a chance!"

  "I wouldn't have been in this bed in the first place if you hadn't been so stubborn! Insisting that you'd break open your wound like a blasted fool in some crazed pretense of chivalry! But it didn't work, did it? You promised not to ravish me, and now—well, you might as well have! Your—your hands were all over me, and they both think that you did!"

  "My hands think they ravished you? They must be quite pleased with themselves."

  He was teasing her, infuriating her. "Not your hands, you blockhead! Mama Fee and Adam think that you... that we..."

  "Only with the most honorable of intentions, Mistress de Lacey," he said with a mock-solemn bow of his head. "I was madly in love with you, and I couldn't contain my passion."

  Rachel let fly a stream of oaths that would have made the general blanch. She skittered off the end of the mattress, dragging the tattered remnants of her costume and the bedclothes with her, fighting for some semblance of dignity, but it was hard to appear dignified bundled up in such a fashion. "You are impossible! No wonder I shot you! You'd drive a saint to it, I vow you would!" Her eyes stung, her throat thickened. "You may not care what anyone thinks of you—God knows, you don't mind the whole world calling you a coward—but I care about my reputation. It's humiliating that anyone should think I... I did that with someone like you! If you had a shred of decency, you'd be as appalled as I am!"

  "I would imagine it was quite a blow to that famed de Lacey pride to pretend to be my lover, yet you played along with the tale anyway." The insufferable impudence left his features. In its place, a tender gratitude welled. "I'm vastly in your debt."

  "I didn't do it for you, you infernal fool! I did it for her."

  "I know." He dragged himself into a sitting position. "You needn't fear that word of this will ever leave the cave. Once the orphans are safely aboard ship, I intend to convince Mama Fee to sail with them, to take care of them. Adam may bluster, but from the time we were boys, he refused to betray my foolishness to anyone else, even when it got him neck deep in trouble. And you may be certain I won't be spreading the tale, since it doesn't show to my credit."

  "I suppose I should find that comforting? This whole thing is absurd! How could anyone believe..."

  "That a man could fall in love with you? It seems you had brigades of men ready to die for one of your smiles."

  "But not—" she stopped, but the words echoed in her mind. Not a coward... not a traitor. She trembled, furious, confused, more shaken by the memory of a coward's kiss, a traitor's hands than the caresses of a dozen adoring heroes.

  "I see. It's absurd that a man like me would have the intelligence... no, the utter insolence to find you... magnificent." An odd expression flashed across his face, as if he were tasting something sweet, forbidden. Then the emotions vanished. He smiled tauntingly. "I may be a rebel scoundrel, Rachel, but I'm still a man."

  "I can't stay here with you!"

  "I wouldn't advise going anywhere else dressed like that. The effect is charming, but en dishabille can be carried a trifle too far. There are clothes in the basket—gowns and such. While Adam was in France, he gathered up cast-off clothes to bring back to those who had lost everything under fire and sword. Unfortunately, the only tender-hearted philanthropists of Adam's acquaintance were demimondaines. Their taste is exquisite, if perhaps a trifle... daring. But one of the gowns should do well enough for now."

  "I wouldn't care if I were dressed in a pudding bag at the moment! All I care about is getting away from you! I won't stay here. Not since you—you touched me.

  "What would you say if I told you that you reached out to me, Rachel?" The words were quiet, without mockery. "It's nothing to be ashamed of—needing a human touch after all you have been through."

  He meant it as reassurance, but as Rachel glared into his face, she saw her own weakness reflected in his eyes. Only Gavin Carstares, a renowned coward, wouldn't see it as weakness. Yet Rachel knew it for what it was.

  "I was sleeping and you took advantage of the situation," she said frigidly. "You knew I would sooner plunge off a cliff than allow you to touch me, but you did it anyway."

  That square jaw set, grim, his eyes darkening. "I'm sure if you did choose to jump off a cliff, it would be my fault when you hit the bottom. You have my most sincere apology. I can't imagine what possessed me to touch you."

  Yet for a heartbeat, those gray eyes swept down the bare, white curve of her shoulder, the slender length of her leg peeking from beneath the crumpled folds of coverlet that drooped about her like the petals of a wilting flower. Something simmered in those silvery depths—something that frightened her, intrigued her. Then it was gone.

  He levered himself up, supporting his ribs with one sinewy arm, his features white, drawn. His broad shoulders gleamed with sweat, the glistening droplets snagging in the tarnished gold dusting of hair that spanned his chest.

  She couldn't help but watch the subtle play of muscles as he moved. The knowledge that she had been nestled against that bared masculine flesh made her stomach do a wild flip. More galling still was the certainty that, lost in the safe haven of slumber where she didn't have to decide anything, where she didn't have to be strong, she had liked being held in his arms.

  Shadowy sensations stole through her—the scent of heather, the salty tang of sweat, the warm glow of something foreign to her experience—tenderness.

  Her fingers clamped into fists as the Glen Lyon slowly made his way to the desk. The oil lamp balanced all too precariously where Mama Fee had set it down, spilling its light into the chamber, next to the fresh bowl of water and a cloth for washing that lay atop the tray. Doubtless, the Scotswoman didn't allow grubby boys—or men—at her breakfast table, Rachel thought with a stab of hysterical amusement. No, the rebel traitor Glen Lyon must be freshly scrubbed, with hair brushed, before he sat down to his bannocks.

  Gavin dipped the cloth into the water with his right hand, and pressed it to his face. One glimpse of the bandage, stained with his blood, should have been enough to rein in Rachel's tongue. Yet the sight of the wound, the memory of his amusement over the incident, his kindn
ess to the old woman and Adam, and, most uncomfortable of all, to Rachel herself nagged at her.

  It wasn't supposed to be this way—so confusing. The world was simple, her papa had always taught her—heroes and villains, knights and dragons, cowards and the brave men. It was a simple mosaic for living, one in which the pieces had always fit so neatly. Why was it she suddenly felt as if Gavin Carstares was the one piece that wouldn't fit anywhere? Desperation bubbled in her chest as he turned his back to her. With the light running its golden fingers across the muscles of his back, she was tempted to touch him as well. Suddenly Rachel froze, as she saw the scars.

  How could such wicked gashes have escaped her notice the night before? They were slashed across the vulnerable plane of his back as if someone had tried to cut him down from behind in an act of pure cowardice.

  No. Lord Gavin Carstares was the man labeled coward. Coward... she clutched that thought as if it was the most powerful of talismans.

  "What happened to your back?" she demanded.

  He turned to her, and for once there was something dark in those eyes, something painful, hidden—a wound, one it would be dangerous to probe too deeply.

  "How do you think I got them?" he inquired evenly.

  "I don't know. Otherwise, I wouldn't make a fool of myself by asking."

  "I'm a coward, Rachel. I'm sure you haven't forgotten that. How do you think a man would get cut down from behind... unless he was running away?"

  She couldn't stifle her gasp of sick horror, recoiling from him and the picture he painted with his steady confession. Hadn't she had known that it would be such a thing that would brand him thus—some heinous incident that had christened him with the dread sobriquet of coward? Why did it bother her so deeply, shake her so thoroughly to hear the bitter mockery in his voice?

  "My men were in the thick of the fighting at Prestonpans. Prince Charles had wanted Glenlyon to lead—an honor for having served the Stuarts so well in other glorious, futile butcheries. I'd never killed a man before, never faced that kind of death and destruction. But I was supposed to hurl my command down into the midst of that hellhole, to send them down to die."