His shirt.
There was naught wrong with it. Och, a wee tear under one arm. And at the left elbow. And that slash at the hem where he’d caught it while sheathing his blade. ’Twas not yet tattered enough to require sewing. Still, the sight of her mending something of his—such a wifely thing to do—stirred some forgotten longing inside him.
As if she sensed him watching her, she stopped humming and looked up from her work. “You’re awake. Are you thirsty?”
“Aye.” His voice sounded like gravel.
She set her sewing aside, came to sit beside him, his tin cup in her hands. She held it to his lips and felt his forehead for fever with a cool, soft hand.
He drank every sweet, cool drop. “More.”
Twice more he drained the cup before his thirst was quenched.
“Lieutenant Cooke was here earlier to see you moved back to the hospital. Killy held him at bay until your brothers drove him off.”
“Good. I’ll no’ be goin’ back there but to check on my men.” He glanced at the parchment window, saw it was well past dawn. He needed to get onto his feet and back to his duties. “If you’d hand me my shirt, lass, I’ll be risin’.”
She stood, put his shirt behind her back. “You’ll be doin’ no such thing, Iain MacKinnon. You’re to stay in bed and rest.”
He felt a spark of irritation. “Wentworth’s orders?”
“Nay. Mine.”
He glared at her. “I am no’ an invalid.”
She raised a single eyebrow. “You are no’ fit to be rangin’ about.”
Gritting his teeth against the pain, he sat. “A wee lassie like you cannae stop me.”
She backed up against the door as if to block it. “You willna leave this cabin. I’ll tie you to your bed if I must.”
He chuckled, amused by the idea of her even trying to restrain him. “Does the notion of tyin’ me down excite you, lass?”
The color drained from her face, and her eyes grew wide.
’Twas more than a virgin’s modesty. For a moment there was real fear on her face.
“Annie?”
Then, as if it had never been there, the fear vanished, and she glared at him. “Lie down, or I’ll fetch Joseph and your brothers to come sit on you again.”
Letting the matter go for the moment, he glared back. “Very well. But if I’m to be a prisoner, who shall keep me company, feed me, and see to my needs?”
She lifted her chin. “As ’tis for my sake you’re sufferin’, I shall.”
He tried not to look pleased.
“Lift your arms.” Annie knelt before him, forcing herself to keep her gaze upon the roll of linen in her hands as she wrapped Iain’s wounds in clean bandages. She did not want to notice his flat nipples. Or the dark curls on his chest. Or the way his muscles shifted as he moved. “Does this hurt?”
“Do what you must, and dinnae fret.” He sat on the edge of the bed, his dark hair pulled over one shoulder. “I see Dr. Blake has taken out your stitches. You’ve healed well.”
Trying very hard not to cause him pain, she passed the roll behind his back—an action that required her to lean in close to him until her cheek almost pressed against his chest—then pulled it round to the front again. She could sense his gaze upon her, feel the warmth of his body, hear each slow, deep breath he drew.
Had she ever been as aware of any other man?
Nay. Never.
For a week she had cared for him, feeding him meals Killy brought from the kitchens, making him cups of strengthening tea, urging him to at least take laudanum at night so he could sleep free of pain. To pass the time, she’d mended his clothing and cleaned his cabin, leaving his side only briefly each day to tend his men in the hospital. At night, she’d slept on a pallet, warm before his fire.
And though he was badly injured and she knew he suffered, she couldn’t help but feel that he was enjoying it all. Perhaps it was the way his gaze seemed to follow her. Or the male satisfaction on his face. Or the deep purr in his voice when he spoke to her.
Still, he had not touched her, not like he had that night, and a part of her was disappointed. She hadn’t forgotten the hot taste of his tongue in her mouth or the feel of his kiss upon her breasts. In truth, she thought of it far too often. And every time she did, her belly grew tight and her blood hot.
’Twas maddening.
She passed the bandage roll behind his back again, taking care not to look into his eyes. As she drew it tight and tied it off, she felt him stiffen. “If you’d let me give you laudanum during the day, this wouldna hurt.”
He grazed her cheek with his knuckles, leaving a trail of fire on her skin. “There are more important things than cheating pain, lass. I willna render myself weak and witless when I should be awake.”
She knew he was thinking of Lord William. But she felt certain that Lord William was not seeking to bed her. The look of haughty disdain on his face when she’d misunderstood his intent that night told her as much.
Please tell me you don’t think I brought you here for some indecent purpose.
Yet, Iain seemed to think Lord William might carry her away.
It wasn’t that Annie trusted Lord William or thought him honorable. She’d seen how he liked to play with people’s lives when he’d tried to lure her into his bed in exchange for showing Iain mercy—and then had forced her to rethink her decision with Iain’s men watching. But he’d already had his chance to defile her, and he’d acted as if the idea offended him. Surely any curiosity he’d felt regarding her was waning by now. If her taking his queen in that impulsive and reckless move hadn’t roused his suspicions, nothing would.
“You force yourself to suffer needlessly, Iain. Lord William is no’ comin’ for me today or ever. I am naugh’ but an annoyance to him.”
He took her chin firmly in his grasp and forced her to meet his gaze. There was anger in his eyes—and a dark edge of warning in his voice. “Listen to me, Annie. Stay far away from him. He is a deceiver and will stop at naugh’ to take what he wants. And he wants you. You are an innocent and cannae see it, so you must be guided by me. I ken him and his devious ways better than most men.”
Annie heard Iain’s words but found herself staring at his lips, wishing for all the world he would kiss her. “You hate him because he is English.”
Iain watched her eyes darken, watched her gaze drop to his mouth, and he knew she wanted him to kiss her. He’d been fighting the urge to do just that for seven long days, pain helping to dull his desire. He willed his body not to respond now, for he knew he must tell her. For her sake, she must be told what kind of man Wentworth was.
“Nay, Annie, I dinnae hate him for bein’ English. I hate him for makin’ me his slave.”
And so he told her how he and his brothers had gone in to Albany so he could prepare his mother’s ring for Jeannie’s finger. He told her how he’d aided a whore he’d seen being beaten on the street while, unbeknownst to him, Wentworth watched from his window above. He told her how the man he’d bested had been found dead in the street the next morning and how he and his brothers had been falsely accused of killing him. He told her how, after sitting in gaol for a time, they’d been led in chains before Wentworth, who had offered Iain a devil’s bargain—command a company of Rangers and fight for the British or die on the gallows with his brothers beside him.
“Morgan and Connor wouldna see me go to war wi’out them to guard my back, and so they signed on, leavin’ our farm to fall into ruin. Every day since then, I have done as he commands, endin’ other men’s lives to save my own.”
He felt Annie’s fingertips caress his cheek, met her gaze, found her eyes soft with a woman’s compassion. Then she spoke words he’d once said to comfort her. “There is no shame in tryin’ to live another day. Is there no one who will listen—Lord William’s commanding officer? The colony’s governor?”
“Who will believe a Catholic Scot over their king’s own grandson? Nay, lass.”
She rose
from her knees and sat beside him on the bed, her hands buried in the folds of her skirts, her face troubled. “And Jeannie. D-did you marry her?”
He chuckled at her poorly concealed curiosity—and was surprised to find that her question caused him no anguish. “Nay, we were never wed. Her father didna wish her to marry a soldier—or a man in trouble wi’ the English. I asked her to wait until war’s end, when my name would be restored, and she said she would. But within three months, she’d taken a farmer lad from Ulster as her husband. They were killed a few months later by a war party.”
She laid her hand upon his arm, and he saw tears glisten in her eyes. “I am so sorry, Iain. Lord William is, indeed, a hard and hateful man to have stolen so much from you. You must spend each day wonderin’ what your life might have been like wi’ Jeannie, thinkin’ of children you might have fathered, if only . . .”
It shook him that she understood him so deeply. But as he sat beside her, surrounded by her scent and the warmth of her concern, he found he could no longer remember Jeannie’s face.
He brushed the braid from her shoulder, slipped his arm round her waist, and pulled her across his lap.
She gasped, looked up at him through startled eyes.
He ran his thumb over the fullness of her lower lip. “All I’m wonderin’ today, mo leannan, is how I’ve gone so long wi’out doin’ this.”
Then he took her lips with his.
With a whimper, Annie gave herself up to his kiss, welcoming the sweet invasion of his tongue, melting into the hard wall of his chest. Heat licked through her, flared deep in her belly, leaving her weak, reckless, breathless. “Iain!”
He growled, took the kiss deeper, ravished her mouth, until her lips tingled and ached and there was nothing in her world but him. The sharp stubble of his beard. The hard curve of his shoulders. The spicy male scent of him.
She knew she should end it, for she could not lie with him. But she hadn’t the will. Not when his lips strayed to the swells of her breasts. Not when he loosed her bodice, baring her tight, eager nipples to his hungry mouth. Not when his hand slipped around her hip to cup and squeeze her bum. Not until she felt him grab her skirts and lift them in impatient fistfuls.
“N-nay! Iain, stop!” She pushed his hand away. “I cannae!”
With a moan, he pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes squeezed shut as if in agony, his breathing ragged. “Och, Annie, a man could die for want of you.”
Her body shaking, she lay cradled in his arms, searching for an excuse. “M-my maidenhead is all I have to give a man. I—I cannae . . .”
He shook his head, his forehead still pressed against hers, his lashes dark against his cheeks. “You are far more than your maidenhead, Annie, but you dinnae need to explain. I have nothin’ to offer a woman, and you deserve the love and protection of a husband. I wouldna send you to your marriage bed feelin’ shame.”
But it was his sweet understanding that shamed her. For the truth was not that she was clinging to her virginity, but rather to the tatters of a lie.
Annie lay awake that night, her body burning almost as much as her conscience. She should have told him. She should have told Iain the truth. If anyone would understand and believe her, surely he would. So why had she said nothing?
Certainly, he knew what it was like to be falsely accused of a crime. He knew what it was like to have his life taken from him and overturned. He knew what it was like to be forced unjustly to serve another.
But there was more to her plight than that.
You’re an Argyll Campbell, Annie.
To tell him the truth, she would have to tell him her name. There wasn’t a Catholic Scot alive who didn’t hate the Argyll Campbells.
Would he forgive her? Or would he hate her?
Did it matter?
After all he’d done for her, Iain deserved to know the truth.
But did she have the courage to tell him?
Major MacKinnon refused to return to the hospital. Within a week, he refused to stay in bed, whereupon his men greeted him as if he were a conquering hero.
“As I said, he has the endurance of stone.” William sipped his cognac, listened to Lieutenant Cooke’s report.
“Dr. Blake, who was quite profuse in his praise, said Miss Burns cared for the major quite competently, freeing him to see to his other patients.” There was an amusing tone of pride to Cooke’s voice. “The doctor said she also helped tend the two Rangers still in hospital and shows a natural skill for nursing the sick. Apparently, she can readjust as well as he can.”
William had already heard this from Dr. Blake himself and had found it remarkable and yet somehow not surprising at all. Miss Burns was a young woman of uncommon ability. Not common at all. “Now that the major is on his feet again, perhaps it’s time I decided what to do with the lovely Miss Burns. She claims to have no family and no place to go. Yet we have regulations here at Fort Edward.”
“No women in the fort apart from officers’ wives and . . . er, camp followers, sir.”
“Quite correct.” William considered the courses of action available to him and found each more amusing than the last. “Summon both the major and Miss Burns to dine with us tomorrow evening.”
“I am your servant, my lord.” Lieutenant Cooke saluted smartly and was gone.
William took another sip, and then smiled. Tomorrow evening was going to be every bit as enjoyable as a challenging game of chess. Perhaps even more so. For tomorrow evening he would face two opponents—the enigmatic and beautiful Miss Burns and the formidable and volatile Major MacKinnon.
“You’ll take my cabin. I’ll move in wi’ Morgan for now.” A part of Iain couldn’t believe he was saying this, not when he wanted so desperately to be in bed with her.
Need for her consumed him, destroying his sleep, leaving him ill-tempered. Her femininity assailed him, pulled at him from across the room, called to him even when she was sleeping. With his pain no longer strong enough to distract him, how long would it be before his lust for her overthrew his honor?
She stood before his hearth, looking up at him from beneath sooty lashes, light from the fire sparking gold from her hair. “That is kind of you, Iain, but I dinnae want to put you out of your home. I’ve already been trouble enough. Dr. Blake said I could stay in the storeroom at the hospital until Lord William arranges for me to be taken back east.”
“Nay, lass. You’ll be safer here. These men are under my command. No’ a one of them would dare to touch you, and if I order them to guard you wi’ their lives, they will.”
She glanced away, her face troubled. “I would have no more Rangers perish for my sake. I’ve brought death and suffering enough already. I’ll stay at the hospital, where I’m no bother.”
He wanted to tell her that none of that was her fault. Any debt she owed the Rangers she’d repaid many times over with her care not only of him, but of Brendan, who’d kept his leg and was now strong enough to hobble about on oxter staffs, and Conall, whose fever had finally broken.
“You’ll stay here. You are no’ safe so near Wentworth.”
She touched a hand to his arm. “I know Lord William is a cruel man, but he is no’ after getting’ me into his bed, Iain. I’m certain he doesna spare a single thought for me.”
How could she be so blind?
“Then why has he asked you to dine wi’ him again?”
“He’s asked us both to dine wi’ him. Lieutenant Cooke said he wishes to discuss what’s to be done wi’ me.”
“You dinnae ken him as I do. You’ll stay in Ranger Camp where my men and I can watch over you.”
She gave him a beseeching look. “Why do you wish me to stay here in your cabin when we both know what might happen if I do?”
Her words struck with the force of a blow, and he understood. “You trust Wentworth to keep his hands off you more than you trust me, aye?”
She glared at him. “That is no’ what I said.”
“Och, it is.” It did nothing to
blunt his anger that he doubted himself. “But hear this. You are no’ home in Rothesay, but on the American frontier in the midst of a war. You are under my protection and, therefore, under the force of my command. If I say you shall stay in my cabin, then, by God, you’ll do just that, and I’ll no’ hear another word.”
Chapter 17
Annie woke the next morning feeling truly rested for the first time in what seemed like ages, having slept on a bed and not on the floor. She glanced toward the parchment window, saw the faint glow of dawn. Outside, she could hear the Rangers already at work. From the fort in the distance came the sound of drums as Regulars marched over the parade grounds at morning muster.
Annie rose, added the last bit of wood to the fire, then poured water into a large wooden bowl and washed her face. Next, she combed the tangles from her hair and tied it back with a pink ribbon. Then she changed into a clean shift and put on the other gown Iain had bought for her, the one with broad pink and ivory stripes. It fit as well as the first, though it was cut lower in the bodice. If she’d had a kerchief or shawl, she’d have covered herself for modesty’s sake, but lacking either, she put on her cloak, took up the water pail, and stepped out into the morning.
The breeze was warm with just a hint of spring, and the eastern sky glowed pink with the promise of a new day. Had it not been for a lingering sadness and frustration at Iain’s overbearing manner, she might have felt truly happy. Last night he’d acted as if she were one of his men, callously ordering her about until she’d been tempted to salute.
Did he truly think he had the right to command her? What had she done to merit his rage? Why did he insist on her remaining in his cabin when they both knew where that would lead them?
She still hadn’t found the courage to tell him the truth. Several times it had been on the tip of her tongue, but the moment had not yet seemed right for it. And just last night she’d heard Dougie play his fiddle and sing a song about rebellion, cursing her clan for traitors and lamenting the defeat of the Highlands.