Prudence’s trembling ceased. She felt dangerously close to using the hairpin in her hand. Jamie had good reason to be thankful it wasn’t a loaded pistol. “I don’t think rose water was what Sebastian had in mind. Would you please leave my room?”
Jamie’s mischievous grin faded. He rose, shrugging his thin shoulders. “Never say Jamie Graham don’t aim to please the ladies. I thought ye might be lonely while Sebastian was out gallivantin’ with the other one.”
He started for the window, casting her a wounded glance from beneath his sparse auburn lashes.
“Wait.” Prudence startled herself as curiosity overcame both anger and fear. She might never have a better opportunity to learn about her aunt’s enigmatic fiancé. “Is Sebastian Kerr his real name?”
Jamie shrugged again. “It is now. Used to be Kirkpatrick. Sometimes we just call him Kirk.” Sighing, he sank down on the window seat. “Why is it every time I’m in a lass’s bedroom, I end up answerin’ questions about him?” His voice shifted to a whining falsetto. “What color does he like? What’s his favorite food? What pleases him in bed?” He snorted. “If I knew that, they wouldn’t need to worry about it, would they?”
“He wouldn’t be very pleased to know you’d been here, would he?” She dared a sweet smile.
He acknowledged her threat with a mocking smirk.
“Have you ever been to his home in the Highlands—Dunkirk?”
“Aye. Tiny snuck me up there one night when we was hidin’ out.”
“What is it like?”
Jamie shook his head at the memory. “A crumblin’ hole of a castle perched at the edge of heaven itself.”
Prudence sat down cross-legged on the carpet, still clutching the bolster. “If it’s such a hole, why does he risk everything to gain it back?” Her real question remained unspoken. Why will he even marry Tricia for it?
“ ’Cause he don’t want a stinkin’ MacKay to have it. The MacKays and the Kerrs have been sworn enemies since the massacre at Culloden. Sebastian’s ma came all the way from France to be MacKay’s bride. Sebastian’s da kidnapped her and kept her for his own. MacKay swore revenge. When Sebastian’s da dropped dead in his boots, MacKay took Dunkirk. Sebastian was little older than a lad. There was nothin’ he could do to stop him.”
“Did you know Sebastian’s father?”
“No.” Jamie shuddered. “But Tiny told me about him. He was the meanest son-of-a-bitch whose boots ever shook the heather. Did ye see the scar under Sebastian’s chin?”
She nodded slowly, hesitant to remind Jamie of her nearness to Sebastian in the crofter’s hut.
“That’s where his da’s ring caught him when he dared to shed a tear at his own ma’s burial. ‘Men don’t cry,’ he told him. And the lad little more than a babe himself!”
Prudence twisted the bolster in her hands, caught off guard by the dangerous welling of emotion in her throat.
“Lass?” Jamie’s voice was surprisingly kind.
She lifted her head, blinking back unshed tears.
He cocked his head to the side, studying her. “Back at the hut, Tiny didn’t understand what Sebastian saw in ye. Ye ain’t really his sort, if ye know what I mean. But I can kind of see it now. Ye ain’t so bad. When ye came out of the house that first day, I thought it might be ye he set out to marry. It would have made good sense to keep ye quiet that way.”
She pursed her lips thoughtfully.
Jamie shifted his weight from window seat to windowsill. “Look, lass, just watch yer back when he’s around.”
She stood, letting the bolster drop to the floor. She barely felt the brush of the kitten against her ankle. “Why?”
“Ye know what they say about curiosity and cats.” He drew his forefinger across his throat.
She glanced down at her cat. When she looked up again, the window was empty and Jamie was running fleet-footed and silent across the lawn. Prudence stood for a long time, staring at nothing and shivering in the warm night breeze.
Nine
A ghostly tapping came on the window. Prudence stiffened in her bed, holding her breath. Tap. Tap. Tap. Her fingers curled around the counterpane as she weighed the wisdom of pulling it over her head. Not Jamie again, please, she prayed silently. Not two visits in the same week. The tapping ceased. She rolled to her side, hoping she was dreaming.
A shower of pebbles struck the window, shattering a glazed pane with a tinkling crash. A slurred curse followed. She leaped out of bed and tiptoed to the window, picking her way among the shards of glass.
She peeped out the window.
A figure stood on the lawn below, bathed in a puddle of moonlight. “ ‘But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east and Prudence is the sun.’ ”
She ducked behind the curtains. She must be dreaming, she thought. Why else would a Highland bandit be standing beneath her window misquoting Shakespeare?
“ ‘Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious—’ ”
She jerked up what was left of the window. Sebastian’s idea of a stage whisper was enough to awaken Tricia’s dead husbands sleeping in the family crypt. “Ssssh! Have you lost your senses, Sebastian? One more word and I shall rouse my aunt.”
The reproachful look he gave her would have shamed an infidel. Prudence’s breath caught in her throat. She had forgotten what a dashing figure he cut in full Scottish garb. A belted kilt matched the black and green tartan of his stockings. A silver brooch secured the pleated plaid draped over one shoulder. His knees were bared to the warm night air.
She frowned as the import of his dress sank in. “Whatever are you doing? You’re supposed to be in Edinburgh.”
He bowed mockingly and almost stumbled. “I stopped off in London to pay my respects to King Georgie.”
She leaned out the window. “This is no time for jests. What will Tricia do if she finds you on the lawn dressed like that? What will Sir Arlo do?”
“He’ll probably shoot me again.”
Prudence’s hands froze before she could slam the window back down.
Her mouth went dry. It could be a trap. She was the only one at Lindentree who knew his true identity. Jamie’s warning spun through her mind. She would be a fool to step into the deserted night with him. She poked her head back out the window, prepared to send him away with a scathing denouncement.
He gave her the lopsided smile of a rumpled Highland angel. “I need you, Prudence.”
A piece of glass stabbed her toe as she threw on her wrapper and ran for the door.
Prudence pounded across the dew-slick lawn, her wrapper billowing wildly behind her. She tripped over a short box hedge and silently berated herself for forgetting her spectacles. Her nightcap bobbed over her eyes. As she rounded the corner of the house, her heart shuddered to a stop. The lawn below her window was deserted. Moonlight shone on empty grass.
She must be dreaming, she thought. When she looked down at herself, she’d probably be naked.
She dared a glance downward. The comforting folds of her modest wrapper still enveloped her.
A muffled grunt drew her forward. Sebastian leaned against the iron trellis. His arms were crossed, his stance casual. Freed of its queue, his hair tumbled around his face. The soft light of the new moon dusted the tawny strands to silver.
As he stepped away from the trellis, his legs gave way and he crashed back into the unyielding iron. His long lashes fluttered down over his eyes. Even in the thin light, his pallor was apparent. Before the plaid sank back into its folds, Prudence saw the dark stain spreading across his white shirt.
She snatched off her nightcap and pressed it beneath the plaid. Fear made her gruff. “You fool. Were you going to stand out here all night and bleed to death?”
“The thought did occur to me. Would you have felt any remorse when Boris dragged my mangled corpse up the front steps in the morning?”
“None at all. Though it might have spoiled my breakfast.”
She dabbed at his shirt, praying he woul
d not feel the violent trembling of her hands. The nightcap seemed to be soaking up an alarming amount of blood.
He gave a drunken hiccup. “Sad waste of a perfectly good nightcap. It looked enchanting on you.”
He shuddered at her touch, and she realized it was not liquor that slurred his words and gave him that stupid grin, but the pain he was struggling to hide.
Tears stung her eyes. She lowered her head before he could see them.
He brought the tip of her heavy braid to his lips. “The pain’s not so bad. The ball only grazed me. The powder burn hurts worse than the wound.”
She dared not meet his eyes. “A few more inches and it would have been your heart.”
“No danger of that. I left my heart here.” His voice faded as he buried his face in the curve of her throat, resting some of his weight on her shoulder.
“We must find a safe place for you.”
She hooked his arm over her shoulders, supporting his weight when he would have staggered. Together they slipped through the long casement-windows in the parlor.
Sebastian shook his head, then faltered, the motion making him dizzy. “Not my chamber. It’s not safe. Tricia’s been known to make nocturnal visits.” His hands fluttered. “Like a bat.”
Prudence struggled between laughter and wanting to drop him. She could think of only one room in the house that no one bothered to visit. She was so unfailingly tidy, even the maids stayed away from her bedroom unless summoned.
As she pushed open her door, a ball of down twined around her legs with a questioning mew. She shushed the kitten and eased Sebastian down on her rumpled bedclothes. He fell face first into her counterpane, sighing with contentment. She gently righted him, then moved away to light the candle.
When she turned back, Sebastian was fumbling with his buckled shoes.
She caught him, bracing him with her shoulder as he began a precarious slide toward the floor. “Whatever are you doing?”
“My shoes. I mustn’t get mud on your pretty sheets.”
She righted him. “Don’t be silly. I don’t care one whit about the sheets.”
He wagged a chiding finger at her. “You would if you’d never had any.”
She laid him back on the bed with tender exasperation and knelt between his knees to pull off his shoes.
“When you’re master of Lindentree,” she said, deliberately keeping her voice light, “you can buy me all the sheets I need.”
“It would be my pleasure. Satin sheets. Silk sheets. Have you ever slept on Chinese silk? It’s like nesting on a cloud.”
Heat freshened Prudence’s cheeks as she dropped his second shoe on the floor. She feared to meet Sebastian’s eyes across the supine length of his body, afraid she might find mirrored within them the foreign images his words summoned—bodies entwined, sliding and rolling in clouds of blue silk. Then ice water doused her fevered vision, as she remembered Tricia airily describing her new addition to her London town house—an Oriental bedstead, replete with drapes of Chinese silk.
She dumped his legs on the bed, ignoring his wince of pain. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”
She darted through the sleeping house to the kitchens. After finding what she needed there, she raced into the dining room. Pawing frantically through the mahogany hutch, she discovered a stack of linen napkins. Tricia would not miss them. Their crest dated at least two husbands back. She started to leave, then hesitated. Tricia kept laudanum in her bedchamber and had been known to dole it out for Prudence’s headaches, but Prudence was reluctant to disturb her. She satisfied herself with snatching the decanter of Scotch whisky from the sideboard.
Back upstairs she closed the door to her chamber behind her, carefully turning the key in its lock. Sebastian had propped himself against her bolster. The alien breadth of his shoulders dwarfed her narrow bed. His eyes were alert, but misted with pain. He absently stroked the kitten nestled between his knees.
Prudence knelt beside him, setting aside her burdens, and managed a shy smile. “Let’s take a look at that shoulder, shall we?”
Before she could blink, a tiny dagger leaped from Sebastian’s stocking to his hand. “You can cut the shirt, but not the plaid, please. It’s the Kerr plaid. The only one I have.” He flipped the dagger in his hand, offering her the hilt.
She swallowed hard and took it. Many were the unwitting enemies a Highlander had dispatched with the skean dhu tucked into his stocking. The hilt was warm where it had rested against Sebastian’s bare calf.
She unfastened the brooch at Sebastian’s shoulder, taking care not to snag the tartan with the heavy pin. As she unwrapped the plaid with tender hands, she was ever mindful of his gaze fixed on her face. On closer examination, she realized how worn and frayed the garment was. Only the sturdy weave and Sebastian’s loving care held it together. It was no matter, she supposed. Once he and Tricia were wed, Tricia would buy him all the tartan he desired.
Prudence slashed the shirt with more enthusiasm than she intended. Sebastian’s flinch reminded her of the whisky.
“Here. Drink some of this before I go on.” She held the decanter to his lips.
He drank. The amber liquid trickled down his chin, and she wiped it away, her fingers lingering on his lips.
“Perhaps you should drink some of it,” he said. “It might steady your hands.”
She lifted guilty eyes to meet his mocking gaze. He knew as well as she that it was not his wound that made her tremble.
She peeled the blood-soaked fabric from his shoulder. The wound itself was little more than a deep scrape, puckered at the edges. A soft sound of sympathy escaped her at the sight of the ugly powder burn that blackened his chest and shoulder. The curling hair at its edges was singed.
She held up an earthenware crock. “Butter and egg yolks. Ambroise Paré claimed it to be an excellent lotion for powder burns. Papa agreed.”
“Your papa was a wise man.”
She dabbed at his wound with a moistened napkin. “Wiser than most people realized.” His skin contracted as she lightly smoothed on the cool butter. “Lean forward,” she commanded.
He obeyed. Her arms circled him, securing the bandage of knotted napkins around him. Her braid fell against his thigh and her breasts brushed his chest before she sank back to her knees, lowering her eyes.
Beneath the downy hair on his chest, she could see other nicks and scars, some pale and faded with time. Had he gotten them the same way he had gotten the scar beneath his chin? she wondered.
She busied herself with folding the remaining napkins. “How will you hide this from my aunt?”
“It won’t be hard. Tricia hasn’t seen me without my shirt for quite some time.”
Prudence gave him a skeptical look. “She will after you’re wed.”
He shifted restlessly and peered up at the canopy. “This room is just as I imagined it. White and starched, everything neatly in its place, devoid of affectation, elegant yet simple.”
“Like me?”
He slanted a half-smile at her. “No one would dare call you simple.”
The kitten stirred, butting his head against Sebastian’s thigh. Prudence stroked him. “Sebastian-cat is very fond of you. Perhaps I should change his name. To avert confusion.”
“Perhaps you should,” he said, an odd note in his voice. “Sebastian is a silly name anyway.”
She lifted her head to protest, but his eyes were closed. She knew he wasn’t asleep yet. The grooves around his mouth had deepened with weariness and pain. He had crossed his arms over his chest in an age-old gesture of self-protection.
Prudence gently tucked the counterpane around his shoulders. There would be no harm in letting him sleep for an hour or two. It was early yet. She’d have ample time to smuggle him away before running the risk of Tricia discovering him. She sat quietly until his breathing lapsed into the uneven rhythm of troubled sleep.
Tiptoeing across the room so as not to disturb him, she snuffed the candle and drew open
her curtains to the fragile moonlight. She returned to sit on the side of the bed, basking guiltily in the sheer pleasure of studying Sebastian. His lush lashes fanned out on his cheeks. His air of vulnerability in sleep erased the wary edge he bore in wakefulness. He moaned faintly, and she pressed her palm to his brow, feeling for fever, then brushed back his tangled hair.
Quickly she withdrew her hand. She had no right to touch him. He was Tricia’s. He only belonged to her in the stolen moments of the night.
She sighed as weariness touched her. With the briefest hesitation, she lay down on top of the counterpane beside him and curled into the warmth of his side.
Her father’s hand gently stroked her hair. She must have fallen asleep on the hearth rug again while waiting for him to finish his experiments. She snuggled deeper in the cocoon of warmth, relishing the hypnotic flow of his fingers across her scalp.
Prudence opened her eyes, realizing with perfect clarity that it was not her papa, but Sebastian who cupped her head in his palm. In her sleep she had slid down until her head rested in his lap. The soft, worn folds of his plaid enveloped her.
She kept her breathing steady and deep with effort, unwilling to reveal she was awake. She could not remember the last time she had been touched with affection. Tricia might pinch her cheeks to stir the color in them, or kiss the air with her rouged lips, but there was always the fear of mussing her wig or smearing her powder. Tricia’s love was a mere ghost of fondness, all style and no substance. Prudence would never dare throw her arms around her aunt for fear she might crumble away, leaving nothing but a heap of powder to scatter in the wind.
Sebastian’s touch was beguiling in its simplicity. It made no demands and asked no questions. She might have been a child or a kitten nestled trustingly against his thigh. His touch was rife with a tenderness hard-won, for she knew he had known little of it in his life. She lay still for as long as she dared, aware that it was wrong, but wanting to remember what it felt like to be cherished. As the gray light of dawn softened the sky, she shifted in his lap, knowing she must warn him.