And the Bride Wore Plaid

  That brought to mind more important questions. What did she wear to bed? A long flannel nightgown devoid of lace or trim? Somehow, he couldn’t imagine her in anything so mundane. Perhaps a thin cotton rail, tied with ribbons and bows? But no. That was too ordinary. Perhaps she just wore a silk chemise. One with little tiny flowers embroidered around a low neckline. A neckline that outlined the curve of her generous breasts—

  He turned from the window and grabbed up his coat, his imagination—and other parts of him—afire. It was almost midnight, and by the time he arrived at her house, it would be tomorrow already. Perhaps, in addition to showing her that he was earnest in his desire to forward their relationship, he could also model the virtue of promptness.

  Grinning at his own whimsy, he made his way through the moonlit night to the stable, where he woke, then handsomely bribed, a sleepy groom to saddle Thunder.

  Kat tossed her scarf on the dressing table and then found her comb. Sighing heavily, she sat in front of the oval mirror and made a face. “Comb your hair and stop thinking about That Man.”

  As usual, she didn’t listen to herself, for the third time she drew the large toothed comb through her hair, she caught herself wondering what Devon was doing now. Was he playing billiards with Malcolm? Listening to Fiona talk about the upcoming ball? Or walking a moonlit path with Murien?

  “Ow!” The comb hit a tangle. That was the problem with having thick hair, it got mussed far too easily.

  She worked the comb through the tangle and smiled when it finally slid through. “There,” she told her reflection in the mirror. “See what a little work will do?”

  Her reflection grimaced back at her. Work was one thing, but wanting the impossible was another, which was what spending an entire day with Devon St. John tended to do to her. The man had a gift for inspiring confidences and appearing earnest, both talents that made him a dangerous man indeed.

  It was funny; when she was with Devon, everything seemed so right. But then, when she wasn’t with him, the doubts began creeping in. The damning little thoughts that asked her what she thought she was doing, spending time with a man who, by his own admission and Murien’s insinuations, changed his affections as easily as most people changed their clothing.

  Kat pulled the comb through her hair one last time, then braided it. The situation with St. John was too perplexing to consider this late at night. Perhaps, when she saw him tomorrow, she’d know the answer. One made all the easier by warm sunlight and a new day.

  A scratch sounded at her window. Kat paused in braiding her hair, but the sound did not come again. She finished braiding, then rose and carried the candle to the bed.

  Another scratch sounded, and this time she could tell it was the tree limb that, when the wind blew from the south, bent until the branches scraped the casement. She frowned. It hadn’t seemed that windy before…was there a storm blowing in? She went to the window and flipped the latch, then pushed it open.

  “Kat!” came a strident whisper.

  Kat jumped, pressing a hand to her heart.

  “Kat!” came the voice again, this time closer.

  She blinked, then leaned forward. The tree branch was bent toward the house, but there was no wind. What there was, however, was a large man, steadily climbing the tree to her bedchamber. “St. John!”

  He paused, grinning up at her. His teeth flashed in the pale moonlight. “It’s after midnight.” He was a scant six feet away now, and she could make out the shape of his face, a shadow of nose and eyes and smiling lips.

  “I know it’s after midnight. What are you doing here?” she asked, astounded and perplexed and frightened just the teeniest bit. He was getting closer with each moment, climbing with the surety of a man who had clambered countless trees as a lad.

  She suddenly realized that he’d said “tomorrow.” Good heavens, he was coming because she’d promised…What had she promised?

  But she knew what she’d promised…and she’d meant it, too. Or she had until Murien had let her know how far gone Kat already was. The truth was that she already cared too much for St. John to have a simple dalliance with him. If she wasn’t careful, she’d reveal her feelings and damn what friendship she and Devon did share; a friendship far more precious than any Kat had ever had.

  She pressed a hand to her cheek. Her heart was pounding, her palms damp, her throat tight. Part of her felt as if she should flee. But another part of her was flattered and excited and…happy. Devon St. John was climbing a tree outside her window. Her window and not Murien Spalding’s, the most beautiful woman in Scotland.

  He was now almost at eye level, the light from the room spilling over his face. Excitement gleamed in his eyes. “You said we would settle this thing between us ‘tomorrow.’” He placed a hand on her window casement. “It is now ‘tomorrow.’”

  At his words, her body whispered needfully that she should move, just a step or two, and then he would be in her bedchamber and all the heated thoughts and late night longing she’d suffered would be sated. But her mind ordered her to stay put, not to be swayed by soft words.

  Which was right, her mind or her body? It was torture, this double yearning to do and not to do. Kat clenched her teeth against it all.

  His gaze met hers, softly quizzing. “I can’t climb in unless you step back.”

  The old fears and questions tumbled back into her mind. “I-I do not know if I should let you in or not.”

  “Are you asking my opinion?” His teeth flashed whitely in the uncertain light. “For if you are, I think you should let me in so we can—”

  “I’m quite certain I know what you think. I just don’t know what I think.”

  “Whatever you decide, you’d best make up your mind quickly. I might fall at any minute. These branches are not very stable.”

  He was laughing at her, she could tell. And she didn’t like it one little bit. “Of course, as hard as your head seems to be, one little tumble won’t kill you.”

  “Won’t it? Kat, what are you afraid of? You don’t trust anyone of the opposite sex other than your lads and your brother. Meanwhile, you stay here, hiding from the world and anyone who might hurt you.”

  He thought she was afraid. How ludicrous! “You are sorely mistaken; I am not afraid. Not of you or anyone else.”

  “I see.” He was silent a moment before he said, “What if I just come in long enough for a drink of water?”

  “There’s water in the barrel by the barn.”

  “Oh.” He leaned on the casement with his free arm, the candlelight smoothing a golden path across his handsome face. “I’ll get some water on my way out. But…I’m also a little chilled.”

  “Then you’d best return to your room at Kilkairn.”

  He glanced past her to the crackling fire in her room. “But your fireplace doesn’t smoke. What if I just came in long enough to warm myself a bit?”

  She crossed her arms and looked at him.

  He heaved a sigh. “You are the most stubborn woman. Very well, I’ll leave. But I must rest first. May I come in and just—”

  “No!” Heavens, but he was a determined individual. “Good night, Mr. St. John.” She placed her hand on the casement to close it, expecting him to move out of the way.

  Instead, he drew back instantly—and then disappeared from sight. The place where he’d been was filled with a horrid black stillness.

  She gasped and rushed forward. “Devon—!”

  He was still there, crouching on the thick tree limb that held him, hanging onto the branch above. His teeth gleamed faintly in the dark. “You would miss me if I was gone; admit it.”

  “I am not admitting anything,” she said, though her heart still trembled in place. “That was a horrid trick.”

  “I’m a desperate man. Climbing up was one thing, climbing down in the black of night is another.” He moved back into place, leaning in the casement as he smiled at her, that wistful lopsided smile that always made her melt just the tiniest bit on the ins
ide.

  “Kat, my love, what if you chose a chair for me and I promised to stay in it?”

  Her gaze narrowed. “You wouldn’t get up?”

  “The seat of the chair and I would never part. Not unless you invited us to.”

  That seemed like a fair offer. Besides, if he stayed in the window, one of the lads was bound to see him. Simon in particular was a restless one and was frequently up and about in the wee hours of the morn.

  Kat closed her eyes. “This is madness, but…blast it! I suppose I might as well.”

  And with that, Kat Macdonald made a monumental decision, one she’d mull the rest of her days. She stepped out of the way and let Devon St. John climb into her window.

  Chapter 15

  Every oncet in a while, I gets a pain in me head and

  I’m never sure if it is because of somethin’ I’ve done, or somethin’ I need to do.

  Lady Birlington’s maid Sabrina to Cold Bob, the fishmonger, at the market early one morning

  Devon climbed the rest of the way in, stepping over the sill with ease. He paused to close the window, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet.

  “You cannot stay long.” There was a defensive note to her voice.

  He turned to answer her, but though he wanted to reply, her night rail prevented him. All he could do was nod. Nod and stare, for she was wearing a gown of pale green silk that flowed to her feet, clinging lasciviously to every curve she possessed. Worse—or better, depending on whether he enjoyed the lush torture she presented—the neckline was low, exposing rounded curves that made his mouth water.

  “Yes, well,” she said, her heightened color letting him know she was aware of his regard, “the next time you decide to clamber up a tree and into a woman’s room, you might want to make more noise.”

  “Noise?”

  “Yes. Whistle or something. I could have mistaken you for a reiver, come to steal my jewels. ’Tis a wonder I didn’t call for one of the lads.”

  “I don’t whistle. Not well anyway.”

  “Then sing. That would work, I suppose.”

  “No,” he said firmly. “I am not going to sing, not even for you. I respect my fellow man too much to put them through such a parody of talent.”

  “That is very kind of you.”

  “I made that decision after being forced to listen to I know not how many musicale performances by anxious mamas who think men admire women who can warble a song.”

  Her lips twitched. “Poor you, having to endure such.”

  He tried not to stare too long at her soft, full mouth. “I never heed the match making mamas. But they have made me more aware of the fact that just because we think we’re talented, does not make it so.”

  “A wise lesson.”

  An awkward silence then fell, as if they’d used all their stored-up banter and were now completely wordless. Kat glanced nervously around, then cleared her throat no fewer than three times.

  Devon finally took pity on her. “I believe I was supposed to occupy a chair. Shall we sit?” Now that he was there, he had all the time in the world.

  “Sit?” She glanced at the bed, then at the chairs, as if dragging her mind from one to the other. “Oh yes! Of course we may sit.” She led the way to the chairs, her gown revealing the tantalizing outline of her thighs as she moved.

  Devon had to force himself to breathe. God, but she was beautiful. He eyed the long red-gold braid that hung down her back and wondered what her hair would look like splayed over a mound of white pillows. His blood heated.

  She took her seat, sitting on the very edge of the chair, her hands clasped on the arms of the chair. The second he took his place across from her, she said, “Why are you here?”

  “I was just riding by and thought to see what you were doing.”

  “At midnight?”

  “It’s twenty after,” he pointed out politely.

  Her gaze narrowed.

  He shook his head sadly. “Oh ye of little faith.”

  “I have faith. Just not in men who knock on my window in the middle of the night.”

  “I should have used the front door, but I was bored and this seemed an adventure.” He could tell from the quiver in her voice that she was nervous and fearful and just the tiniest bit excited. He smiled a little, knowing exactly how she felt. In his own way, he felt the same.

  She folded her hands in her lap, her feet perfectly flat on the floor before her. The prim gesture was very much at odds with her decadent gown. “Devon, I am not an adventuresome woman. I don’t believe you should—”

  “Nonsense. You are very adventuresome. You live here, alone except for the company of your servants and seven scowling giants. You are building a business that by all accounts is getting to be extremely profitable. And you can ride like an angel. How much more adventuresome do you need to be?”

  Kat bit her lip. She’d never really thought of herself that way before but…he was right; she did take risks. Only not with her heart.

  She was trying to figure out how to say this when he stood.

  From her chair, Kat immediately leaned away, too aware of his proximity and her own lack of clothing.

  “I am just going to get a drink of water,” he said in a calming voice. “May I?”

  Her cheeks heated. She didn’t mean to overreact, but she was too nervous to think. “Of course. Pray help yourself.”

  She watched from beneath her lashes as he went to where Annie kept a pitcher and glasses. Devon poured himself a glass of water. Then he turned and leaned against the low edge of the dresser.

  He finished the water and set the glass on the dresser, his eyes wandering over Kat. “That’s a lovely gown,” he said, his voice low and deep.

  She had to fight the urge to shiver. The silk night rail had been a gift from Malcolm. Kat sometimes wondered if he’d perhaps ordered it for Fiona, but when it had arrived, it had been too large for her petite frame and thus it had been passed on to Kat. However it was, she loved the feel of the silk against her skin and she wore it often. Of course, she’d never worn it in front of anyone else, and she now found herself achingly aware of every inch of fabric that hugged her bare skin.

  Devon absently picked up her white scarf from where she’d placed it earlier. He ran it through his hands. “I am intrigued by you.”

  “By me? Why?”

  “Because you are such an interesting mixture of vulnerability and bravery. I wonder what I can do to prove to you that I am worth trusting.”

  “If we had several years to debate it, it is quite possible I might eventually come to do so. But you will be leaving soon.”

  Devon nodded but didn’t reply. He was looking at the scarf, a strange expression on his face.

  “Kat,” he said, his gaze still on the scarf, “I think I know how to prove myself to you.” He draped the scarf over his arm and walked toward her.

  Her heart thudded faster. “What…what are you doing?”

  “You’ve been wounded by words—told things that were not true. So I will prove myself in deeds.”

  “Deeds?”

  “I am going to prove to you by action that I am worthy of your trust.”

  She gripped the arms of her chair. “Why…why is that important to you?” She waited with bated breath for his answer.

  “Because if you never trust someone again, then you will be lonely the rest of your life. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

  “I am not alone. I have Malcolm. He is all I need.”

  “You need more than that. You need friends, acquaintances…lovers.”

  Lovers. Not “lover,” but “lovers.” That certainly said a lot about Devon St. John. Kat eyed him with a dark frown. “It is none of your concern what relationships I choose or don’t choose to have.” Or whom she chose to have them with, for that matter. Although, if she were honest, in the years since Stephen, she hadn’t really been attracted to any man. Except Devon.

  His mouth quirked into a half smile so d
electable that her heart thudded an extra beat. “Kat, do you think you can trust me for five minutes.”

  “Five minutes?”

  He nodded. “During that five minutes, I can do anything to you that I want providing it doesn’t hurt you in any way.”

  “Do?” her voice quavered just a bit, but Kat couldn’t help it. Her entire body was afire with his suggestion. “What—” She licked her dry lips. “What would you do?”

  “Nothing to cause you harm. Only pleasure.”

  It was a ludicrous idea, although…it intrigued her. “What if I wanted you to stop?”

  “Then you say ‘stop’ and I stop.” His gaze dripped over her, lingering on her breasts before returning to her face. “And I promise only to touch you in ways that will keep you gasping in delight.”

  Kat’s face heated until she thought it would catch fire. “I—I don’t know—”

  He was before her now, standing in front of the chair. He looked so handsome. But it was more than that. Between them pulsed a physical longing that swept over them both like waves of the sea. It was a feeling Kat had almost forgotten.

  The truth was, she wanted this man. But she also knew that she had begun to care for him and that any other step in their relationship would only jeopardize her heart all the more.

  The question was, could she continue without further risking her heart?

  He knelt before her. “Five minutes, Kat. No more.”

  She swallowed, aware that she only had to reach out and an entire world of pleasure was hers. “Why?” she finally managed to whisper. “Why me?”

  He lifted his hand and lightly traced the line of her cheek. “Because you are the most exciting, beautiful, intelligent woman I have ever met.”

  When he put it that way, she felt exciting, beautiful, and intelligent. Strange how something as simple as a few words could have so much of an impact on her heart. But it was more than words; his gaze was painfully sincere.

  “Very well,” she heard herself whisper. “You have five minutes.”

  His eyes flared. “You will not regret it.”