Part 19 (2/2)
Jamie gazed down at the weapon in his grandfather's hand, his eyes as cold as Emma had ever seen them. ”You always told me the truth could kill you. Or it could keep you alive. I believe I'll let you just keep on living with what you've done.”
His grandfather struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on the handle of the hoe. ”I don't want yer mercy, lad! I have no need of it!”
A scornful smile curved Jamie's lips. ”Oh, I haven't any mercy where you're concerned. There's just no need for me to hasten your journey to h.e.l.l. You'll get there soon enough on your own.”
With his mother's necklace still dangling from his fingers, Jamie turned his back on his grandfather. As he walked past her, Emma reached for him. But he continued on as if she wasn't even there.
She hesitated for a moment, then turned to follow. She half expected to hear the thundering report of a pistol behind her. But when she paused at the top of the rise to glance over her shoulder, it was to discover that Jamie's grandfather had already taken up his hoe and gone back to tilling the rocky soil.
She would have hated him as much as Jamie did in that moment but she knew he was simply doing what the Sinclairs had always done.
Surviving.
WHEN EMMA REACHED THE balcony crowning the very top of the keep, Jamie was already there, standing with his back to her and his hands gripping the wooden bal.u.s.trade. balcony crowning the very top of the keep, Jamie was already there, standing with his back to her and his hands gripping the wooden bal.u.s.trade.
As she emerged into the sunlight, an involuntary gasp escaped her. The Highlands were sprawled below them in all of their rustic splendor. A misty veil of green draped the lower pa.s.ses and glens while dazzling patches of white still crowned the highest crags. Winding streams poured down the mountainside, fattened by the melting snows and glistening silver beneath the kiss of the sun.
As an ethereal wisp of cloud drifted right past the balcony, she understood how Jamie's grandfather might have come to fancy himself the ruler of some mighty kingdom. Why live among the mere mortals down in the foothills when one could reside among the clouds? While overlooking this breathtaking view from such a dizzying height, a man might very well fancy himself the ruler of heaven itself.
At the moment, Jamie looked more like the dark prince of some Stygian underworld where doomed souls were sent to await their punishment.
”You shouldn't be here,” he said without turning around. ”You belong in bed.”
”Whose bed?” she asked softly, joining him at the bal.u.s.trade. ”Yours? The earl's?”
He turned to face her, his expression so distant it sent a dark s.h.i.+ver of dread down her spine. ”Your own bed. The one in your bedchamber in Lancas.h.i.+re. The one with the robin's nest right outside your window and the family of mice living in the dining room baseboards. You belong a thousand leagues away from here-away from all the deceit and treachery... and death.”
”Away from you?”
His hesitation was so brief she might have imagined it. ”Aye.” He returned his gaze to that grand sweep of moor and mountain, his profile as stern and intractable as a stranger's. ”As far away from me as the road can take you.”
”And what if I don't choose to go?”
”You don't have a choice. Didn't you hear my grandfather? I come from a long line of men with a history of destroying the very thing they love the most.”
Hope surged within her, pus.h.i.+ng the dread aside. ”What are you trying to say, Jamie? That you love me? Is that what you were about to tell me before you discovered the page from the marriage register?”
She touched his sleeve but he pulled away from her. He hadn't been able to keep his hands off her before, but now it was as if he couldn't bear to look at her, much less touch her.
”What are you trying to do?” she cried, her frustration growing. ”Pretend that night in the bell tower never happened?” Could he pretend she had never lain beneath him, shuddering in helpless wonder as his nimble fingers and powerful body gave her the sweetest and most devastating pleasure a man could give a woman? ”Can you truly tell me that night meant nothing to you?”
He turned to look directly at her then, the indifference in his eyes even more chilling than the contempt he had shown his grandfather. ”I kept my end of our bargain. You asked me to ruin you, not pledge my eternal love. If you're well enough to travel on the morrow, I'm taking you down the mountain. Your family may very well believe you're dead. I need to get you back to them before they leave Scotland for good.”
Emma shook her head, reeling from his curt dismissal of all they had shared. ”What about the Hepburn? He might not have murdered your mother but he did try to murder me. And I'm sure he'll be only too delighted to learn that there's no need for him to find himself a new bride since he already has an heir.”
A grim smile canted Jamie's lips. ”Oh, you can leave the Hepburn to me. He's no longer your concern. I'll deal with him.”
He turned on his heel to go, then paused, frowning down at his hand as if he was surprised to find his mother's necklace still looped through his fingers.
Emma felt her heart stutter with hope as he took her hand in his and dropped the necklace into her palm.
He lifted his gaze to hers, the regret shadowing his eyes extinguis.h.i.+ng her fragile hope. ”I tried to warn you, la.s.s, that it was naught but a worthless trinket.” He gently folded her fingers around the necklace, then turned away.
After he had disappeared into the shadows of the stairs, Emma opened her hand to gaze down at the simple Gaelic cross.
It was a symbol of faith. A symbol of hope.
The Sinclair who had smuggled it out of the castle as he and his kinsmen were being driven from their home must have known it would inspire the dreams of the generations to come. The woman who had worn it last had refused to relinquish her own dreams. She had been willing to risk everything-her home, her father's love... even her life-to make them come true.
Emma closed her fist around the necklace, lifting her eyes to gaze out over the rugged land she was coming to love. Jamie Sinclair was about to discover that this tarnished trinket was not so worthless after all and that he just might have found himself an adversary more ruthless and determined than the Hepburn.
Chapter Twenty-nine.
AS JAMIE DESCENDED INTO the hall of the keep the next morning, the last thing he expected to hear was Emma's merry ripple of laughter. He scowled, wondering if he was still dreaming. the hall of the keep the next morning, the last thing he expected to hear was Emma's merry ripple of laughter. He scowled, wondering if he was still dreaming.
But how could he be dreaming when he hadn't even slept? When he'd spent the entire night pacing the floor and fighting the temptation to slip back into Emma's bedchamber... and her bed? How could he be dreaming when all of his dreams had died only a few hours ago, crushed beneath the iron fist of his grandfather's treachery?
He reached the foot of the stairs, his mouth falling open when he saw the unexpected scene of domestic bliss.
The long table in the middle of the hall had been draped with a clean cloth. Emma was bustling around it, a tray of steaming scones balanced in her hands.
If not for the bandage peeking out from the bodice of her harebell-blue gown, one would never know she'd been shot and nearly died only a few days before. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, but drawn back from her face by two ivory combs Mags must have found somewhere. Jamie was even more riveted by the sight of his mother's necklace fastened around the slender column of her throat.
She leaned over the table, offering fresh scones and an enchanting view of the gentle swell of her bosom to the two men seated on one of the long benches that flanked it. One of the men was Bon.
The other was Ian Hepburn.
Although his left arm was still confined by the sling, his bruised face was scrubbed clean and his sleek, dark hair was neatly secured at his nape in a leather queue, exposing the dramatic swoop of his widow's peak. If Jamie wasn't mistaken, he was wearing one of Jamie's own s.h.i.+rts.
Spotting Jamie, he c.o.c.ked a mocking eyebrow in his direction. ”Good morning, Sin. Or would you prefer 'my lord'?”
Jamie turned his disbelieving gaze on Emma. ”You told him about the marriage register?”
She shrugged. ”And why not? The whole world will find out you're the earl's heir soon enough.”
”Not if I have anything to say about it,” Jamie retorted.
Bon tucked another plump bite of scone between his lips, rolling his eyes in pure pleasure. ”Ye're a d.a.m.n sight finer cook than Mags, la.s.s. If I can ever catch ye between fiances, I just might swear off me bachelor ways and court ye meself.”
”Why, thank you, Bon,” Emma replied, visibly preening. ”It's always gratifying for a woman to find a man who appreciates her skills.” She turned her innocent smile on Jamie. ”All of her skills.” of her skills.”
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