Rogue of the Borders Read online

  Bridget’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as she shifted her gaze from Shane to Abigail. “I have no doubt about that.”

  “Well.” Shane stood before Bridget started an inquisition. “We are tired from our journey. Perhaps ye could show Abigail—”

  “Of course. How rude of me not to think of your comfort.” Jillian handed baby Rose to Ian and stood as well. “I will have Abigail’s trunks and a hot bath sent to your room at once.”

  “Ah, perhaps—”

  “That will be fine,” Abigail said and gave him a big smile.

  Chapter Eight

  “Ye are going to turn into a prune if ye do nae come out of that tub,” Kyla complained as she sat by the small table in Shane’s bedchamber tending to a bit of mending in the late afternoon light filtering in the window.

  Abigail already felt like a prune and the water was nearly cold, but she was determined to stay where she was until Shane returned to his room. Jillian had explained the men used the tub afterwards—sometimes even at the same time, she’d said with a wink—to save the servants from having to heat and lug more water up the stairs.

  Shane had not stayed to share the tub, but Abigail tucked that idea away for a future goal. Perhaps on her return to Edinburgh, she could also find a tub big enough for both of them—and place it in front of a roaring fire so they could linger in the water… She felt her body grow warm at the thought of what might happen. She’d read, not as extensively as she would have liked, about the decadence of ancient Roman culture—the orgies and public baths—not that she had any intention of publicly bathing, but in the privacy of a cozy bedchamber? Her mind was already brimming over with naughty ideas that she intended to try.

  For now, though, she wanted Shane to see her naked. To realize she was a female—and a very willing one who was his wife. What in the world could be keeping him from returning? The salt spray from Loch Linnhe and the dust from the road had covered both of them in grime and she’d already learned Shane was fastidious in being clean at the end of the day.

  She eyed Kyla. Of course. Shane would not return while the maid was still in the room. Why hadn’t Abigail thought of that before?

  “You may go.”

  Kyla looked up, surprised. “Who will help ye dress?”

  “My husband should be up shortly. He can help me.” Her voice wavered slightly and Abigail hoped she sounded confident.

  Kyla snorted as she gathered her mending. “Men are better at taking clothes off a woman than putting them on. Ring the bell if ye need me,” she added as she went out the door, shaking her head.

  Having Shane remove her clothes was another interesting thought.

  Or maybe she should remove his?

  Sometime later, when the water had turned completely cold, a knock sounded on the door. Finally. Abigail tried to control her shivering and stood up in the tub. “Enter.”

  Jillian opened the door, holding a tray with tea, and Abigail gasped, reaching for the towel Kyla had left nearby. “I…I was expecting Shane.”

  Jillian entered, closing the door behind her. “He went for a swim in the burn behind the castle,” she said as she set the tray on the table. “I thought you might like a little sustenance before dinner.”

  “Thank you.” Disappointment flowed over Abigail that Shane had not come to their room. “But…is a burn not a creek? How could he swim in it?”

  “It is, but the burn curves around boulders and beavers damned up a spot that forms a small pool. It usually guarantees an easy fish or two.”

  “But…is the water not cold this time of year?”

  “Yes, it is.” Jillian smiled broadly. “Ian teased Shane about needing a cold dunk to keep from being late for supper.” She picked up the chemise Kyla had laid out on the bed. “Here, let me help you dress.”

  As Jillian helped her with the back laces of her corset, Abigail was already thinking she would ask Shane to unlace them tonight.

  After all, tonight they would finally be sharing a room.

  Abigail looked considerably more composed as they sat down to the evening meal in the small room that served for the family’s private dining. Shane noted how the candlelight from the wall sconces brought out the burnished red in her chestnut hair. Her brown eyes looked luminous in that light too, but perhaps her coloring was set off by the emerald-green gown she wore. Its square neckline revealed creamy-white shoulders and the swell of her cleavage.

  Shane frowned. The gown showed more than a wee bit of her cleavage. Much more. Abigail’s breasts practically spilled out of the garment. His groin tightened immediately at the thought of only two fingers’ width of thin material separating him from uncovering her nipples. With an effort, he forced his thoughts away from where that might lead.

  “Ye look lovely,” Fiona said to Abigail. “That color suits ye.”

  “I thought it did too,” Jillian added.

  Abigail blushed. “I—um, thank you.”

  Where had that gown come from anyhow? Shane had grown accustomed to seeing Abigail in her modest dresses in rather drab colors. Then he remembered the shopping trip for the trousseau. Two trunks had been waiting at his townhouse by the time the ship reached Edinburgh. Heaven help him if those trunks contained more of the same low-cut necklines. Now that he noticed, Abigail’s hair was loosely curled on top of her head rather than drawn severely back.

  He glanced around the table. Jillian had a studied look of innocence on her face, but Fiona smiled broadly at him. He suspected a women’s conspiracy.

  Or at least from two of them. Shauna wore a thoughtful expression on her face while Bridget looked skeptical.

  “I still find your marriage unusual,” Bridget said to him. “’Tis nae like ye to make such a major decision hastily.”

  “Especially when ye have said many times ye dinnae intend to marry at all,” Shauna added as both women turned their gazes on Abigail.

  “Abigail is unlike other women,” Shane answered quickly before his determined cousins could ferret out any more information. “’Tis intriguing to find a woman as well-read as she.”

  “Aye, the books again,” Ian said with a grin. “’Tis on the top of every man’s list as a priority.”

  “I like to read,” Shauna said in an accusatory tone. “What is wrong with that?”

  Shane hid his own grin at her response. Shauna was the middle cousin, not given to bossiness like Bridget nor the ill-fated adventures that got Fiona into trouble. She was the sensible one, much like Abigail.

  “I have been known to read a book also,” Jillian chided gently.

  Ian threw up his hands in surrender. “’Tis nothing wrong with ye lasses reading. ’Tis just that Shane has a peculiar notion—”

  “Begging your pardon,” Abigail interrupted, “but I do find the world of literature and history fascinating. With Shane owning a shipping line, he has been to places I would love to see.”

  “Ye can hardly travel with him though,” Bridget said, “since his are working ships with hardened crew. ’Twould nae be safe.”

  “It could be exciting though,” Fiona said. “Just think how—”

  “Bridget is right,” Shane said before Fiona could finish the thought. They were getting much too close to the truth as it was. “’Tis nae safe.”

  Abigail turned her big brown eyes on him. “But we sailed to Edinburgh, did we not? What is the difference?”

  Was the lass trying to corner him or did she actually think to join him on another trip? Either way, he was not about to entertain the notion. “We had a skeletal crew of trusted men on the way home. I have to hire from the docks for some loads. ’Tis nae safe for a woman aboard. Ye ken how superstitious sailors are. The sea is nae forgiving either. Some crossings are risky.”

  “That seems to be a lot of reasons for nae taking the lass,” Ian said.

  “I agree,” Abigail replied. “Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much.”

  Shane stared at her. Now she was paraphrasing Shakespeare
at him? He clenched his jaw. Maybe he was being a little too obvious. “’Tis nae safe.”

  “Well, that is neither here nor there,” Jillian said as a maid lame in to remove the plates, “since we are on dry land at the moment. Perhaps tomorrow Shane can show his new bride around the area.”

  “Can we go to Glenfinnan?” one of the twins asked.

  “Yes. Can we?” the other one chimed in. “The gypsies came through a few days ago. The market should have all sorts of new things to see.”

  “To buy, you mean,” Bridget answered.

  “We have saved our coin from chores,” the first one said.

  “Shane can decide tomorrow where he wants to take Abigail first,” Jillian intervened. “They have had a long journey and must be tired. For now, let them retire to get their rest.”

  “Aye. Taking your rest can be beneficial,” Ian added with a straight face.

  Before this visit was over, Shane suspected his cousin and he would have a round of fisticuffs, although he could hardly argue about the innuendos without giving away the whole reason for this sham marriage.

  Already, Abigail was standing, a bright smile on her face. He joined her, forcing himself to smile as well. She put her arm through his, pressing the side of her soft breast against his sleeve. Blood shot straight to his shaft. Did the lass have any idea of the effect that had on him? He glanced down to find her dewy-eyed gaze on his face.

  With a jolt, he realized she did.

  With wary trepidation, he led her up the stairs, dreading the moment he shut the door behind them and they would be alone.

  Keeping the vow he’d made to her father was going to be much harder than he thought.

  Abigail almost laughed at the apprehensive expression on Shane’s face as she locked the door he had just closed. Almost. She felt victorious—they were finally alone for the night, even though Shane stood halfway across the room, feet apart in a warrior’s stance, his muscular arms tense as though he might reach for weapons at any minute. With the glances he was giving the open window, she wondered if he was thinking about bolting even though they were on the third floor. Her big, strapping sea-captain husband was about as skittish as a wild stallion—an image that only further stirred her imagination.

  She leaned against the door, not only to keep him from leaving—he’d actually have to move her aside—but also to keep him from making a mad dash to the window. Abigail didn’t have much experience soothing savage beasts, but she remembered watching Jillian train her beloved Andalusians when she’d visited Newburn with Mari. “Make no sudden moves,” Jillian had said, “and keep your voice calm and low.”

  “Easy now,” Abigail said, pitching her voice to the tone she used when disguised as a boy. “Steady yourself. Everything is all right.”

  Shane blinked at her. “Why are ye speaking like that?”

  “Why not have a seat by the fire?” Abigail answered, keeping her voice down and gesturing very, very slowly toward a chair. “Would that not be soothing?”

  “Why are you moving like that? Is there something wrong with your arm?”

  “Of course not. I just thought to ease your mind while I comb my hair.” She pointed to the dresser where Kyla had laid out her toiletries. “I have to walk over there.”

  Shane glanced at the dresser and then back at her. “’Tis nae a far distance. Why would my mind nae be at ease? Ye are nae in danger.”

  Abigail would very much like to be in danger—from him. But obviously, they were thinking of two different things. Still, Shane didn’t appear quite as on-edge as he had been. Maybe he wouldn’t dart to the window after all—or try to flee out the door. Cautiously, she took a drawn-out step forward, hesitating lest a sudden move startle him to action, and then another measured step toward him. Shane remained motionless, his eyes intent on her. She ventured one step closer.

  “Are ye sure there is nae something wrong with ye, lass? Your gait is peculiar.”

  She stopped. Shane’s body no longer showed any sign of tension. He stood quietly watching her, so maybe she had achieved her goal in calming him. Who would have thought horse training would ever come so in handy? “I am fine,” she said and lifted one corner of her mouth, showing only a hint of tooth in what she hoped was a seductive smile. At least, it looked seductive and come-hither when the debutantes practiced it at all those tedious balls.

  Shane’s brows furrowed. “Perhaps I should call your maid to assist ye.”

  “No. I mean…Kyla was quite tired from the journey so I told her I would not need her assistance this evening. Really,” she added as his face grew perturbed, “I can manage by myself.”

  He looked unsure, but then he nodded and moved toward the whisky decanter on the small table.

  Abigail watched him out of the corner of her eye as she sat down, undid the pins in her hair and began brushing her standard hundred strokes. Shane glanced at her and then moved quickly to the window, swirling the contents of his glass as he focused his attention in the courtyard below. He wasn’t contemplating crawling out, was he? She shifted slightly to get a better view of him from behind her strands of hair. He was standing ramrod straight, his back to her, but he didn’t appear to be on the verge of hopping out.

  With a soft sigh, she laid down her brush. It was time to find out if Kyla’s parting comment was true. Abigail stood and moved quietly across the carpet until she stood behind Shane and then tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Would you mind unlacing my dress?”

  It took every bit of his warrior and seaman’s skills to hold himself steady and not spill what was left in his glass at her faint touch. He turned to find Abigail looking up at him with that strange looking smile again. He wondered if perhaps a particle of food had gotten caught in a tooth and she was trying to work it out. Then her words struck him. Good God. If he unlaced her dress, he wouldn’t want to stop there.

  “Ye need your maid, I think.”

  “Nonsense. I already told you I allowed Kyla to retire for the night. The laces are not that difficult.” Abigail turned her back toward him but looked over her shoulder. “You do have experience in helping ladies undress, do you not?”

  Shane started to open his mouth and then snapped it shut. From any other woman, he would have considered the question coy, but Abigail was staring wide-eyed at him as though she expected an answer. He could see no hint of guile in her face either. “’Tis perhaps nae a good topic to discuss.”

  “Why not? I would expect you to be experienced. I want you to tell—”

  “Cease!” Shane was grateful he wasn’t wearing a kilt at the moment since his breeches were tight enough to keep his suddenly engorged member from emerging. Surely the lass didn’t actually want to hear about his escapades. Did she? The thought was fleeting but sent more blood rushing to his shaft. He shifted his weight to relieve the increasing pressure.

  Abigail’s eyes widened suddenly as though a thought had just occurred to her. “You…are experienced? I mean, if you are not—if that is the reason why we have not—”

  “Will you cease speaking, lass?” May the saints preserve him. Did she actually think—he could hardly finish the thought himself—that he was pure as the driven snow at nine-and-twenty? He was not sure whether to be amused or insulted. “I am no Sir Galahad,” he finally said.

  Abigail turned around to face him and arched a brow over her spectacles. “I love the Arthurian legends. Mari likened Jamie to Gawain. Which knight are you most like? Lancelot? I always thought he was the most—”

  “Enough.” Obviously, the saints were not about to step in. “Are ye always so plainspoken?”

  She paused and her eyes grew suspiciously bright. “I am sorry. I speak sometimes before I think. My mother always chastised me for it. I shall try to remember not to—”

  “Och, lass. I am nae scolding ye. Bridget speaks her mind as well. ’Tis just the subject is somewhat awkward. I have always taken care nae to discuss my…experiences.”

  Shane set
down his glass, took her arms and turned her gently around. Lifting her heavy mane of hair, he let his fingers play through several silky strands before placing the mass over her shoulder. He traced the line of her swan neck with the pad of his thumb before beginning to unfasten her laces. Abigail’s skin felt like satin beneath his fingertips. Shane allowed himself the luxury of leaning forward to get a glimpse of her ivory mounds and inhale the warm vanilla scent wafting from her cleavage. He lingered at each lace he undid even though each stroke against her soft skin made his erection more painful.

  It was going to be hell sleeping in the chair tonight.

  Chapter Nine

  Abigail studied Shane covertly the next morning as they walked toward the small chapel not far from the castle as part of the tour he’d promised her. He had managed to elude her once again by sleeping in the chair last night, although by dawn he’d slipped to the floor in front of the hearth.

  She was pretty sure most marriages didn’t start out this way.

  Admittedly, she knew nothing about seduction—Shane had not responded to her come-hither look either—but she’d gotten the impression from giggling maids most men didn’t need much of an invitation at all.

  So what was she doing wrong? She didn’t think Shane found her repulsive. His fingers had lingered in her hair and she could still feel the sensation of his callused thumb stroking softly along her neck. How in the world could such a large hand be so gentle? And she didn’t think he minded standing close if his soft, warm breath tickling her ear had been any clue. She was just going to have to work harder at her seduction methods.

  “Here we are,” Shane said and Abigail realized they had already reached the chapel.

  She gazed up and squinted. “What in the world is that?” she asked, pointing to a carving in the stone arch over the wooden door.

  “’Tis the face of a green man,” Shane replied. “Ye remember the one we saw at Temple Church?”

  “Yes, but this one looks really different.”

  “They have many faces, but all are ancient symbols of prosperity dating back to the druids’ time.”