“’Tis fine,” he said. “Though Roderick snores awfully loud.”
“Oh,” she said, feeling even more guilty. “I am so sorry.”
He laughed. “I’m only jesting. We have plenty of bedrooms.” He waved a hand in the air as if dismissing her concerns. “And we would do the same for anyone who was in need, be they Scottish or English. It’s in our blood, I suppose. As long as ye are not fixing to take our land or harm our people, then we’ll do right by you. Except for my mother.”
“Oh?” she said, raising her head at that, surprised, for Jane seemed nothing but kind.
“My mother will help anyone, friend or foe,” he said with a laugh.
“She is rather wonderful,” Rachel said wistfully.
She saw him look at her with question in his eyes, but she wasn’t quite ready to share that part of her story with him.
“It seems ye have a sad story to tell, lass, but there is no need to share with me,” he said, and her heart turned, suddenly wanting to tell him more as a way to become closer to the man.
“For now, tell me the story of you and your fiancé. Ye must be looking forward to being reunited,” he said, interrupting her thoughts, and she stilled, suddenly remembering what she would return to shortly.
“How many times do I have to tell you that Vincent is not my fiancé?” she said vehemently, and he gave a short laugh.
“It seems the man has other ideas — as does yer father. When he was here, he was going on about your upcoming wedding, and how ye were not to be left alone with the likes of us. I’m sure he would sorely disapprove of this nighttime rendezvous.”
She looked down, unable to meet Adam’s eyes at his last sentence, choosing to answer him with the seriousness of which he began this conversation.
“My father… certainly has his own views on my life and how things should be,” she said. “However, I’m sure he will soon come to understand that I have no wish to marry Vincent, not now or ever. Vincent is… well, I suppose one could say that Vincent thinks rather highly of Vincent.”
Adam laughed at that, his face breaking out into a beautiful smile that warmed not only her heart but her entire body down to her toes. His laugh was a musical sound and made her smile, then join in. She had not meant to jest, but she supposed a man who regarded himself as highly as Vincent did perhaps deserved a laugh on his behalf.
They shared the smile for a moment, but soon she lost all brevity as his face took on a rather serious facade as he stared at her, as if trying to learn more of her.
“Adam,” she said, her breath suddenly hitching in her throat, not really knowing what she was going to say, but feeling she needed more from him, from their time together. “I… I just want to say that I …”
“Aye?” he said, leaning over the table towards her.
“I’m sorry if the English have been so utterly boorish toward you,” she finally said, unable to speak aloud what was running through her mind — that she had feelings toward him she couldn’t explain, feelings that went beyond friendship and gratitude, but rather something more profound, something she had never felt before. She felt a pull toward him that came from deep inside her, and she wanted to know him so much better. When she’d come to the Highlands, she had yearned for adventure. Never did she realize she would find it, not only in the land, but in a person as well. She wanted to tell him so badly, but she had never been particularly forward, and she didn’t know how to even begin putting her thoughts into words. Instead, she simply looked up at him, trying to convey all she felt through her stare.
He looked down at his hands and cleared his throat. “I ah, I should be getting back to bed,” he said. “As should you. I’ll help you to your room.”
“Your room, you mean?” she said with a smile. “I should be fine.”
“Well, let me take you up some water then, at the very least.” He rose and filled her empty cup. As they made for the stairs, she glanced wistfully back at the kitchen, as if leaving the room somehow had left behind the opportunity to find what she was truly looking for.
11
Adam followed closely behind Rachel as they slowly climbed the stairs. He badly wanted to help her, to pick up her small, dainty frame in his arms and carry her to bed, where he would lie down with her and soothe away all the troubles that furrowed her brow so. That, of course, was not to be. No, this beautiful Englishwoman was not for him, but for another, a gentleman who could provide her all the riches and pretty things he knew she would both want and deserve.
He did hope, for her sake, that the man did not turn out to be the idiot from the hunting party. For he was, as she had astutely pointed out, a man so admiring of himself that he would have little time to see beyond his own countenance and appreciate a wife, no matter how perfect she was.
He started at that. Perfect? Only a couple of days ago, he could barely stand the woman. And yet here she was in her nightclothes, her shapely curves just in front of his face as he followed behind her to ensure she didn’t fall down the stairs, tantalizing him as no woman ever had before. He wanted her, badly, but not only her body. He longed to know what was flitting through that mind of hers that held so much more than likely most people realized. He wanted to know
