He craved her as a madman does the fire of delusions, devoured her like a starving man cast into a world made of marchpane and sweetmeats and honeycomb.
Every muscle in Gavin's body still ached and trembled from an onslaught of a passion so wild and fierce he'd been stunned by its strength. Nothing in his life—not his beloved legends or books, not his own idealistic dreams or his youthful forays into physical passion, not even the great love of his father and Lydia—had prepared him for the reality of what had happened here, in this tiny hovel tucked in the Scottish Highlands.
Had it been a miracle wrought to nourish his wounded spirit? Or was it the cruelest of torments, devised by the dark one himself, to show Gavin everything he could never have?
He struggled to shove away the bleak thought, not wanting to waste a moment of his time with Rachel, knowing that it would vanish all too soon.
He buried his lips against the crown of her head, the silky curls a caress against his beard-stubbled chin. How many times, during the hours they had loved, had touching her smoothed away the rough edges of reality, the tearing claws of the world that, even now, was attempting to rip its way into the paradise they had created between them?
Yet whatever wild enchantment had shielded them the past hours seemed to be melting away with the soft smear of gray dawn.
Instinctively, Gavin's fingers tightened on Rachel. A sharp-edged knot of something akin to panic hardened in his chest. No, damn it, not yet, he railed in silent anguish. It's too soon... too soon.
She stirred, her lashes fluttering on the rose-kissed curve of her cheeks, her nose nuzzling against the hair-roughened plane of his chest.
She sighed, an angel's sigh. Her breath was sweet and warm against his skin as she raised her head. Adorable confusion clouded the luminous depths of her eyes; then he could see the past night flooding back into her memory. Delicate pink stained her cheekbones, and she caught her lip between her teeth. But even her sweetly flustered appearance did not pierce Gavin with its heartbreaking beauty as deeply as the smile that she gave to him—the first smile of the morning, the first sweetly knowing smile of a girl newly made a woman by her lover's hands.
He threaded his fingers through the tangled lace of her curls and drew that trembling mouth to his in a kiss of fierce tenderness. Her mouth melted into his, eager and shy, hopeful and wistful, filled with the taste of dreams. When he broke the kiss, the last vestiges of unease were gone from her face. She held him tightly, a dimple appearing in her cheek.
"That was even more wonderful than I remembered. I was almost afraid to wake up, for fear it was all some wild imagining," she said in a voice still webbed with sleep. "Do people who are together forever love this way, Gavin? after a dozen years?"
"I don't know." Gavin could barely force the words past the sudden thickness in his throat. "I'm only certain that if I die tomorrow, I will know that I loved more in this one night than most people love in a lifetime. I'll always remember the gift you've given me, Rachel. I'll always cherish it."
A brittle laugh echoed from her lips, a dart of something painful clouding her gaze. "You make it sound as if our loving is over—but it's just beginning." She levered herself up, her hip still pressed against him, her arm braced straight on the other side of his chest. The length of her hair draped about delicate breasts, still tinged soft rose in places from the abrasion of his stubbled jaw. "I'm not a starry-eyed fool, Gavin. I know the situation is difficult, but it's still possible that we can have forever."
He stiffened, the bittersweet pain, the yearning, the throb of fulfillment that had gripped him the past hours splashing away as if in a tide of icewater. "What the hell?"
She didn't so much as flinch, just met his gaze with her own determined one. He thought he'd never seen anyone so heart-rendingly brave. "I'm not going back to Dunstan. I'm going to stay with you."
Gavin gave a brittle chuckle. "Of course you are. We'll set up housekeeping in the cave. You can decorate it any way you like. Perhaps something in blue. No green—I detest the shade. My mother had a green salon and it made me a trifle seasick every time I entered. We can get a few sheep, and you can learn to make bannocks over an open fire."
"Don't laugh at me." The quiet words struck Gavin like a blow in the pit of his stomach. She was serious, dead serious. Those eyes that had fired with passion, brimmed with tenderness, were suddenly solemn; the mouth that had been so soft beneath his was painfully earnest.
Gavin's heart stumbled, stricken. "Rachel, I— You must understand that what you're suggesting is impossible."
"No. I don't understand. I love you. You love me. We belong together." She hesitated, swallowing hard, a flicker of something unbearably vulnerable in her eyes. "You do love me." She didn't phrase it as a question, but it was one—one that struck Gavin to the heart.
"Of course I love you! That doesn't change a damned thing. I can't have you, Rachel."
"You already do have me. Forever."
Gavin reeled, able to see for the first time the legacy this loving would leave on her beautiful face, the hurt, the sense of abandonment. The knowledge that he would be the man who left her thus seared him to the marrow of his bones. Had she come to his bed believing in some forever dream? A dream he'd known was impossible before the first time he touched her, kissed her? Was that why she'd come to him so willingly, given to him with such generosity? Because she'd imagined bridal rings and wedding vows and a future that could never be? The possibility that she'd been betrayed by her own innocence and by his selfish desire was too hideous to contemplate.
He untangled himself from her, every brush of her soft skin against his suddenly excruciating, stabbing him with self-blame. He stalked over to grab up his breeches. "You can't truly believe we can be together," he snapped, his voice roughened with anger and regret.
"Of course I believe it. Surely, you must see—"
"I see. A hell of a lot more clearly than you do. There's nothing I can give you except exile and poverty. Do you think I'd condemn you to the life of a fugitive from the crown?" He jammed his legs into the garment, heedless of the stinging wound left by the soldier's sword the day before.
"You're not condemning me to anything!" She grabbed her shift, pressing it against her breasts, her chin jutting up at that belligerent angle that always broke his heart. "I would rather make my bed on this heather ticking forever, with your arms to hold me, than sleep in a grand state bed with any other man. It's my choice to make."
"It's not your goddamn choice!" Gavin yanked his breeches into place and wheeled on her, with savage, tearing hopelessness. "Do you think I could bear watching you grow thin and exhausted, hunted like a roe deer month after month? Never certain if a sword thrust awaits you around the next bend in the road?"
"Do you think I'm too weak to survive? In the past few weeks, I've been kidnapped, shot a man, tended his wounds, watched a village be destroyed, and saw you fighting to save the helpless. I fell in love with you, and—and took you into my bed. And I'm glad, Gavin. It was glorious. I wouldn't change a minute of what happened, as long as I could end up here, with you loving me."
No executioner's knife could have tortured him with more fiendish finesse. Gavin ground his teeth at the pain of this woman's courage, her fierce passion, her belief that he was strong enough, brave enough to save them both.
She plunged on. "Maybe there won't be a sword-thrust waiting for us. Instead, there could be a future neither of us ever expected. We can sail with the orphans in six days' time, find someplace to build a life for them, and for each other. I'm willing to follow you, my lord, my love. Anywhere you name."
Her offer was a flaming brand to his soul, a utopia so fleeting, so beautiful, it crushed his throat. For a heartbeat, Gavin was tempted to reach out, grasp Rachel's vision with both hands, and hold on with every ounce of strength he possessed. But reality swept in, harsh and bitter, ripping the dream away with a savagery that almost tore a cry from his throat. He lashed out in the mindless pa
in of a tortured beast.
"You'd give up everything you own? Forsake everyone you know? I'm a pauper. The crown took everything except what funds I had in France, and those have been spent on the ship and passage, money to give soldiers and their families new starts away from this hellhole. And in the end, my land and fortune won't be enough to sate the crown's fury. England is greedy as hell when it comes to traitors. Your Britannia will take my life, no matter what the cost."
"Only if you let them," Rachel retorted. "Or is that what you want? To offer yourself up to pay for your sins? Die so you won't hurt anymore?"
"Don't be ridiculous."
"That is what Adam thinks. I know it. He won't leave you. I'm not leaving you, either." Determination fired her eyes.
"You want to spend the rest of your life as a traitor's woman? You saw the brand of justice the English dispense to women foolish enough to bond themselves to Jacobites. They could kill you—and worse—before they knew who you were. Hell, if they ever suspected that you dared to love me, Rachel, and that I loved you—they'd torture you beyond imagining for your betrayal of your country."
"But it would be an honest torture. Not like the one you have planned for me."
"I don't want to hurt you! For God's sake—"
"Don't you? Think of what torture it would be for me, sitting helplessly in England, knowing that you might be hurt or dying and that I would never know it until it was too late to come to you. Maybe you're right, and we only have a little time left to us. Maybe the worst will happen. But doesn't that make every moment we have even more precious? too precious to waste?"
Anguished yearning streaked across Gavin's face, his wanting cutting so deep it was raw agony in his eyes. "What if I got you with child? Jesus, Rachel, you'd be so damned helpless."
"I might already be carrying your babe."
Blood drained from his face, his fists clenching at the memory of the Scotswoman he'd rescued from the flaming building, her pregnancy making her awkward, vulnerable to the ravening wolves Sir Dunstan had set loose across the Highlands.
"If you gave me your baby, Gavin, I would be overjoyed—to have a child made out of our love. What could be more beautiful? You'd be the most wonderful father—"
"Damn it, I wouldn't be a father at all! I'm hunted. I'd probably be dead before the babe was born, before our son or daughter could even recognize my face. I'd leave you both alone, unprotected, so damned vulnerable. God in heaven Rachel, what have I done?"
"Loved me. You loved me, Gavin."
Self-loathing surged into his veins, a hot poison already far too familiar. "I had no right!"
"It's a little late to be making that observation, isn't it?" Anger, hurt, and confusion whitened the oval of her face, tightened the mouth that had driven him to madness what seemed an eternity ago. "What did you expect me to do after we made love?" she demanded. "Trundle myself back to Edinburgh and continue stitching on my trousseau? Follow through with my marriage to Dunstan and pretend this night never happened, that you never loved me?"
Jealousy slashed him with savage talons. "If that cur so much as touches you, I'll—"
"You won't be there to face him!" she shouted, tugging the shift over her head as if to shield the fragile places inside her from Gavin's betrayal. "You'll be out riding that hell-spawned horse of yours, trying to get yourself killed. No, if anyone has to attempt to explain what happened here, it will be me. What should I tell him, Gavin? That I fell in love with the man who kidnapped me? That I did everything I could think of to get you to make love to me?"
"Damn it, Rachel, what happened here wasn't your fault. It was mine."
"How dare you! How dare you turn the most beautiful moments of my life into one more cross for the great and noble Glen Lyon to bear? Or is that what you want? To take responsibility for this as well? Maybe I should tell Dunstan that you forced me into your bed. That would make everything nice and tidy, wouldn't it?"
"Tell him whatever you like," Gavin bellowed. "Doubtless, Wells would believe it. He'd know you'd never want a coward in your bed."
They were hurting each other, driving in wedges of pain and distance where there had been wonder beyond imagining.
Eyes dry and aching, he stared at the woman dragging on her garments. Her chin jutted out in a stubborn attempt to disguise her hurt and confusion. The joy that had illuminated her eyes and glossed her beautiful face had vanished. His worst fear had become reality. The bleakness that had haunted Gavin for so long now shadowed Rachel's eyes as well.
Grabbing up his boots and shirt, Gavin stalked from the cottage into the dawn. Wildfire scourged his soul, leaving only a wasteland, barren and bleak. In that frozen instant, the magic he had craved since he'd been a dreamy-eyed boy poured through his hands, leaving him emptier than ever before.
God, what had he done? Not only had he stolen Rachel's virginity, ruined her when he'd had no intention of marrying her, he'd crushed her hopes of marriage to another man. But most unforgivable of all, he'd put her in danger.
What lengths would the arrogant Sir Dunstan go to if he discovered that his betrothed had bedded his worst enemy? Would the knight seek vengeance on Rachel with the same ruthlessness as he did the Jacobites he hated?
Feral protectiveness awakened the beast inside him, the beast that would glory in Dunstan Wells's blood if he ever dared to hurt this woman.
No. Gavin brought himself up sharply, terrified by the force of the rage inside him. Dunstan would have no power over her. Despite her anger at Gavin's betrayal, Rachel had said she would not wed Dunstan. She would marry another man someday. Gavin wanted her to—as much as it hurt to admit it. She deserved love after years of being alone, and a family, a home where she would be cherished and safe.
But could she wed another man when Gavin had already taken her maidenhead? Was it possible that in his selfish need, his heedless passion, he'd put that dream beyond her reach forever?
He could only pray that any man worthy of Rachel wouldn't care if she had shared Gavin's bed. Surely there was a man out there, somewhere, who would realize what a treasure she was, be so grateful for the chance to love her that what had happened in this cottage wouldn't matter.
But it would matter to Rachel, Gavin knew with sick certainty. This night would change her world forever. No bridal dreams or memories of tender loving, no glowing candles would mark her introduction into love. It would be forever shadowed by memories of this crude croft and fugitives fleeing from Armageddon, a makeshift mattress before a peat fire and the hunger of desire offset by hunger in her belly.
It would be tainted forever with disillusionment and betrayal, for he had betrayed her with the same fierceness as he loved her.
She'd spent a lifetime controlling her emotions, keeping them leashed so they couldn't cut her, burn her, destroy the illusion of strength that had been her shield against the world. Yet for him, she had surrendered that shield and trusted him.
And he had taught her well—shown her that she'd been right to hold herself apart all those years, safe in her castle of detachment and control. He'd given her the briefest glimpse of love and joy, then left her alone to bear the searing, inevitable storm of pain.
The soft whicker of Manslayer intruded, the horse nudging Gavin, its eyes large and liquid, filled with the devotion that had shone in them since the day Gavin had taken him from a brutal master.
Gavin smoothed his hand along the beast's silky neck. "I taught her to cry," he rasped. "Damn me to hell, I taught her to cry."
The knowledge buried itself like a knife blade in his soul.
He stilled at the sound of a footfall behind him and turned to see Rachel in the croft's doorway, the vines trailing along the whitewashed walls framing her with a delicate wreath of enchantment, the thatch glowing like spun gold in the first rays of the sun.
She would have been the picture of enchantment, a living, breathing dream, if he hadn't looked at her face. Her eyes were wary and chill, as if she'd drawn shut some in
visible gateway inside herself, and was already closing him out. No, she hadn't shut that gate herself, Gavin thought grimly. I did it for her, reached inside her heart and slammed it shut regardless of how much it hurt us both.
He walked over to her in silence and lifted her up onto the horse, then mounted behind her. She said not a word, her face still as a marble statue, as distant and unreachable as the moon.
It was better this way, Gavin assured himself, better for her to be angry, to see him as coward, betrayer. Perhaps one day she could even learn to hate him as he deserved. Why was it the prospect was the most agonizing one he'd ever known?
Gavin wheeled Manslayer in a prancing circle, as if attempting to get the restive beast under control. But in truth, Gavin wanted one more glimpse of the tiny cottage where dreams had been spun. Already, the dawn was painting it impossible pinks and mauves and golds, the hill seeming to enfold it in wings of shadow. Gavin wouldn't have been surprised to see it vanish, melt into the mist as unreal as a fairy kingdom woven from legend or bard song.
All his life, Gavin had believed the ache in his spirit was because he wanted a place of his own—an estate, a grand house tucked in England's hills, land and tenants, crops and meadows dotted with sheep and golden ricks of hay.
But he'd never realized that what he craved wasn't a building or rooms or even fertile fields. From the time he'd been a boy, wandering through the wreckage of his parents' marriage, he'd been searching for somewhere to belong.
God, what irony that he should discover after all this time that it wasn't a place, but rather, a feeling— the feeling he'd captured in that humble croft with Rachel, a blending of souls, of goals, of hearts.
Rachel... words dammed up in his throat, hard as stone, suffocating him with the need to spill out the emotions locked inside him.
He clenched his jaw against the tide of words until it ached. Christ, what good would it do to tell her, tell her how much last night had meant to him? That her face would be the last thing he'd picture before he went to his death? That her voice would speak to him in his heart for all eternity? Such savagely tender confessions would only make it more unbearable when he did what he had to do and walked away.