Claimed By The Laird Part 18

He cried out then; his voice caught on the wind and blew away. The heather roots tripped him but he stumbled on, trying to reach her, knowing in his heart it was too late but not prepared to give up, to give in.

Christina was walking steadily onward, out into the waters of the loch. It had to be an optical illusion caused by the moonlight, but it appeared that she was walking on the water. Eyre had urged his horse into the loch behind her and as Lucas watched the creature plunged up to its chest in the water and Eyre gave a shout as he was almost unseated. A moment later the horse was swimming and Eyre had fallen off with a loud splash and a howl of invective, yet Christina continued to walk out into the darkness until the moon disappeared behind a cloud and the spread of her cloak on the dark water vanished. When the moon came up again there was no one there, nothing but Eyre splashing out into the shallows, soaked and still swearing, leading his horse, and the other riding officers circling on the beach, milling around, bewildered.

Lucas stood, staring at the breeze ruffling the top of the water. He did not know what to think. Hope and desperation warred inside him. And then he remembered, like the whisper of the breeze, Christina's voice telling him how well she knew the sea and the lochs and the landscape, the way her ancestors had.

Lucas gave a great shudder. He felt his knees weaken and he crumpled to sit in the midst of the heather and bracken, head in hands. Christina knew and loved this land in a way that Eyre and his men never would. She understood it. And tonight that had surely saved her. He did not know how. He did not know where she had gone, but he felt hope and faith catch alight inside him and burn steadily.

The riding officers still had not seen him. In all of the fray they had not noticed he was there. He lay a bit lower in the heather, feeling the sharp p.r.i.c.kle of the stems against his skin, listening.

"Where did she go?" Lucas heard Bryson ask.

"She drowned," Eyre said shortly. He was shaking himself like a dog.

"But-" One of the others, a youth called Austin, was pressing closer. "We all saw. She walked away. She walked on the water."

Eyre glared at him. "What do you think she is? A b.l.o.o.d.y witch? A ghost? She drowned, I tell you!" His voice was rising. "And in the morning we shall see who is missing and then we will know."

"We've nothing, though," Bryson said. "No whisky still, no arrests, not even a body-"

Eyre turned on him. "We've a woman missing, and I think I know who she is..." He stopped abruptly. It was clear to Lucas that Eyre's vanity could not allow him to share his suspicions of Christina. In the same way that he could not countenance that she had outwitted him again, he alone wanted to claim the triumph of breaking the news of her drowning and of her secret life as the smugglers' leader.

Lucas stood up a little stiffly and started to edge toward the track. He had to find Christina, help her. When Eyre came to Kilmory Castle expecting to tell her shattered family that she was dead, Christina had to be alive and well, waiting to refute everything Eyre said.

The excise officers were cantering away along the edge of the water. They were subdued, looking over their shoulders. One superst.i.tious fellow even crossed himself. Lucas waited until the last echo of the horses' hooves had died away, and then he walked down to the water's edge. He was not sure where Christina would come back to dry land, but it had to be along the western edge of the loch.

He followed the sh.o.r.eline along to a place where the silver birch trees grew thickly, their pale trunks reflecting the moonlight. There, amongst the tangled roots, he saw the huddle of a body lying motionless in the shallows.

Christina.

He had lost count how many times that night he had felt despair. He waded into the water and caught hold of a waterlogged fold of cloth, pulling her toward him. She felt heavy and reluctant to come to him but he struggled, swearing, until his grip on the sodden material was sufficient to be able to lift her.

She was still breathing. Whispering a prayer of thanks under his breath, he started to drag her out of the shallows. Immediately she stirred and started to struggle.

"That's my girl," Lucas said. Relief flooded through him as fiercely as the terror had before.

"I'm not your girl." Her voice was scarcely more than a croak.

"Let's not argue about that now," Lucas said. "Give me your hand. We need to get you out of there."

She hesitated for only a moment, then her hand grasped his outstretched one and he pulled her toward him. Her clothes were saturated and the water was reluctant to give her up, but he grasped her other arm and lifted her. She was clinging to him, soaked through, but beneath the sodden layers of material, she felt warm and alive, and he crushed her to him and felt the fierceness with which she held him. He felt relief, thankfulness-and anger with her for putting him through such an ordeal. It was so strong it took his breath away.

"I warned you," he said. His voice was rough. He wanted to shake her; he wanted to do something to vent all the fury that was inside him. "I told you it was dangerous." He pulled her hood back so that he could see her face. Her hair spilled in glorious disarray about her shoulders. She had the pallor of exhaustion, her eyes wide and frightened, a smear of dirt down one cheek. There was blood, too. He could see it now in the pale moonlight, a smear of it on her sleeve. His anger fled as quickly as it had come.

"You're bleeding," he said. "The bullet hit you."

"It's only a scratch," she said. She sounded faint with fatigue. "I should have realized you would be here." She had freed herself from his grasp now and stepped away from him, wariness in her eyes.

"Have you come to arrest me?" she said.

"Don't be stupid," Lucas said shortly. "I came to warn you, but I was too late. Come on," he added, trying to encourage her up the sh.o.r.e and onto the path. "We mustn't waste any time."

Still she hung back. His patience snapped. "Look," he said. "A moment ago you clung to me. You trusted me."

She turned away so that he could not see her face. "I was glad to be safe," she murmured. "I forgot."

"You should trust your instincts," Lucas said.

She gave him a look of weary disillusionment. "They have not served me so well in the past," she said. Ignoring his outstretched hand, she clambered up the hillside and onto the track.

They did not speak as they walked back to the castle. Christina had put up her hood again and held the sodden material of her cloak close. Lucas could see that she was shivering. It was as they neared the castle ruins that he heard the furious beat of hooves on the road and grabbed her, pulling her into the shelter of a tumbledown wall, one hand clapped over her mouth.

"Eyre," he whispered in her ear. "He is going back to try to find your body."

He felt the shudder that shook her, and drew her closer, arms wrapped about her, trying to instill a sense of security and protection into her as she trembled. He pressed his cheek to her hair and flattened his hands against her back and held her shaking body to him.

"You're safe," he whispered. "Don't be afraid."

Christina drew away from him slowly.

"I don't understand," she said, when the sounds had faded and the night was still again. "Why did you not betray me? I thought you must be the one who told Eyre where to find the whisky still."

"There is a spy at Kilmory, but it isn't me," Lucas said. He caught her by the shoulders. "Do you really think I would betray you? Dear G.o.d, Christina-"

"I don't know," Christina said dully. She tried to twist out of his grasp. "Don't you see, Lucas?" she said. "I don't trust you. I can't trust you. I thought I knew you and you were someone else entirely."

Lucas could feel her shaking. "I did not betray you to Eyre because I have been trying to protect you," he said harshly. "I've seen what you have tried to do to help the people of Kilmory and I admire you for it even if I don't agree with what you do. And I don't like Eyre's methods," he added grimly. "I wrote to Sidmouth to say so."

"Did you?" He could feel her gaze on him, weighing his honesty. The light flickered on the expression in her eyes. For a moment she had looked hopeful, as loving and candid as she had been before, then the shadow of disillusion swept into her eyes and her expression closed again.

"Thank you for tonight," she said. "I can manage well enough on my own now." She swayed, exhaustion and shock clearly taking its toll, and Lucas swept her up into his arms.

"I'll carry you back."

"Please don't." There was an edge to her voice. "I can manage quite well on my own-"

"Rubbish," Lucas said roughly. "You almost fainted just now. Lie still."

He thought she was going to argue further but she gave a little sigh and turned her face into his neck. He felt her breath on his skin. Their faces were so close; he had to resist the fierce urge to take her mouth with his. He knew how she would taste, and the memory sent a fierce jolt of l.u.s.t through him. Her eyelashes flickered. He saw the flash of answering heat in her gaze. So she was not immune, then. The knowledge gave Lucas hope.

He carried her across the swath of gra.s.s that separated the ruins from the main building. Eyre was evidently confident; he had set no watch on the castle. Nothing moved in the silent grounds. Behind the shuttered windows, the lights still glowed.

"How did you get away from the riding officers?" he asked. "It looked as though you were walking on the water."

"Oh..." Her lips curved into a smile. "There are ways across the loch, a shingle path just beneath the surface of the water, hidden from sight...."

"Thank G.o.d," Lucas said. "Even so, you almost drowned."

"The water was higher than normal because of the summer rain." She sounded exhausted now. "Please put me down. I will go to my chamber via the door in the tower so that no one is aware of what has happened tonight."

"I'm not leaving you on your own," Lucas said. He placed her gently on her feet as he bent to retrieve the key to the tower door. "I'm staying with you."

"That's ridiculous." Through her exhaustion he could hear the crackle of starchiness in her voice. Lady Christina, daughter of the duke, was standing on her dignity. Except that he was not going to let her, not anymore.

"We are betrothed," he said. "We exchanged vows only a couple of hours ago. It is my right to protect you. I am not leaving."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

"BETROTHED?"

Christina was so outraged that she forgot that she was cold, tired, wet and exhausted.

"I asked you to marry me and you agreed." Lucas sounded maddeningly reasonable. He had found the key now and was sliding it into the lock. "That const.i.tutes a trothplight under Scots law."

"But that was before I knew who you were," Christina said. "I withdraw my consent."

"Then I will sue you for breach of contract." Lucas held the door open for her with as much courtesy as a gentleman helping her from her carriage at a ball. "We are betrothed. I have the right to protect you."

"No, you do not." Christina could not remember the last time she had felt so infuriated. "Lucas, this is not funny." She glanced at his face as she pa.s.sed him in the entrance; he was smiling at her, a smile that reminded her of all the things that had happened in the shadows of the Round House and made her feel very hot and bothered. She was definitely getting a chill.

"I'm not joking," Lucas said, the smile dying from his eyes. "I want to marry you, Christina. That has not changed."

"You can't expect me to marry a man who lied to me," Christina said. "How can I trust you after that?"

"I did not lie," Lucas said. He sounded annoyingly matter-of-fact. "I admit that I concealed certain facts from you-"

"Such as your ident.i.ty and your reason for being at Kilmory!" Christina burst out.

"And I am sorry for that," Lucas said steadily. He turned to close the door behind them and Christina stared in frustration at his broad shoulders. She wanted to slam a fist against them, show him how much he had hurt her. "But nothing I did was intended to harm you." He turned so suddenly that she caught her breath, almost overpowered by his nearness. "On the contrary," he said, "I tried to keep the truth from you to protect you. That was a mistake."

"I'm glad that you acknowledge it," Christina said stiffly.

Lucas spread his hands in a gesture of appeal. "I had to find my brother's murderer," he said. "I still have to do it. It is a sacred trust to me. I hope you understand."

Christina was getting dizzy going up the spiral stair. Her feet dragged, and despite herself she was grateful for the strength of Lucas's arm guiding her upward.

"I suppose I do understand," she said after a moment. "That is, I understand that you are committed to discovering who took your brother's life."

"And will you help me?" Lucas said directly.

Christina paused. She had had time to think now and she could see, even through her sense of disillusion and betrayal, that to Lucas it was a matter of honor to achieve justice for Peter. She thought of the joy with which Peter had spoken of his reconciliation with the older brother he had not seen for so long. That brother had been Lucas. It had been Lucas who had received the unendurable news of his death, Lucas whose hopes for a future rebuilding the relationship with his brother had been snuffed out on the track by Kilmory. That knowledge in itself broke her heart. She knew Lucas must be hurting badly.

"You may stay here at Kilmory until the perpetrator is found," she said. "Then I want you to go."

Lucas stood aside to allow her to precede him into her chamber. He did not argue with her, but his face was dark and cold again, forbidding, determined. She shivered. Yes, he would hunt down his brother's murderer. He would see justice done.

"Whom do you suspect?" she said. "You seem convinced that the culprit is here in the village, or perhaps even in the castle. You must have some basis for your suspicions."

She saw some emotion flicker in his eyes and had the distinct impression that he was keeping something from her. "I have a few ideas, but nothing definite," he said, "and I would not wish to accuse an innocent man."

Christina let it go. She was too tired to argue anyway, and she did not want further proof that Lucas did not trust her with his secrets.

"You said that you are half Scottish, half Russian," she said, remembering. "It's a ruthless combination."

For a moment, humor lit Lucas's black eyes. "I hope I have the best of both."

"Why do you call yourself Lucas Black?" Christina asked. A part of her did not want to talk to Lucas when her feelings toward him were still so raw, but she was curious, too, curious about the man he really was.

Lucas shrugged. "I use the name Black because I am laird of the Black Strath," he said. "Strictly speaking, my name is Prince Lucas Orlov, but I do not use the Russian t.i.tle."

Shock robbed Christina of breath for a moment. She wondered how much more there was that she did not know. An entire life story, she supposed. He had given away so little about himself.

"Laird of the Black Strath," she said. "That is near Perth, is it not? A Sutherland estate?"

"My father was Niall Sutherland." Lucas sounded curt. "He left the Black Strath to me, but I do not go there. I am no laird. I am a businessman with no understanding of the land."

"That's a pity," Christina said. "Especially for your people."

She saw the flicker of something in his face, something of shame or guilt. "I make sure they are well cared for," he said. "My land agent is good and they lack nothing." He took a taper from the fire and the lamp burst into light.

"So the d.u.c.h.ess of Strathspey is your aunt," Christina said. "I see." More pieces of the puzzle clicked into place, more pretense. Her heart ached and suddenly she felt very tired. She wished she had not followed instinct instead of reason. Instinct had betrayed her. It had told her she could trust Lucas; that it was safe to love him. Instinct had been wrong. She had lost again. The foundations she had been building had proved as shifting as sand. She had no intention of giving Lucas a second chance, not when everything she had thought she knew of him had turned out to be a sham.

"We need to get you out of those wet clothes." Lucas had stoked the fire to a blaze and was coming back across the room toward her. Her heart b.u.mped against her ribs. She clutched the sodden cloak to her neck in a futile gesture of modesty.

"I can undress myself," she said, but her fingers were shaking so much with cold and reaction that they fumbled the ribbons of the cloak.

"Let me," Lucas said.

"No!" She backed away from him. "I don't want you to see me naked."

"I saw you naked about three hours ago," Lucas said. He took the cloak from her fingers and drew it away from her, spreading it across the back of one of the armchairs. His gaze searched her face. He frowned. "Do you want me to send your maid to you?"

"I can manage," Christina said.

"Then I'll help you," Lucas said.

"I meant that I can manage if you go away now."

Lucas smiled. "Someone needs to be with you in case you are taken ill," he said. "You may well have caught a chill from tonight or inflamed the bullet wound. You could develop a fever." He turned her gently around and she felt his fingers on the b.u.t.tons of her gown.

"No wonder you are so autocratic," Christina said, shivering as he slid the soaking material from her, "if you are a prince. What rapid social advancement from gardener to n.o.bleman, Mr. Black. Or should I call you Highness now?"