"I pray you won't have to rescue me again."
He lifted a brow. "Hope not, but you do get yourself into trouble often."
Well, he was right about that, blast it. First, the falling tree, and now this.
On the one hand, she enjoyed their companionable closeness as night descended, but on the other, she knew she could not grow too close to him.
He knelt, away from the fire, but still near enough to see well, and set about reloading his pistol and she wondered if he would need it again soon.
"I've never been into the wilds like this before," she said, a bit uncertain as to what she should do.
The room was darker than before, despite the fire, but she caught a glimpse of something inRebbie'sdevilish gaze. Something fleeting and sensual. Was he thinking of that wild night they'd spent together?
"You haven't visited the Highlands afore?" he asked.
"Nay. I've never been this far north.'Tisso beautiful here. Untamed."
He nodded, then stood and pushed the loaded pistol into the belt that held his plaid in place. His face was in shadow now, but 'twas obvious he was watching her. "You don't seem afraid."
She shook her head. "Not… with you."'Twasthe truth. She felt incredibly protected.
He was silent for a long moment and she wished she could see his face, his eyes, to gauge what he might be thinking.
"Where are you from?" His voice was deep and comforting, but at the same time his question disturbed her. What else would he ask?
"I grew up near Kinross," she said.
He nodded and removed a plaid blanket from his pack, then spread it upon the floor a couple feet from the fire. "Please, have a seat, m'lady." He gave a sweeping motion toward the blanket.
"I thank you." She sat and then he did.
He took a silver flask from the inside of his doublet, removed the cork and offered her a drink.
"Nay, I thank you. I don't drink whisky."
"'Tiswater." He gave her a quick grin. "I filled it at the wee stream that courses down from the mountain.'Tisa tragedy, but the whisky is all gone."
"Oh." She took the flask from him and drank. Fresh and cold. "Very good." She handed it back to him, and he drank a long swallow.
Sharing the same drinking vessel, placing their lips on the same spot, seemed an intimate act to her, just as putting her finger into his mouth earlier had seemed far more intimate than simple splinter removal. The heat from the fire felt too intense of a sudden, and she could not keep her gaze off him.
The shadow of his beard stubble had darkened, framing his beautiful mouth. It bespoke masculinity, confidence and sensuality. Imagining a kiss like the ones he'd given her that night years ago, she grew a bit breathless and fidgety.
"So, you were married to the Earl of Stanbury?" he asked.
Oh, saints! More questions. She must be very careful. "Aye."
"Was he quite a bit older than you?"
She didn't think it would matter if she told him the truth about it. "Aye, he was fifty-two summers when he passed."
"And can I ask when that was?"
Her heartbeat hammering in her throat, Calla dropped her gaze from his inquiring one. If she answered this question truthfully, he would know she'd been married when they spent the night together. He would know she was the worst sort of woman, an adulteress. And yet, she couldn't lie to him. He could easily find out the truth of it, anyway, if he asked anyone back atDraughon. He'd already said he didn't care whether or not she had been married at the time.
She swallowed hard. "In March of this year." She lifted her gaze and watched for his reaction. Would he judge her, as he had every right to do… as anyone else would do if they knew?
He nodded and turned the rabbit upon the spit over the fire. She saw no condemnation in his eyes; he wasn't even looking at her. She was glad he didn't express his condolences as he might have done to be polite had they'd been back atDraughon, near others. Somehow his response was more honest, and that appealed to her. She valued honesty very highly and her forced dishonesty ate at her conscience.
