Lord of the Highlands
Page 15

“No,” she said, standing a little straighter, trying to look the part of an affronted seventeenth-century lady. She took another step back.
“If he leaves you unguarded, it’s his own fault I’m here to sweep in and get better acquainted.” Robertson leaned closer.
“Who are you?”
“Ah!” he exclaimed, opening his palms up to the sky. “You do not recognize my name?”
Definitely not Mister Right.
“I am minister of the village of Dunning. If you are not from these parts and, I dare say”—he eyed her in a way she knew couldn’t have been entirely appropriate for the time period or a minister—“you are not, Dunning is a cheery wee village here in Perthshire.”
“Oh, how—”
He cut her off, continuing merrily, “My journey has been neither easy nor brief, but I find that to adventure through the countryside is to rouse the senses.”
“How far—?”
“And ’tis well worth it too,” he interrupted again, adding a knowing and self-satisfied little chuckle.
She crossed her arms impatiently. This man didn’t strike her as particularly ministerial. “Why do you—?”
“Dunning can feel quite isolated. A minister I may be, but I’d not have my existence be quite so cloistered.” He laughed outright then, pleased at his own wit.
“You’re a minister?” The words burst from her, coming out more loudly than she’d expected. Actually, she hadn’t really even expected to be able to fit them in edgewise.
“Why, yes indeed. I know I am quite young for my own parish,” he added, mistaking her confusion for admiration.
He edged closer. Did he expect her to be wilting with attraction to him?
“But truly, I do find travel so invigorating. And, indeed, necessary!”
“Indeed,” she repeated, stealing furtive glances over the man’s shoulder. Any day now, Will.
“I am a man of enterprise! I say, if a man is to have any ambition in life, he must keep abreast of the goings on in his country, do you not agree?”
Felicity managed a little half nod. She’d thought he was cute. Talk about wrong first impressions.
“I believe my successes are owed to zeal and industry, in equal parts.”
“Oh, please,” she whispered, scooting back a little more.
“God gives each of us certain gifts, and I dare not squander mine.”
“It’s good to be so aware of your talents,” she said, trying to bite back a laugh.
“Indeed,” he beamed.
Indeed, another indeed. Felicity glanced around again, just in time to see Rollo reappearing, with grooms in tow.
Saved.
The two men met each other with stony silence.
She wasn’t sure how a seventeenth-century woman would approach the situation. “Uh . . . Alexander,” she stammered, “this is—”
“Lord Rollo,” the minister said, giving a curt nod to Will. “Everyone has heard of the great exploits of the esteemed Lord Rollo.”
Felicity would’ve sworn she saw Will’s cheek twitch.
Fascinating.
Alexander turned back to her, his tone a bit more subdued. “Had I known you were thus . . . spoken for, I’d not have hoped to press my suit.”
“Press your—? Ohhh . . .” Ew. Thanks, but no.
“She is most definitely spoken for.” Will took her arm in his, and her heart did a flip-flop.
“Now that’s more like it,” she muttered.
“What were you thinking speaking with . . . that one?” he asked after Alexander, the grooms, and the horses had all gone their separate ways.
“What are your ‘great exploits’?” she asked eagerly.
Will ignored the question. “How long were you with Robertson?”
“Are you jealous?” She perked up. Did that mean he had feelings? Maybe jealousy was the key to Will Rollo.
He stopped in his tracks, a black cloud darkening his features. “Jealousy has naught to do with it. Just . . . simply . . . stay away from that man. He’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous? He’s a minister. How can he be dangerous?”
He stilled once more, and this time she stumbled slightly, catching herself.
“You are not to speak with that man,” he hissed. “Ever. He travels about doing the devil’s work.”
“Devil’s work?” She giggled at the unexpected reply.
He gestured for her silence.
“Devil’s work?” she asked again, in a mockingly grave whisper. “He said he just liked to see the countryside, meet—”
“He’s a witch pricker.”
“Pricker?!” A loud laugh burst from her. “That’s exactly what he was—a little pricker!” She had to wipe the tears from her eyes it was so funny.
Will glowered at her, and Felicity thought steam might whistle out of his ears at any moment.
“Listen well, woman,” he said in a voice that was deadly quiet. “This . . . minister . . . says he does God’s work, but I say he’s an ambitious prig who thinks to accelerate his ambitions through sensational trials that are a mockery of justice.”
She stared blankly. “What are you talking about?”
His jaw tightened. “The man claims he has a gift. For identifying witches. He kills those he finds.”
Dread prickled like ice in her belly. “Do you mean like . . . a witch hunt?”
“Aye, that’s precisely what I mean. He’s ordered the death of hundreds of women. And this has brought him fame.” Rollo looked quickly to the right and left. Gripping her arm, he began to walk them slowly toward the inn’s front door. “These were innocent women. Some were sick, perhaps. Some practiced midwifery. And others, I think, Alexander Robertson simply determined he didn’t like.”
“Oh,” she replied, subdued. “It seemed like he liked me . . . He asked so many questions. I think I answered them all right . . .” Her voice petered out.
“You must never forget who you are,” Rollo whispered urgently in her ear, and the feel of his breath sent an inadvertent shiver along her skin.
Focus. She had to focus.
“You’re so guileless,” he accused.
“You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”
“Och, Felicity, lass, it’s a bonny thing,” he said with an earnestness that broke her heart. “But you betray yourself. With a mere look, a mere word.”
He slowed even more to buy them more time. “Why do you think we’ve been taking this godforsaken route, avoiding the larger burghs in favor of these pitiable villages?” He gave a squeeze to her arm. “To keep you safe, Felicity.”
He had to stop speaking, for they’d reached the door.
Rollo. Her Viking. He’d been so cold and distant. But it was because he’d been worried, trying to protect her.
Because she had more to fear than anyone.
She wasn’t like those innocent women.
She’d made herself travel back through time.
Which would mean . . .
I am a witch.
Rollo hesitated at her door. What he was about to do was entirely inappropriate. He looked behind him. The hallway was dim and empty. Dinner had come and gone. Folk had returned to their rooms for the night, or were drunk in the inn’s common room. Nobody would see.
Or, he could simply turn and head downstairs for a mug of ale and some stew.
But Felicity had seemed so alone.
He knew he’d scared her. He was glad of it. The lass needed some scaring. It was as if she thought she were a part of some great and merry romp.
He’d insisted she stay in her room for the night. What she really needed to do was return to her own time. To let him help her find her way home. But she seemed determined that she’d come back for him.
Anguish pierced straight to his heart. A woman, wanting to lay claim to him.
It was too much.
Too tempting.
And too risky. She needed to get away, now, far away, from Will, from this time and place.
He dared not get too close. He didn’t want to know too much about her. Every day she spent with him was one day too many.
Danger simmered. Fear and greed drove men to heinous acts. Like beheading a king.
Like torturing women in the name of superstitions that should’ve gone out with the Dark Ages.
The thought brought the handle of his cane up, cracking a knock at her door.
He regretted it instantly.
She is likely afraid, he told himself. She would long for company. Might fear the danger she found herself in.
The door opened, and it was like a wash of sunlight on chilled flesh.
She stood there, and he knew.
Perhaps the gravest danger was to his heart.
Chapter 9
“Hi,” she said in a relieved voice, stepping aside for Rollo to enter. “I’m dying in here. I’m sorry. I know you said not to leave, but I’m about to crawl out of my skin, and so I finally just ordered a bath. I heard the woman right outside, so technically I didn’t really leave the room, and she said she’d bring the hot water in here so—”
“Hush.” He touched a finger to her chin, then pulled his hand away at once.
The ghost of his touch lingered on her skin. She’d been desperate to eat, to bathe, to talk to someone, but that one moment of contact made it all fall away. Felicity stared dumbly as he clicked the door shut behind him.
“Do you think you can eat?” he asked.
“Are you kidding?” She brightened at once. “All I’ve had is bread and cheese. I’m starving.”
He gave a curt nod and turned to go.
“Wait!” She reached around him to slam her palm against the door. “You just got here. Where are you going?”
“Easy, woman.” He chuckled.
Wow, how she loved it when she made him make that sound. And calling her woman . . . It felt so seventeenth-century alpha male, in such a strangely good way.
She pulled her hand back, and let it graze along his side in an accidentally-on-purpose sort of way.