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‘Oh, I don’t know.’ The doctor gazed across to where the American was standing, having attracted another couple of ladies into his circle. ‘He seems to be charming the birds out of the trees.’
Riona glanced at the American again and made a dismissive sound. True, he appeared to be gaining a fan club, but they were women who would have fluttered round the new laird if he’d turned out to be the devil himself.
‘I hope he doesn’t expect us all to fawn on him,’ she muttered aloud, refusing to be susceptible to those powerful good looks.
‘I’m sure he doesn’t,’ Dr Macnab said more reasonably. ‘At least, I can’t think he’ll be any worse than Sir Hector.’
‘Mmm.’ A non-committal sound from Riona. True, Sir Hector had been a terrible old autocrat with a variable temper and an almost feudal attitude to his tenants, but who knew what his successor was really like?
Feeling she’d already wasted too much time discussing the American, Riona excused herself and returned to the stage with the rest of the band. They continued through their repertoire of dance numbers. It was music Riona could have played in her sleep, which was fortunate as her attention kept wandering back to Cameron Adams.
She saw him dancing the Highland schottische with Isobel Fraser. They were both dreadful at it. Isobel was actually a lowlander from Strathclyde and normally considered herself too sophisticated for the weekly ceilidh. It wasn’t hard to guess what had brought her to this one.
When the other two band members suggested playing a slow, romantic air, Riona shook her head and led the music into an eightsome reel. Then, in an unusually spiteful mood, she enjoyed watching Isobel try to keep up with the energetic dance. High heels and reels did not go together. The couple eventually left the floor, mid-dance, and, losing sight of them, Riona assumed they had gone completely.
Only later, when the dance was over and she went in search of a lift from the doctor, did she discover the two men—Dr Macnab and Cameron Adams—making each other’s acquaintance at a table in the far corner of the hall. She stopped in her tracks and was about to retreat altogether when the older man spotted her.
‘Ah, Riona,’ Dr Macnab hailed her, and she reluctantly approached the table. ‘I was just about to come and look for you. You’ll be wanting a lift?’
‘Aye, Doctor, if it’s not too much trouble,’ she said stiltedly, inhibited by the American’s presence.
She didn’t have to look to know his eyes were boring into her. But she looked all the same and immediately regretted it.
‘I’ll give you a lift,’ the American said in a tone that suggested refusal wasn’t an option.
Riona’s heart sank. She’d sooner walk the four miles in bare feet.
It was Dr Macnab who answered warmly, ‘That’s good of you, Cameron,’ when Riona remained silent.
‘It’s on my way.’ Cameron Adams dismissed any kindness in the offer, then directed at Riona, ‘Are you ready?’
What could she say? Remembering her first lift with him, she’d no wish to repeat the experience. But he was the new laird, while she was just one of his tenants.
‘It is good of you,’ she echoed the doctor, ‘but it’s not really your most direct route. If you go west from the village, it’s about five miles to the House. You have to go in a circle to pass my croft and it almost doubles the journey.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ was his only response, as he placed a hand at her elbow, and, with a last, ‘See you around, Doc,’ to the older man, began steering her towards the door.
The hall was still busy with people saying goodbye and Riona felt every one of them was staring in their direction. By tomorrow it would be round the village—Riona Macleod had left the ceilidh with the new laird. She could imagine what the gossips might conclude from that.
Cameron Adams smiled disarmingly at people they passed and raised a hand in farewell to Isobel Fraser, who was trapped in conversation with the local vet. He swept on towards the door, without noticing Isobel frantically signalling in return.
‘I think Isobel’s trying to catch your attention,’ Riona told him. ‘Maybe she needs a lift. I could go with the doctor...’
‘Uh-huh, forget it,’ he dismissed, marching her towards his BMW. ‘Isobel has her own transport, and, even if she didn’t, I don’t think she’d be short of a man to take her home... So be a good girl, stop arguing, and just get in,’ he added, as they reached his car and he opened the passenger door for her.
Riona felt mutinous at his ‘good girl’ and wondered what he’d do if she took to her heels instead. She looked around for a bolt-hole.
‘I wouldn’t if I were you.’ He read her perfectly. ‘Unless, of course, you’d like to be dragged back, caveman style.’
‘You’d not dare!’ she retorted angrily.
He smiled. ‘Try me.’
Riona was tempted, almost certain he must be bluffing. It would be more embarrassing for him—the new laird seen accosting a local girl outside the village hall. That was assuming, of course, that Cameron Adams ever got embarrassed.
He continued to smile down at her until Riona decided he would dare, and got into the car.
He quickly climbed into the other side and switched on the engine. Then, before driving off, he turned to say, ‘Your safety-belt—put it on.’
It was definitely an order, not a suggestion.
Riona muttered rebelliously, ‘Why? Am I going to need it?’ remembering how fast he drove.
He ignored the comment and repeated, ‘Put it on!’
Riona, who had simply forgotten the belt, took exception, not to it, but to his tone. She decided she would do up the belt in her own sweet time.
But it seemed Cameron Adams wasn’t prepared to wait that long, as he leaned over her to grasp the strap and, drawing it across her front, locked it into position. In doing so, the back of his hand brushed against her breast. While Riona felt almost panicked by the contact, he didn’t seem to notice, and calmly turned back to grip the wheel and set the car in motion.
Riona seethed in silence. She had never met anyone so arrogant. Who did he think he was?
She asked herself the question and answered it in the same breath. He was the laird—and what in heaven’s name was she doing arguing with him? Did she want to be thrown off her croft, after trying so hard to keep it going for the past two years?
She’d lived there almost her whole life. Her parents, both music teachers, had died in a car accident when she was two, and her grandparents had taken her home to live with them. She was ten when her granny had died, and then it had just been her and her grandpa. Later she’d had the chance of a place at music college in Edinburgh, but she’d chosen to stay with him instead. He’d been in his mid-seventies by then, and growing frail. She’d nursed him through a series of debilitating strokes until a final one had brought release for him. She had not considered it release for herself. Six months on, she still missed the old man who’d brought her up and cared for her in his own tough, uncompromising way.
‘So where was Jo tonight?’ The American’s drawl brought her back to the present.
‘Jo?’ She didn’t understand.
‘You know—the boyfriend,’ he helped her out.
That Jo, Riona groaned inwardly, recalling the lie she’d told.
‘Doesn’t he like dancing?’ the man pursued.
‘Eh—no,’ Riona could say with some vestige of truth. Collies didn’t tend to go in for dancing.
‘Two left feet, has he?’ the American drawled on. ‘Or should I say four?’
Four? It was a second before Riona caught on. He knew!
‘Who told you?’
‘Dr Macnab... After some confusion, not to mention amusement, on the doctor’s side, I realised Jo was more into rounding up sheep than dancing.’
‘Oh,’ Riona muttered faintly.
‘Oh?’ he echoed this rather inadequate explanation.
Remembering who he was, she felt obliged to add, ‘I suppose I should apologise.’
‘Not if it’s going to kill you,’ he said at her forced admission. ‘An explanation will do. Like why you let me believe you were shacked up with some guy.’
‘I didn’t!’ Riona protested, quickly forgetting who he was. ‘You asked if I lived alone. I mentioned Jo and your imagination filled in the rest.’
‘You could have told me differently,’ he pointed out.
‘Oh, yes. That would have been very clever. Telling a complete stranger I lived in a lonely crofthouse all on my own,’ she retorted angrily, then, seeing they’d come to her turn-off, snapped, ‘You can let me off here.’
‘I can, but I’m not going to,’ was his answer, as he turned up the hill track and drove right to the door of the croft.
The moment the car stopped, Riona scrambled out with a perfunctory, ‘Thanks for the lift.’
But he climbed out, too, coming round to her side of the car. ‘You’re right about it being lonely up here. I’ll see you inside, check you have no intruders.’
‘There’s no need.’ She wanted him gone. He made her more nervous than any potential intruder.
He sensed it, saying, ‘Relax, this isn’t move one in a grand seduction plan. Even assuming I like my women hard to get along with—which I don’t—you’re far too young for me.’
In theory Riona should have been relieved at this announcement. In practice, she was stung into replying, ‘Or maybe you’re just too old for me.’
But if she’d wanted to offend him, she didn’t succeed. He gave a short laugh before drawling, ‘Strike that “hard to get along with”; make it “damn nigh impossible”.’ Then he grabbed hold of her arm and steered her towards the door of her cottage.
He breathed down her neck while she unlocked the door and didn’t give her a chance to shut it on him. Resigned, she led the way through the small front hall to the living-room, switching on lights as she went.
She turned to find him surveying the room with an expression of disbelief on his face. Riona understood well enough. Poverty was reflected in the threadbare furniture and carpets, the shabbiness of her home, but she refused to be ashamed of it.
She tilted her head and dared him to comment.
Instead he said simply, ‘If you’d like to make us a cup of coffee, I promise not to take it as an invitation.’
‘To what?’ she asked rather foolishly.
He smiled at her naïveté. ‘To outstay my welcome, let’s say.’
Riona continued to frown. As far as she was concerned, he already had.
‘I only have tea,’ she said ungraciously.
‘That’ll do.’ He shrugged in reply.
Left with no choice, Riona went through to the kitchen at the back, where her grandfather’s collie greeted her with much tail-wagging before taking an alert stance as the American appeared behind her.
If he’d thought the living-room bad, Riona knew he’d find the kitchen worse. The linoleum was peeling, the table and chairs rickety, and the cooking range large, ugly and ancient.
He looked round with a critical eye, but again refrained from commenting, nodding towards the collie instead.
‘Jo, I presume.’ He bent to offer the collie a hand to sniff.
‘Yes, but he doesn’t much take to strangers,’ she responded, as the collie backed away to his basket in the corner.
‘Like dog, like mistress,’ the American drawled in an undertone intended to be heard.
Riona refused to justify herself. No, she didn’t like strangers. Not over-familiar ones, at any rate, she thought, as he leaned his considerable length against her granny’s old dresser.
‘Jo’s my grandfather’s dog, actually,’ she replied coolly.
‘Your grandfather,’ he echoed. ‘Yes, Dr Macnab said he’d died recently.’
Busy with the tea things, Riona gave a brief nod that discouraged further interest in her private life.
Or would have done, if Cameron Adams hadn’t been so thick-skinned. ‘It must be difficult, running this place on your own,’ he continued, oblivious.
‘I manage,’ she countered, wondering what he was getting at. Perhaps it wasn’t just casual conversation. ‘I won’t fall behind in my rent, Mr Adams, if that’s what’s worrying you.’
‘Cameron,’ he insisted, ‘and no, I wasn’t worrying about your rent. From what I’ve seen of the accounts, I doubt it’s worth worrying about,’ he added with a short laugh.
Riona did not laugh back. What did he mean? Did he consider the rents too low? She could barely pay the present amount.
Her face revealed her thoughts, as Cameron Adams drawled, ‘Relax, kid. Whatever you pay for this place, it’s probably too much.’
He cast a disparaging glance round the kitchen.
Riona was caught between reactions: relief there’d be no rent rise versus anger at the insult to her home.
Powerless to argue, she confined herself to asking how he liked his tea, before placing it unceremoniously on the dresser beside him. She didn’t invite him to sit, and didn’t sit herself, instead taking a stance by the sink, as far from him as possible. Being a small kitchen, it wasn’t very far, and she felt overly conscious of him.
He stared back at her, without any attempt to pretend he was doing otherwise, and she dropped her eyes to the worn linoleum.
‘Does the boyfriend help?’ he suddenly asked.
‘What?’ She looked at him blankly.
He repeated, ‘The boyfriend. Does he help with the croft?’
She narrowed her eyes. How much did he know of her life?
‘Who says I have a boyfriend?’
‘It’s not a secret, is it?’
He smiled at her caginess. She frowned in response.
‘He’s in the Navy, isn’t he?’ he said, as if her memory might need jogging.
Of course she’d realised whom he meant. Fergus Ross. But who had told him? Surely not Dr Hamish?
‘So how serious is it?’ he asked, when she remained silent.
‘I...I...’ His directness was unbelievable. ‘Why do you want to know?’
He shrugged, before saying, ‘I guess I’m interested, after all.’
‘In what?’ Riona genuinely didn’t understand.
‘In you,’ the American replied simply.
He was joking. He had to be, Riona decided, as she gave him a disgruntled look and he flashed her a brilliant smile in return. He was just trying to disconcert her.
‘It’s against my better judgement, of course,’ he continued in the same vein. ‘I mean you’re really not my type. That’s not to say you aren’t beautiful. You are. Very.’
He paused to give her a look that made Riona wish she’d kept her coat on. ‘Do you expect me to be flattered?’
‘Hell, no,’ he said, clearly amused by the conversation, ‘I expect the boys have been queuing up to tell you you’re beautiful for a few years now.... I suppose all the practice has helped you perfect that put-down manner of yours.’
‘Why, you...’ Riona searched furiously for a suitable insult to trade, then remembered once more whom she was talking to.
He lifted a dark brow, prompting. ‘Yes?’
‘I...you...this isn’t fair!’ she finally protested.
‘Fair?’ he echoed.
‘You can stand there, saying what you want,’ Riona ran on, ‘and I have to stand here, taking it, because you’re laird, and I’m not.’
‘What?’ He’d obviously not thought of it from that angle, and, when he did, he laughed out loud. ‘How feudal. You think you can’t argue back, because I’m your landlord. What do you imagine I’m going to do? Throw you out on the street?’
Put like that, it did sound absurd, and Riona went on the defensive. ‘I don’t know. Your great-uncle wasn’t too keen on people disagreeing with him.’
‘So I’ve gathered—’ the American shrugged ‘—but I’m not Sir Hector. And, despite its attractions, I don’t believe in droit de seigneur.’
‘What?’ Riona had never heard the phrase.
‘Droit de seigneur?’ he repeated, and, at her clear ignorance, went on to explain, ‘In olden days, I believe the local lord in an area had the right to sleep with village maidens the night before they married. Unfortunately the custom’s been out of fashion for a few centuries. However, if you fancy reviving it...’ he suggested with a lascivious smile that definitely made a joke of it.
Riona felt she should be disgusted, but wasn’t. In fact, for a moment she actually pictured it, two figures entwined on a big four-poster in Invergair Hall. She blushed at the direction her imagination had taken her and looked away from those sharp blue eyes of his.
‘I don’t suppose you’re planning on marrying soon,’ he added with the same undercurrent of laughter.
‘No, I am not!’ Riona declared on an emphatic note.
‘Not serious, then,’ he concluded in reply.
‘About what?’ She was slow to catch up.
‘About Fergus Ross.’ He had brought them full circle back to the question he’d originally asked.
Riona had answered it, without realising, by denying any marriage plans. The smug look of satisfaction on his face was maddening.
It prompted her to claim, ‘You can be serious without wanting marriage. Maybe I don’t believe in it.’
‘That’s OK. Neither do I.’ He smiled as if they’d just come to some agreement, and straightened his length from the dresser.
He took a step in her direction and Riona found herself backed against the sink. She garbled out, ‘As a matter of fact, Fergus and I do have an understanding.’
‘Really.’ He sounded less than interested and took another slow, unhurried step towards her.
Riona told herself not to panic. She told herself he was playing some sort of game. It was just a pity she didn’t know the rules.
When he came to a halt before her, she resorted to an unoriginal, ‘It’s late. I think you should go now.’
‘Probably,’ he surprised her by agreeing, but made no move to leave. Instead he reached out a hand and touched her hair. ‘It’s a beautiful colour. Is it natural or out of a bottle?’
‘I...’ Riona was left gasping at the sheer cheek of the question.
He answered for himself, ‘Natural, I’d say,’ before his hand fell from her hair to her shoulder to lightly caress the skin left bare by her summer dress.
A breathless note crept into Riona’s voice. ‘I think you should—’
‘Go...yes, I know.’ His fingers spread to the base of her neck and felt her pulse beating a rapid tattoo. He frowned slightly. ‘You’re not frightened of me, are you?’
Rashly, Riona claimed, ‘No, of course not!’ too proud to say otherwise.
It put the smile back on the American’s face, as he suggested in return, ‘Then it must be love.’
‘I...don’t be absurd!’ Riona was more angry now than scared.
‘OK, sex, if you prefer.’ He gave a low, growling laugh as he caught her hand and pressed it to his chest. ‘Whichever, my heart’s racing to the beat of the same drum. Feel it.’
For a moment Riona could do nothing else. She felt his heart racing as he had said, and her own beat all the harder. She snatched her hand away, only for him to clasp her by the waist.
Her eyes flew to his, in appeal, in panic. He stared back at her, no longer smiling, intent.
Desire blurred his features. She shook her head. He took no notice. Small wonder.
The first kiss. His mouth lowered to hers, infinitely slowly. She could have escaped. She didn’t try. His lips on hers, a gentle caress at first, so light it was hardly felt. Oh, but enough. She betrayed herself. She opened her lips to him, opened her heart, her life.
He groaned his response, before his mouth covered hers, tasting her sweetness, desire turning to passion, demanding more, demanding all. She moaned, scared, excited. He drew her to him, close, closer, until it wasn’t enough any longer, and his hands slid to her hips, lifting her body to his, forcing her to acknowledge his need of her.
Too powerful, his maleness. Too frightening to feel this way. One kiss and she wanted to...
‘No...! No!’ She twisted in his arms, pushing away from him in sudden and total rejection.
It was a second before he understood, then a look of anger and frustration crossed his handsome face. But she didn’t have to struggle further. He let her go.
‘I’m sorry.’ Riona found herself apologising, only later asking why. ‘I can’t...I don’t...’ She shook her head.
Inarticulate mutterings, but he made something of them. The wrong thing. His dark look softened to wonder.
‘Hell, I didn’t realise...’ His eyes searched her face and saw the panic there. ‘I assumed...so few girls are these days.’
Are what? Riona could have asked, but she understood him well enough. She was just too embarrassed to say anything.
The colour was high on her cheeks, revealing, misleading, as he went on, ‘I should have known. It’s written all over you. I just didn’t want to see it.’
Riona remained silent, but she shook her head, trying to tell him. He misread the gesture, too.
‘OK, kid. It’s OK.’ He backed away from her, holding up his hands in truce. ‘No problem. I came on too strong. It won’t happen again.’
‘I-I’m not...’ a now acutely embarrassed Riona tried to explain.
He didn’t give her the chance. ‘You don’t have to say anything. Just show me the door, huh?’ he suggested with a smile that mocked himself.
He was being so nice, so reasonable that Riona felt worse. She opened her mouth, but no words came. It was easier just to do what he suggested and escort him to the door.
He left her with a wry, ‘Well, it was fun while it lasted,’ and a warning, ‘Keep your doors locked tight, kid,’ before walking off to his car.
Riona stood in the doorway, watching until he circled the car round and headed off back down the hill. She should have been relieved that he’d been put off. Should have been glad he’d deceived himself.
And she was a little, for she knew full well she couldn’t handle such a man. He was too...too everything. Different from Fergus Ross and the other young men round Invergair. Different from anyone she’d ever met. He jangled her nerves and assaulted her pride and filled her head with such thoughts that she was on the verge of screaming.
But oh, he made her senses reel, too, and relief was nothing compared to the longing as she touched her lips and felt the imprint of his mouth still.
Treacherous senses. Insane longing.
Feelings that had to be smothered before they could leave her open to pain and disillusionment much greater than any she had ever suffered at Fergus Ross’s hands.
She forced herself to remember her first and last disastrous attempt at love. To call it love, of course, was a deception in itself. Perhaps she’d thought herself in love with Fergus, but, in truth, it had just been need and fear and loneliness on her part. And on his? Sure, he had professed love until they had gone to bed together, but hadn’t much bothered afterwards.
Riona hadn’t complained, for her own feelings had proved insubstantial, dying even as he took her virginity with clumsy passion. The pain had barely touched her and was more bearable than the terrible emptiness in her heart. She had wanted to love Fergus, wanted to believe his promises, had slept with him rather than risk losing him. But there had been no real love there, just desire and desperation laid bare during an unloving act of intimacy. She hadn’t complained when it had turned Fergus from attentive suitor to arrogant lover, because her own love had proved such a poor, false thing.
She’d just heaved an enormous sigh of relief that Fergus had to return to his ship the next day, and done her best to forget the whole sorry interlude. She’d managed fairly well, too, which said a lot about how little she had really cared for Fergus. But it had left its mark on her, making her deeply distrustful of feelings, her own or anybody else’s.
Though her heart still beat painfully hard, Riona didn’t put words of love to its erratic rhythm. The truth was more basic.
Cameron Adams desired her. She desired him. It was that simple. It was that dangerous. And there was no doubt what she should do. Go to any lengths to avoid him.
Only a fool would do otherwise.