The Devil’s Due Boucher, Rita (ebook reader for pc TXT) 📖

Kate savored every sensation, painting each detail of this moment indelibly upon her memory. The scents of torch fumes, wool and sweat, became a part of that mental image. The tang of uisgebeatha on his tongue and the flavor of his lips were linked forever with Duncan MacLean. The bristled roughness of his beard, the calloused touch of his hands as they travelled down her back to pull her against the taut surface of his body were fixed in her mind as was the sound of his heartbeat and all the shades of grey in the depths of his eye.

Then, abruptly, the kiss was ended with a laughing wheeze of the bagpipes and the good-natured cheers of the crowd. Before she could say a word, Kate found herself whisked away in the arms of one of Tam’s gawky grandsons while courtesy demanded that Duncan dance with an ancient crone. But though the melody had slowed, her thoughts continued at a feverish pace, blaming the music, blaming the whiskey, blaming the night, blaming everything but herself.

. . .

The lanterns bobbed along the causeway like will-o-the-wisps as the last of the villagers started back home. Duncan felt more alive at this moment than he had in a lifetime, even though his back was fair to aching from bending over a rooftop and the good natured thumpings of fellowship from his clan. His hand was sore from shaking and his legs weak from dancing. But his exhilaration faded when he chanced to look at Kate. She stood beside him, her hand raised in a final farewell. However as she turned to face him her piquant smile disappeared.

“You are still determined to do this thing?” she asked.

Though the question came without any prelude, Duncan knew what Kate meant.

“Aye, I mean to go to Edinburgh,” he said, stiffly. “‘Tis far too long that I’ve waited. Do you still fear that I will betray my word and try to puzzle out who you are? Is that what troubles you?”

Kate shook her head. Even in the moonlight he could not fail to see the misery on her face. He knew that it was unfair to expect too much of her, to hope for more than she could in justice give. But although he tried to convince himself otherwise, he suddenly realized that he could not continue with half-measures. He wanted everything, her name, her history, to spend a lifetime discovering the details of her life. However, unless the key to her past was freely offered, it was worthless. “Do you think to run forever, Kate?” he asked softly. “Is that fair to Anne . . . or yourself?”

“As if I had a choice,” Kate said bitterly. “Choice is an illusion, Duncan.”

“Is that what you truly believe?” He could not help asking the question even though he knew it to be a foolish one. “Or is that what you tell yourself? It is an excellent excuse, to fancy one’s self the captive of a malevolent Fate. In fact, I have used that rationale to justify my behavior for most of my life.”

“And your view has changed?” Kate asked, avoiding an answer. His evaluation came too dangerously close to the mark.

“Aye, I’ve been doing some thinking of late,” Duncan said, “about destiny and curses, the making of decisions, responsibility. . . about you.”

Once again that pewter gaze held her hostage.

“I am not Pygmalion, Kate,” he said, “I would not have you be anything other than who you are. You have a right to make your own choices, for both your child and yourself. But I wouldna be the friend you named me if I left my fears unspoken. Unless you make the decisions, my dear, you may find that destiny will choose for you, will you, nil you. But if you do go, I ask only that you let me help you, for Anne, if not for you. Whatever you need, I swear to protect you, let me be your man.”

A breeze from the loch caught her hair, lifting the tendrils to momentarily obscure her face. He lifted a hand with the intent to brush it away, then let his fingers fall back to his sides. If he touched her right now, he was bound to forget all his resolutions.

Let me be your man.

Duncan made no stipulations, added no reservations. For as long as Kate could remember, those she had loved had tried to mold her to their expectations. Her father had tried to make her into a son. Her mother had attempted to turn her from a hellion to a lady and both had failed. But at least they had acted from sincere affection.

It was clear to her now, however, that Marcus had viewed her from the start as so much raw clay. Painful thought it was to acknowledge, she had been an active accomplice to her own mutilation. She had willingly given her husband the stuff of her soul to twist and sculpt to his own conception of who she ought to be. Bit by bit Marcus had chiseled away at her until she had been reduced to a spineless lump. But the supreme irony was that Kate had succumbed because she had believed that Marcus had loved her. She had considered herself unworthy of his regard.

Let me be your man, without terms or conditions. Duncan accepted her, even knowing that she had lied to him, that she was unwilling to trust him. It was far more than she deserved. She pushed the curtain of hair aside, wiping away tears with an impatient sweep of her hand. The time had come to seize control of her destiny. If that meant forfeiting Duncan’s respect, then so be it. He had to be advised of the danger that he faced, and, if possible, convinced that in any confrontation he would be playing the role of David without so much as a slingshot to stand against Goliath.

“You said earlier that this