“Oh, that’s just something I do for Duncan, Besse, and their mother.” She blushed and picked an herb for her basket. “A means to give them a bit of happiness.”
“’Tis nice.” Though tempted to shift closer, he remained where he was lest someone happened along. “What brings them here, anyway?”
Her brow furrowed. A heavy frown marred her delicate features as she picked another plant. “They were given to my uncle after a border skirmish in payment for a debt owed.”
He tensed. “So they are yer uncle’s property now?”
“Yes,” she replied tightly. “Which means they will eventually be split up. Likely sooner rather than later.”
She didn’t need to elaborate. He understood. Bloody Sassenach. He sighed and helped her pick plants, careful not to curse aloud and risk offending her. For not all English were bad. Cecille and Julianna most certainly were not, nor was Greer.
“Ye truly dinnae want them split apart, aye?” he asked.
“No.” She shook her head sharply. “I most certainly do not.”
“What do ye want then?” he asked, not merely to state the obvious but to see just how far she might go. How far she dared.
As it turned out, far indeed.
Chapter Six
Greer knew better than to bring Teagan to such a secluded spot, but when the chance arose to “escape” with her fictional hero, she just couldn’t help herself. The temptation was too great.
It was foolish, though, and she knew it. Not just for her sake, but for his because he was Scottish. Therefore, he could be blamed for anything at any time, only for where he came from.
If that were not enough, now she hoped her hero would see through a quest she’d painted for him. But she simply couldn’t help her strong emotions or passion when it came to this. More than that, she heard the determination in his voice when he’d spoken to Besse earlier. When he’d assured her, he would get her out of here.
“I want to smuggle all three of them out,” she stated. “And it needs to happen before I’m married and no longer here to protect them.”
Rather than look at her in shock, and say, “Ye’re out of yer bloody mind!’ a slow smile crept onto his face that made her stomach flutter. Almost as though she were going to swoon.
“At least your legs are more stable now that he’s not outright smiling,” Margery would have said, amused, teasing. “Can you imagine the mortification had they given out altogether? Had you just crumpled to the ground?”
She could. Very much so. She’d prayed they would keep her upright down the castle stairs, along the path leading here, then pretty much up to this moment. She’d never been so aware of a man in her life. Not just because of his substantial height and muscular build, either, but because of how gentle he’d been with her and Besse. How kind.
Then there was the way a dimple appeared in one cheek when he smiled. But then a roguish crooked smile would do that, wouldn't it? A sinful smile that kept her legs—or perhaps her knees specifically?—feeling rather weak.
“And just look at him helping you pick herbs,” Margery would exclaim. “Can you imagine Bartholomew doing such a thing?”
No, never. But then Teagan and Bartholomew were remarkably different men. For example, her fiancé hated this very spot. Everything about nature. He had come here once with her, vowing never to do it again. According to him, it was nothing but filthy bathing water for the peasants.
“Though it willnae be easy,” Teagan said, interrupting her reverie, “I agree that yer Scottish friends need to be gone from this place.”
She nodded, relieved to hear him say it. “I know ’tis a lot to ask, but I have seen the fate of others before them and cannot stand to watch it happen again.” Though tempted to move closer, to put her hand on his arm in a gesture of goodwill, she knew better. “I will do anything you need of me. Anything at all.” She shook her head. “I care nothing of my welfare after you get them out of here.”
“But yer ma will.” He frowned, not seeming to care they had only just met. “As do I.” Though it seemed he wanted to say one thing, he hesitated and said another. “Whatever comes of it all, I will find a way to get them out of here, Greer.”
Whatever comes of it all?
As if there were more to this than what she asked of him?
“It sounds like your Scottish friends are not the only thing he wants to smuggle out of here,” Margery would hedge, smirking at her. “Perhaps you will be riding off into the sunset after all?”
“Do not think like that,” she whispered, cursing it the moment she said it, mainly because Teagan looked at her curiously again. When he responded, she realized he replied the way he did on purpose. That he was trying to keep her from feeling bad about talking to herself.
“I will think like that,” he said. “For they dinnae deserve the life they currently live nor the one that surely lies ahead.”
“Thank you,” she said softly, genuinely grateful. She was about to say more when he put a finger to his lips that she stay quiet, looked back the way they had come, and slowly unsheathed his dirk.
As it happened, her mother appeared moments later. She swore she saw a flash of approval in her eyes that Greer and Teagan were together before her expression switched to one of surprise.
“My apologies.” Mother stopped short. “Was I intruding?”
“Of course not,” Greer said too quickly, feeling guilty when she should not. “Why would you be intruding?”
Her mother glanced between them curiously before she relented. “True. ’Tis not as if I stumbled upon a secret tryst.”
“A tryst?” Greer exclaimed, stunned she would say such a thing.
“Is it me, or is there amusement in your mother’s eyes?” Margery would tease. “Perhaps even, dare I say, hope?”
There best not be.
But what if there was? What would that mean?
She frowned at her mother and Teagan, wondering if she imagined things. For Mother envisioning her with Teagan was a preposterous notion. An outright impossible one.
“Yes, dear, a tryst,” her mother replied, waving it away as though she hadn’t meant to say it.
Good. Enough of that.
Yet almost as an afterthought, her mother continued, mortifying Greer more by the moment. “But then, a romantic tryst betwixt you and Teagan would be impossible at this juncture, considering you only just met.”
Teagan muttered something indiscernible under his breath, then saved the day.
“Yer daughter is too much of a lady for that, Cecille.” He sheathed his blade and shook his head. “Even jesting about such is inappropriate, aye?”
“Is it, though?” Margery would wonder, mirth dancing in her eyes again. “Because I think we both know being a lady around the likes of him is a struggle.”
Was it ever. Not just because of the desire he invoked, but because of the freedom she felt around him. She had no idea why, either. Only that it drove her to bring him here, to begin with. A bold move, considering she was engaged to be married.
Her cheeks warmed at the thought of what might have happened had her mother not come along. How their hands may have mistakenly brushed when they reached for the same herb. How their gazes would have connected and lingered. Caught in the moment, he might have brushed his fingers along her cheek. Trailed them down her neck. Along her heaving chest.