His arrival tonight had restored her vision of the boy she’d adored. Brave, honorable, steadfast. So steadfast that he’d spent years searching for her, and when he finally accepted she was dead, he’d searched for his son. She’d been smarter than she knew when she described Malcolm as Sir Galahad.
But the life of a questing knight was lonely and arduous, providing none of the more usual comforts of home or family. She thought again of that lone wolf skulking outside the pack, turning savage and rough with loneliness and yearning. This man who watched her with starving eyes wasn’t the straightforward youth she’d fallen in love with. He carried an edge of risk and mystery.
She was certain that he wanted something from her. Something? She feared he wanted everything, even after all this time without her.
Rhona struggled to keep a level head, but it was more difficult than it should be. Malcolm was an attractive man, and something about the purity of his devotion appealed to the stupid, susceptible girl who lurked beneath the pragmatic farmer. If there were no other complications, she might even welcome him into her bed. It had been five empty years since Samuel died, and she’d missed a man’s touch.
But there were complications. Enormous complications. Patrick’s presence in the house for a start.
Not to mention that she could already tell that Malcolm didn’t want a couple of quick tumbles to warm up a winter’s night. He wanted what they once had.
And that couldn’t be.
To return to what they’d once shared meant that she’d have to return to the person she’d once been. That girl had died at Dun Carron and been buried for good on the streets of London. It would take a Christmas miracle of gigantic proportions to resurrect her.
Confirming what her instincts screamed, that black gaze narrowed. “Is there someone in your life now?”
“Yes, he’s over six feet tall and he looks like his father,” she said shortly.
“Not Patrick.” Malcolm made a dismissive gesture. “You know what I mean.”
To her regret, she did. She frowned, wondering whether it would be wise to broach the subject of the physical attraction that stirred between them. She supposed it wasn’t surprising that some of that old hunger lingered. Her younger self hadn’t been able to keep her hands off Malcolm, and he’d been the same. Physical passion had swept her into a world where prudence held no sway. All that mattered were the glorious sensations her young lover could conjure from her body.
Well, what a cursed mess that had got them into. Although despite everything, Rhona couldn’t regret having Patrick. He’d been a worry. He’d been a responsibility. But he’d never been less than a joy. He still was.
Sipping her brandy, she considered her response. “Malcolm, I don’t know what hopes you’re nurturing.” Although, God help her, she did. She injected a steely edge into her voice. He needed to understand that after all this time apart, they couldn’t take up where they left off. “But you must know that they can’t come to fruition. All that unites us now is some painful history and an almost grown son. After everything that has happened, I’m surprised you’re still such a romantic.”
“I was always a romantic,” he said, unperturbed by her warning.
“You were. To your detriment. After a few years of fruitless searching, any sensible man would have settled for a wife and family and a portion of happiness on his fine estates.”
“Sensible!” he spat out, as if the word tasted disgusting. “I’d voyaged to the stars and back with you. How could you think I’d settle for an earthbound existence, full of meat and potatoes?”
She tried not to feel flattered. Although she dared any woman not to find a morsel of gratification in hearing how deeply she’d scarred her first love’s heart. “You can live on meat and potatoes.”
“You can live on hope and memories, too.”
She shook her head and indicated him where he sat, eating her up with his avid gaze. “Not by the look of you. You’re worn down to the bone. You look like you haven’t known one second of ease in twenty years. You look like a dog chained up in a yard and left to starve.”
To her surprise, instead of greeting her unkind description with anger, faint humor lit his eyes. In truth, he looked less desperate than he had when he’d arrived. She guessed that a crushing burden had lifted off him when he discovered that both she and Patrick were alive. “Are you saying I’m not handsome enough to take your fancy?”
She didn’t smile. Partly because she was unwilling to admit that if she met him as a new acquaintance, she could fancy him indeed. This mature Malcolm had an intensity that drew her, a promise that this was a man who knew how to share pleasure beyond imagining with a lover.
Stop it, Rhona. You’re not sixteen anymore. You more than most know the price the world extracts from people who surrender to their lusts without thought of consequences.
She kept the edge on her voice. “I’m saying you caused me a lot of trouble.” Now there was an understatement. “I don’t want you causing me any more. I’ve built up a good life. I won’t have you marching in and turning that upside down.”
That devouring black gaze didn’t waver. She tried to ignore how that steady regard made her insides melt into treacle. “So do I have a rival?”
“There’s no race,” she snapped, pushing her chair back from the table and standing up to break the spell he cast over her.
How the devil did he do that? It wasn’t that long ago since she’d wanted to crack him on the head with a poker and shove him back into the snow to freeze.
“That’s what I’m trying to find out, Rhona. You no longer have a husband. Has some local man caught your interest?”
“What if someone has?” She linked her hands at her waist. It seemed mad, but they showed a tendency to shake.
Plague take Malcolm. She was usually more adept than this at discouraging intrusive male interest. It was one of the first things she’d learned in London.
He sat back and folded his arms over his chest, forming a picture of aristocratic ease. “I’m just sizing up the opposition.”
Annoyance flattened her lips. “I’m the opposition, damn you. You can’t just waltz in here and start laying claim to a woman who you haven’t seen in half a lifetime.”
One of those expressive dark brows rose. “Can’t I?”
“No, you can’t.”
“Then why are you getting in such a flap?”
“I’m not in a flap,” she retorted, although she was. Even more annoying, Malcolm became calmer as she verged closer to losing her temper. It was as if with every moment in her company, his aims became more certain.
“Is there a suitor?”
“If there is, will you go away?”
“Don’t be a silly goose.” The black eyes glittered. “You know I won’t.”
There. Rhona was right to worry. She scowled at him, as her pulses skipped and stumbled with stirring trepidation. “You have no privileges here. In Muirburgh, the Laird of Dun Carron is just another traveler passing through.”
More calmness, blast him. “I’m not passing through.”
That sparked her wrath. “Well, you’re not staying. Once the snow clears, you’re on your way, my fine bully boy. Right now I wish I’d left you in the barn.”