Page 18 of Somewhere Along The Way (Mackinnon #3)

His mouth took hers with surprising tenderness, moving slowly and filling her with a sort of lethargy that prevented her from pulling away.

Standing stiff and clumsy, she felt herself jerked from artless innocence to a higher plane of awareness.

With every nerve in her body responding to the insistent pressure of his soothing kisses and questing hands—which had spread to the narrow confines of her back—she felt him draw her closer to him, and she felt herself drowning in the warm sunlight that surrounded them, her ears buzzing too loudly to be the droning of bees.

And then she was kissing him back with every ounce of strength she had, as if no part of her could get enough of him.

She had no way of knowing if it was the heat from the sun, or the hot blistering of his passion that left her a smoldering heap, with no more will than to melt against him.

“Do you live near here? Is there somewhere we can go to be alone?” he asked.

It took only a moment for her to realize he wasn’t kissing her anymore, that he now had other things on his mind. Na?ve she might be, and inexperienced too, but it didn’t take much to know what he was asking.

Just then a voice on the other side of the fence broke the long stretch of silence. “Bella, where are you?”

Her brother was there, on the other side of the stone fence, looking for her. Relief swam in rainbow hues all about her.

“Bella, can you hear me?” Gavin called again, his voice louder now. He would come bounding through that gate in a moment, and there was little doubt that he wouldn’t settle for anything less than a full, complete, and unabridged account of what was going on.

Dear, sweet Gavin. She could hear his concern for her in his voice.

The thought of his being worried had a calming effect upon her, and along with the calm came the churning uneasiness of guilt.

How many people trusted her? Gavin, of course.

And her parents, too. Not to mention her betrothed, the Earl of Huntly.

The shock of it all hit her. How could she have been so wicked?

“Who is that? Your lover?”

The stranger smiled wickedly at her horrified whimper. “You don’t have enough time to beat the answer from me. I’ll never tell you.”

“Why would I consider it? There are other ways, you know. More effective ones. How far do you think you would have let me go before you started telling me the things I wanted to know?”

Calling her brother’s name, she pushed at him and whirled around, darting through the gate, leaving nothing behind but a shower of yellow rose petals and a croquet mallet lying on the ground.

Ross didn’t have much time to think about his encounter with the lovely one in the lane, for Percy was waiting impatiently for him the moment he returned to Dunford Castle.

“There you are, you rounder! You had me worried that you wouldn’t be back in time to bring you up-to-date on a few things before the duke’s ball. You do know, of course, that you must be dressed early. Your grandfather expects you to stand beside him in the receiving line.”

“What receiving line? To receive what? What in the hell is a receiving line?”

Lord Percival, a man of infinite patience, said, “It’s a line of ladies and gentlemen of the house and those being honored by the house. You will stand in the line next to your grandfather and be introduced to the guests as they arrive.”

“All three hundred of them?”

“Unless some have to beg off at the last minute.”

“Then why was it so important for me to learn all those dances if I’m going to stand in line all evening?”

The corners of Percy’s lips lifted in spite of his intent to hold them stiff. “So you could dance, why else?”

“There won’t be time…three hundred people.

Saint Sebastian! I don’t think I’ve ever even seen three hundred people, at least not at one time.

We used to have about thirty-five or so at church on Sunday when I was a kid—and I thought that was a crowd.

Once in a while the saloon in Fort Worth would have up to sixty or seventy people.

But three hundred?” Ross shook his head and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Percy inquired.

“I’m going riding.”

“Be back by five.”

“Yes, Aunt Percy.” Ross curtsied and dropped a kiss on top of Percy’s head, then darted through the door. Lord Percival laughed outright, calling after him. “Keep a tight check on the time.”

Ross was late.

The moment he entered the hallway, he saw Lord Percival was waiting for him, pacing back and forth in front of the door to his bedchamber like a hungry wolf. “Hello, Percy.”

Percy grabbed him by the ear and gave it a twist. “Never mind the greetings, you rogue. Save that for tonight.” Percy opened the door to Ross’ room.

“You’re late and we haven’t much time.” After following Ross into his room, Percy informed him that the duke had decided Ross should wear the “traditional Scottish attire” for this ball.

Ross had a feeling something was up. He didn’t like the way the hackles were rising at the back of his neck, or the way the words traditional Scottish attire grated on his nerves. He turned and crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes leveled at Percy. “ What traditional Scottish attire?”

About that time someone knocked on the door and Lord Percival opened it.

Robert was standing on the other side. Percy nodded at him and he led in a man wearing a short plaid skirt.

Ross had seen this outfit before, of course.

The great halls of the castle were lined with pictures of Mackinnon ancestors wearing this garb.

But Ross had never seen a live man in a kilt.

He had been told it was, at one time, the traditional dress of Scotland, but had been outlawed by the English after the battle of Culloden.

He hadn’t been told people still wore them—or worse yet, that he might be asked to wear one.

“Oh, no,” Ross said, holding his hands up to ward off any sudden attacks. He began backing toward the door. “You aren’t going to get me into one of those. Don’t even start trying.”

“Ross…”

“Not no, but hell no!”

“Will you listen to reason?”

“Listening to reason is responsible for all this in the first place.”

“Your grandfather will be wearing one as well.”

“I don’t care if the King of England is wearing one,” Ross bellowed.

“We don’t have a king,” Percy said. “We have a queen.”

“No,” said Ross. Before Lord Percival could say a word, Ross said, “Where’s my grandfather?”

“He’s in the music room, receiving some of the out-of-town guests before the ball.”

Ross eyed the door.

“Ross,” Percy said firmly, “you can’t go there right now—not dressed as you are, and unannounced.”

“The hell I can’t.” He stopped momentarily at the door. “You watch me.”

The merry ring of Ross Mackinnon’s spurs against the cold stone floors was the only thing cheerful about the way he strode down the corridor toward the music room, his mind clamoring with all the things he planned to say to the Mackinnon.

Both doors to the music room burst open and crashed back against the wall. Five or six guests turned to stare as Ross walked in, Lord Percival trailing apologetically behind him, Robert and the man in the kilt bringing up the rear.

The duke’s face turned red as he drew himself up to his full height. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked, his words more civilized than he looked.

“I’ve just been told something and I’ve come to see if it’s true.”

“And what is that?” asked the duke.

“That I’m supposed to wear a kilt tonight,” Ross said. “Is that true?”

“It is.”

“I won’t do it,” Ross said.

“We’ll discuss this later,” the duke said.

“No, we won’t. There’s nothing to discuss.

I won’t wear a kilt and that’s that. You can threaten me…

” At that moment, Ross caught his breath and looked away.

He promptly lost his breath again. Standing next to and slightly behind his grandfather was the most breathtakingly beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon.

She was also very, very familiar.

A moment earlier Annabella had been standing between her parents and the Countess of Stoneleigh when she heard the woman draw in a sharp breath and say, “My God! Who is that?”

Annabella turned her head to follow the direction of the woman’s gaze.

The man who had caused her dramatic reaction was walking with a determined gait into the room.

He was tall and well built—a powerful figure of a man, and quite a romantic one—and then Annabella had a jolt of sudden awareness. She knew who he was.

She felt a ripple of unease, knowing that any moment he would see her and recognize her and remember their meeting earlier. Her pulse quickened and she felt a coiling tension sing along her nerves. If he mentioned their meeting this afternoon, how would she explain it to her father?

The man had stopped talking now and was staring directly at her. There was no doubt that he recognized her. The blood drained from her face as someone whispered who he was. The name echoed like a gunshot through her head. Lord Leslie Ross Mackinnon. The Duke of Dunford’s grandson.

She braced herself for what was to follow, for the words he would utter that would cause her father to send for her as soon as this gathering was over.

She must have given herself too much significance, placed too much importance on their chance meeting, for the moment she thought he would speak of it, he did not.

Instead, she saw a glimmer of recognition, then a relaxed smile.

Without saying a word, without giving any indication at all that he had ever made her acquaintance, he looked away.

He looked at Lord Percival and then at the man in the kilt. “What’s he wearing under that?” he asked, and Annabella almost swooned from relief.

If he had looked at her, he would have seen her smile of gratitude, for there was no doubt in Annabella’s mind that his diversion had been intentional. But why? She wasn’t privileged to linger on the answer to that, for Lord Percival cleared his throat and said:

“That isn’t a question to be discussed in front of the ladies.”

“If you will excuse me for a moment,” the Duke of Dunford said, “I seem to have some unexpected business to take care of.” With that, the duke motioned for Lord Percival to follow him. Ross, by that time, was already halfway to the door.

When the three men reached the library, the duke’s tightly leashed temper exploded. “What in the bloody hell do you mean by barging in on me like that? Have you forgotten every trace of the manners we’ve tried to teach you?”

“If you want to talk about manners, where were yours when you sprang this latest surprise on me? If I’m going to be dressed for sacrifice, at least I deserve to be told about it.

And another thing, if I don’t follow all those dictates of decorum you’ve been teaching me, maybe it’s because you don’t follow them either. ”

That seemed to cool the duke down a bit. “All right, it seems we’ve come head-on at each other from opposite directions and butted—neither of us emerging the victor. Do you want to tell me what you find so objectionable about your ancestral dress?”

“The fact that it’s basically a dress—regardless of what you call it. And you never did tell me what’s under it.”

“The same thing that’s under those buckskin pants of yours,” Percy said, “so it shouldn’t be all that foreign to you.”

“The hell it isn’t! I don’t go around with my backside bared to the four winds,” Ross said, then suddenly remembered a time he was on the run and had to ride with his pants slung over his shoulder.

“I know what it’s like to ride a horse bare-assed.

I don’t intend to do it again.” He stalked out of the room.

The Mackinnon looked at Percy. “I’d give half of all I have,” he said slowly, “to know the circumstances for that bare-assed ride he referred to.”

Percy looked at his friend. “So would I. I’ll wager it would be well worth the loss,” he said.

“Aye, it would be,” said the duke, looking fondly at the door his grandson had just gone through. His deep blue eyes glowed with an inner light. “Ahhhh, to be like that again.” He clapped his old friend on the back. “We gave life a good try, didn’t we, Percy?”

“Aye, Your Grace, that we did.” Then Percy paused and looked at the duke. “Did you ever…” He paused.

“Did I ever what?”

Percy looked a bit red. “Did you ever have a bare-assed ride?”

“Aye,” the duke said. “More than one.” Then he threw back his head and laughed.