"What's it like there?"
"I live in the Blue Ridge Mountains. They're very much like these mountains, only not as grand. I run a little shop in a small town near several ski resorts, specializing in Scottish gifts and apparel."
Ian nearly dropped his fork. This woman was a shopkeeper? She looked more like a princess. This bit of information, however, gladdened him, for a shopkeeper would surely not have the money to undertake the restoration of a crumbling castle.
"I was wondering where ye got such a bonny tartan skirt," he said. "A person doesn't find that kind of weave in these parts."
Again the rosy blush. My God, but she was beautiful.
"It's not a clan tartan," she said. "It's a new design-"
She was interrupted by a sharp rap at the door, and Ian saw the color drain instantly from her face. "Oh, dear," she said. "That must be Robert and Anne."
Ian understood her distress. Likely she didn't want her clansmen to know she was entertaining a Sinclair. It could be awkward for her in spite of her egalitarian attitude toward the feud. But another thought suddenly occurred to him. What if it wasn't her clansmen who had come knocking? He stood, half expecting to see Angus Stewart at the door.
"Robert!" Meredith greeted her caller over-enthusiastically. "Come in. Have you had supper? I've.1 leg of lamb on the table. There's plenty."
Robert Macrae removed the flat cap from his head and came into the single living area of the cottage. "Thanks, but Anne's just fed me fine. I just stopped in to see if ye needed-" He broke off in mid-sentence when he saw Ian. The two clan chieftains stared at each other mutely for a long moment, then Robert turned to Meredith, and Ian saw the man's face grow fiery red.
"Sorry. I dinna know ye had company."
Chapter Seven
She had nothing to feel guilty for. Nothing! And yet Meredith could have died when she saw the look on Robert Macrae's face when he'd realized who was dining with her in the cottage. The Macrae had departed immediately without saying another word, leaving Meredith with the distinct impression she had in some way betrayed her clan. It infuriated her.
She turned to Ian and raised her chin just a little. "Shall we finish supper?" she asked, angry at her kinsman, not her guest. If her clansmen would spend more time talking with the Sinclairs and less time fighting, maybe the rivals could at last resolve their differences.
"I'll leave if it would help," Ian offered.
Meredith glanced at the door. "No, damn them. I'm a Macrae, but I refuse to get involved in this ridiculous clan war."
She saw a glint of humor in his eyes. "If ye're a Macrae in these parts, ye'll have little choice."
"Then maybe I'd better just go home." She took her seat and reached for her wine glass, but his hand covered hers and enveloped it in its warmth and strength.
"Or stay and try to put an end to it."
Meredith looked up at him in surprise, wondering if he could feel her pulse racing. "What on earth are you talking about?"
Ian did not reply immediately, but his fingers caressed her hand, and his eyes probed hers. "I'm talking about giving up certain… plans… and picking up where your uncle left off in the peacemaking process."
What plans was he talking about? Her plans to return home? Her heart skipped a beat at the thought that he wanted her to stay. "Do you think anyone would listen to an outsider?" she asked, finding the idea of being a peacemaker between the clans appealing. And finding her suspicions of Ian Sinclair melting away. He couldn't be the beast her kinsmen believed him to be. His expression was sincere, his eyes guileless.
"I think you could be very convincing. But it wouldn't he easy. Your kinsmen are a stubborn lot."
"And yours aren't?" Meredith grinned and withdrew her hand at last, not because she took offense at his comment about her relatives but rather because holding hands with him made her feel a little too vulnerable.
They returned to the interrupted meal that was now nearly cold and ate without talking for a few minutes. Then Ian asked, "What is it about Corridan that makes you think you want to stay here? It's a rough place, almost uncivilized in some respects."
"That's its appeal." Meredith busied herself removing their empty plates. "I love the very wildness of the place. I like this rustic cabin. I like the simple ways of the people." She seized the opportunity and added pointedly, "I like the fact that it's not spoiled by tourists and commercialism."
She saw a frown cross his brow, but it vanished as swiftly as it appeared. "I thought Americans worshiped tourism," he said, and she heard an unpleasant sharpness in his voice. Had he thought she might condone such a plan as he had in mind for promoting tourism in Corridan?
"Some do, I suppose. But I don't. I can't bear to visit some of the tourist towns near where I live. They've turned into nothing but streets lined with souvenir shops selling rubber tomahawks and moccasins made in China."
Ian stood and went to stir the fire. "I'd hate to think what tourism would do to Corridan. Those kinds of shops would be selling little plastic replicas of Duneagen Castle. Or fake brass letter openers with the castle on top."
Meredith heard the bitterness in his tone and couldn't believe he was pretending. If this man planned to clear the village to make way for tourism, he was certainly putting on a convincing act to cover his scheme. Perhaps he was not Angus Stewart's employer after all. But if not, who was?
She joined him in front of the fire. "Tourism would ruin this place, Ian. Don't… don't ever let that happen."
He moved closer and touched her cheek, sending a delicious shiver down her spine. How she hoped he wasn't working with Stewart.
"It'll not happen as long as I have a say in what goes on around here. But there may be others with different ideas." He looked deeply into her eyes, his expression troubled. What was he implying?
She didn't have time to ask, for slowly, resolutely, he lowered his head until his lips met hers, and when they touched in the most tender of kisses, she forgot all about tourism and clan feuds. His arms enfolded her and drew her against him, and she leaned into the breadth of his chest, closing her eyes to all but the moment. The warmth and strength of his embrace filled some deep emptiness within her, a loneliness she had successfully ignored until now, and she opened her lips to him. His kiss deepened, replacing tenderness with a heightened passion that only whetted her appetite for more.
Then as suddenly as it began, it was over. Ian released her and stood back, holding her away from him. "Why did you let me do that?" he whispered hoarsely.
She couldn't reply, as raw emotion seized her breath and tightened her throat. She hadn't let him do anything. Had she? He had simply taken what he wanted. She found her voice at last. "I think you had better leave now."
The chimes of the clock in the hall rang Westminster style, keeping Tan fully aware in fifteen-minute increments of the night that was escaping him. He tossed on (he bed, hammered his fist into the pillow, and cursed himself for ever having called on Meredith Wentworth. Because now there was no escaping her. She was under his skin like a thistle, and try as he might, he didn't seem to be able to go back to the time before the kiss. Or to return to objectivity about her. She was everywhere. In his mind, in his senses, in his very soul, it would seem.
And yet, he mustn't be naive. She had talked a good line about not wanting tourism to spoil the area, but it could have been just that-a line.
Sometime past two A.M., sleep finally claimed him, but it was a sleep filled with unfriendly dreams about a beautiful but deceitful woman who made love to him while behind his back arranging for his demise. He awoke exhausted and filled with renewed determination to discover who was behind the threats brought by Angus Stewart.