Devil in Tartan (Highland Grooms #4)(57)

Aulay didn’t see the point of her story. “He was kind to you, then,” he said.

“That night, my father and my mother had an awful row about it. I heard them through the walls, shouting at one another about my pony. I thought my mother meant to send the pony away, but I’d already named him Stjerne. He’s my horse to this day.” She glanced at Aulay. “But he’s no’ a war horse. He’s a Fell pony. An unremarkable Fell pony with a star between his eyes.” She leaned forward. “Was that his purpose, then, my father? To make his children happy, no matter the cost? My mother adored my father, but he was so bloody impetuous, so careless with his purse, that they argued often. His carelessness hurt us all, it did. But this? This?” she said, gesturing around them. “This was all my doing, Aulay. He was careless, but I committed the greater sin, did I no’? I was arrogant. I thought I knew how to save us from his very bad idea of distilling whisky without license, and it cost my father his life. I could have set it all to rights and married Mr. MacColl, but I would no’ hear of it.”

Aulay blinked—he hadn’t realized there had been a marriage offer in the mix.

“I thought him too old, and I was selfish—I didna want to be his wife, I didna want to live in his house. In the end, I behaved in the same way my father behaved all my life—without regard for the consequence.” She shook her head and turned her gaze away. “The worst of it is that I didna have the chance to apologize.” She put the rest of the biscuit and salted beef aside, and with a weary sigh, lay down on her side. “What is my purpose, then, I ask you?”

“Donna weep,” he said.

“I’ll no’ weep. I’ve wept all that I can, I have.”

“Lottie...your father was a man, capable of deciding his own actions. You may have suggested this scheme, and no one could fault you for seeking a solution. But he took your idea. He knew the risks. He knew verra well what he did.”

Her response was another sigh.

“Come, take the air, then,” he said.

She shook her head.

He hooked his hand under her arm, drawing her up to a sitting position again. “You need air, and your men need a leader.”

She snorted at that. “I’m no’ a leader.”

“Aye, you are. They are the captives now, and they are restless. They need you.”

“Have Duff lead them, or Mr. MacLean. Anyone but me.”

“I didna know your father well, but I know he thought you better than all of them put together, aye? He would have wanted you to carry on, Lottie, and you must. Your brothers are wandering the deck like the dead. Your clan is drunk and belligerent. I’ve lost enough time and money as it is.” He caught her face with his hand and made her look at him. “Now is the time to be the man your father was no’. His purpose, whatever it might have been, is no’ yours. Your purpose might be much greater.”

She blinked. She smiled softly. “How can you be so kind to me, after all the misery I’ve caused you?”

It wasn’t kindness, it was expediency. He was nearly certain of it. “I need you if I am to see us all safely home to Scotland.”

“Aye, and what is to become of us then?”

It was a quandary of the highest order, and one Aulay hadn’t yet sorted out. He would think of it when they were safely at Balhaire. “We’ll decide when we reach Scotland, aye?”

She wrapped her fingers around his wrist and closed them tightly. “Promise me, Aulay—promise me you’ll give me the blame. Only me.”

She was asking him to hand her over to authorities and no one else. If he had any doubt of it, she added, “I’m responsible for all of it. Let the others go free and I will gladly surrender, on my honor I will.”

Something hitched with a sharp pain in Aulay’s chest. He didn’t want that. He wanted justice, but he couldn’t bear to think of giving Lottie to the authorities. He stroked her cheek. “We’ll speak of it when we near Scotland—”

“No.” She pulled his hand from her face and grasped his head between her hands. “I beg you, make me this promise now, Aulay. Give me your word!”

Good God, this woman was remarkable. Who among them could make that sort of sacrifice? He peeled her right hand from his face and kissed her knuckles. He slipped a hand around the nape of her neck, and pulled her closer. Of all the women, of all the ones who might have snatched his heart, might have allowed him to see beyond the sea, it would be this one, this beautiful, doomed woman. He quite admired her in the moment, but blooming beside his admiration was grief. He knew very well what would happen to her if he agreed to it—she would likely hang; at the very least, she would be remanded to prison.

Tears glistened in her eyes. “Promise me,” she whispered, and touched her mouth to his.

That tender kiss aroused him more than any torrid kiss ever could. Her fingers fluttered around his ear, her arm went round his neck. She moved her mouth on his, teased him lightly with her tongue, and Aulay’s body, starved for a woman’s touch, instantly ached for more. He took the reins of that kiss and moved to her neck. Lottie dropped her head back with a gasp of pleasure, and everything in Aulay ignited with white-hot, desperate anticipation. He smoldered, his body slowly turning to ash. He cupped her face and held it tenderly, but at the same time, he pressed her down onto the bunk. Lottie arched into him and pushed her thigh between his legs, pressing against an erection that was suddenly and powerfully present.