The fact was, however, she'd missed her chance last night. The opportunity had come and gone for her to ask Ian point-blank for a straight answer about his intentions for the village. She wanted to see him again but had no idea if that would happen. And if she did, what made her think he would tell her the truth if she asked? Her feelings for Ian Sinclair were dangerous, for she was strongly attracted to him, and she was liable to believe him no matter what he told her. It horrified her to think she might truly be consorting with the enemy.
By the time she reached the crest of the moor high above Duneagen Castle, she was miserable and conflicted. She sat on a rock and bit into the sandwich but found it hard to swallow. She considered just packing up and leaving Corridan. Maybe she didn't belong here after all.
She didn't want to go, though, until she knew the fate of her own property, if nothing else. There was little she could do to defend it from the other side of the ocean if Ian tried to remove the villagers. She had to find out what was going on. But how? She had no car. She couldn't just pop over to Aberdeen and check out Angus Stewart. Nor did she have any idea how one went about going through property records in Scotland. Even before last night, Robert Macrae had not wanted her involved, and she was certain he would not welcome her intrusion into village affairs now. It seemed there was only one option. Ian. She must find him again and demand the truth. And be strong enough to handle it if he told her he was behind the plan to evict the villagers. She just couldn't believe it of him, but then, she didn't know him very well.
A drop of rain splashed against her face, then another and another. Meredith looked up. The sky was boiling with dark clouds. A storm had brewed over the mountain without her even being aware of it. She swore under her breath and started back down the slope along a path. The rain fell in large, cold drops, pelting her and soaking her light cotton sweater and jeans. She quickened her step, hurrying as fast as she dared, and slipped on the slick mud and fell. This time she swore out loud. She was unhurt, except ijpr a scrape on her right palm where she'd tried to catch herself, but her jeans were slimed with mud.
With greater caution, Meredith descended the moor, keeping to the path, although it was not the way she had come. She rounded a large boulder and to her surprise found herself squarely in front of Duneagen Castle. Without thinking, she dashed for cover beneath an eave. Maybe she could wait out the storm here instead of squishing her way home in the rain.
Meredith shivered in her wet clothes and wondered if Ian might be at the castle. His Land Rover was nowhere in sight, but there might be a garage somewhere. She felt her hair and knew it was disheveled. Her hands were dirty from her fall and wiping them on her grimy jeans didn't help. She decided not to knock on the door after all. If he were home, she didn't want him to see her in such a mess.
After fifteen minutes, the rain showed no sign of letting up. Uncomfortably cold and damp, Meredith decided she had little to lose by going on to her cottage. At least there she could take a hot bath and have some tea. Clenching her jaw, she stepped out into the downpour and walked as fast as she could down the road that led to the village. She'd gone less than half a mile when she saw the headlights of a vehicle coming toward her, and she moved to the side of the road. The driver slowed as he approached her, and she saw with dismay that it was a dark green Land Rover. The laird had returned to his castle.
He opened the passenger door. "Get in."
Numb with cold and weary to the bone, she didn't argue. He turned up the heater and continued on up the hill.
Meredith had thought he would take her home. "Where are we going?"
"To the castle. We have some talking to do."
She looked like a drenched urchin as she shivered in the scat next to him, and Ian wished that he could comfort her rather than accuse her. He longed to hold her and kiss her as he had last night, but before that could hap-pen again-ever-he had to know who she really was and why she was really here.
He parked as close to the front entrance of the residential wing as he could and helped her inside the castle. "Here," he said, covering her shoulders with a throw that was slung over the back of a sofa. He led her to a chair by the fireplace. "I'll start a fire. It'll help dry ye out.” He saw her trembling uncontrollably and knew a fire wouldn't do it. She needed dry clothing. Now.
“I have another idea, if you're comfortable with it."
She turned her enormous green eyes on him, and he felt his heart go into meltdown. "What's that?" she asked.
"Ye, uh, ye need to get out of your wet things. Obviously, I don't have anything your size, but I do have a large robe ye could wear until your clothes dry out."
"Do you have a hot shower to go along with?" She gave him a shy grin. "I'm freezing."
Ian thought about the plumbing and prayed that it would hold together for her. "Aye, sure. Come along. Ill build that fire while ye bathe." He led her up the stairs to one of the guest rooms, his mind overheated with thoughts of Meredith Wentworth naked in the shower. "There's soap and shampoo and the like in the bathroom. Please make yourself at home. I'll bring the robe and hang it in the bedroom."
He left her and went down to his room where he found a heavy woolen robe in his closet. It was oversized, a dark brown plaid, not at all feminine. So much the better, he thought, returning upstairs with it and hanging it on a valet stand. As sexy as she was even in dirty jeans, he would need all the defenses he could muster to stay objective. They would be together only for a short time, but there was little chance of being interrupted. He must use this opportunity to learn whether or not Meredith Wentworth had come to Corridan in the employ of the cruise-line company.
When she returned to the large main hall, Ian had a fire blazing in the huge stone hearth. He looked up and knew his first line of defense had failed. Fresh from the shower, she was more beautiful than ever, despite the drab brown robe. Her damp hair fell in golden-red waves past her shoulders and played seductively around the open neckline of the robe. Beyond that neckline, he caught a hint of the delectable curves that he knew lay hidden beneath the woolen fabric. She gave him a smile that finished his destruction.
"Got socks?" she asked, curling one bare foot across the other.
He went to her and picked her up, carrying her easily to the overstuffed chair closest to the fire. He took the bundle of wet clothes from her and set it on the hearth. "Your feet must be like ice. Wait here a minute." He dashed back into his bedroom and found some heavy, ugly brown boot socks that would complete her ensemble perfectly, he thought wryly. It didn't matter. The woman was stunning in anything she wore.
And in nothing at all, he imagined. Damn. He shouldn't be thinking things like that. Stay in control, he warned himself as he returned with the socks. But he felt the hard evidence that his body wasn't listening to him.
He watched as she put on the socks and longed to run his hands over the smooth skin of her exposed calves. He fought to stay composed, but it was a losing battle.
"I'd offer ye tea, but I don't think I have any in the place. I don't stay here often."
Meredith stood up and adjusted the tie belt, the only thing that held the robe closed. "I don't need tea, thanks. The bath took away the chill. But I need to get these things dry. May I hang them by the fire? I can't very well go home in your bathrobe," she added, with an uncertain, almost embarrassed little laugh that he found endearing.
Ian didn't want her to go home. At all. Ever. Odd, he thought, how she seemed to light up this gloomy old place. He rigged a line of twine between a table and the back of a chair, and it sufficed to support her jeans, sweater, and delicate lingerie. He turned his eyes away from the latter. It made his already urgent problem even worse.
"No tea, but how about some whisky? I have a store of Duneagen's finest." He needed a drink whether she did or not.
"Okay, but just a tot."
He filled two small dram glasses with the finest single-malt Scotch available anywhere and was suddenly proud that he could offer it to her. He'd screwed up a lot of things, but his management of the distillery had led it to a worldwide reputation for excellence. He handed her one of the glasses, then raised his to her.
"Here's te us, fas like us, damn fa, and they's all deed."
She laughed out loud. "What's that?"
"Why, an 'auld Scottish toast.' I'm surprised ye haven't heard it." He savored her childlike delight.
"I'm" sure there's lots I haven't heard," she murmured, taking a sip. "But I'm willing to learn."
Her eyes held his, and the room grew so quiet all that could be heard was the sound of their breathing. "I'd willingly be your teacher," he whispered. He knew better than to step closer, but he did anyway, and suddenly she was in his arms. He tasted the drink on her lips and it was sweeter than anything he could imagine. "Ah, Meredith Macrae," he breathed. "What is it you're doin' in my arms?" He ran one hand through her silken hair, and she tilted her head back and looked up at him with eyes that reflected a passion as hungry as his own.
"Weren't you going to teach me something?"
Chapter Nine
Meredith seemed consumed by heat, from the bath, the lire, the whisky, and the desire that raged through her body. She hadn't meant for anything like this to happen, but now that she was in Ian's arms, she never wanted to leave. She let him take the dram glass from her, then lift her gently and carry her into an adjoining room where he laid her on an enormous bed. "Meredith?"
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