Kylemore became aware that the day waned. “Go back to the house and bring Angus and Andy here at first light. She obviously came this way.”
“And what about ye? In the dark, you’ll tumble off a cliff yourself.”
“I’ll be safe enough.” Verity faced the elements. It was only right he shared her discomfort and peril.
The morning brought no letup in the cold drizzle.
Kylemore jerked out of a restless doze. He straightened against the damp rock that had kept him from the worst of the rain, aware he deserved every stiff muscle.
Where had Verity slept? Had she slept? He prayed she’d found shelter somewhere.
Oh, dear God, let her be alive.
The words beat an ominous tattoo in his heart as he rose. In the predawn half light, he saddled Tannasg, who hadn’t fared much better than his master. The horse had a longer line of aristocratic antecedents than he did and wasn’t used to roughing it through a wet Highland night.
Scotland could be a damned awful place, he thought, stretching to ease his aching body. He must be getting soft. He’d often spent a night in the open when he’d been a boy. Once, when he hadn’t managed to reach his usual hiding places, he’d run off into midwinter snow to escape his father’s uncontrollable rage. On that occasion, he’d been gone three days before Hamish had found him, starving and blue with cold.
Not that he’d emerged unscathed from that particular escapade. His raging fever had come near to killing him.
Kate had nursed him back to health, he remembered. The Macleishes spoke of what they owed him. He wondered if they realized what he owed them in return.
The rain eased as the morning progressed. With every hour, Kylemore’s hopes waned of finding Verity unhurt. Even if alive, she must be cold, tired, hungry, confused.
Why the hell hadn’t she listened to him and stayed safe in the glen?
He knew why. She was afraid he meant to force her into his bed again. They both knew he couldn’t keep his hands off her, damn it all to hell.
As he followed the jagged ridge, he wished it had been otherwise. He wished he’d been another man, one worthy of the woman he pursued. But he was the same wretched miscreant he’d always been. Redemption, expiation and absolution were utterly beyond his reach.
But, God be his witness, if he found her in one piece, he was at least willing to try to reform.
He was fording a stream at the top of a waterfall when he looked ahead to see her picking her way through scree on the other side. For one brilliant moment, blazing relief transfixed him, and he just stared speechlessly at her.
She had her back to him as she threaded her way through the field of rocks. The falling torrent muffled the sound of his approach as he spurred Tannasg toward her. When she finally turned, he was close enough to see her gray eyes darken in shock, then terror.
When had he come to this? When had a matter of simple physical desire degenerated into this nightmare of fear and coercion?
“No!” She flung herself into an awkward run across the rough gravel.
He chased her, ignoring the dangers of the uneven surface. Tannasg snorted in protest at such cavalier treatment, but his loyal heart responded and he bounded forward gallantly.
No power on earth could keep Kylemore from catching her now. She was his. He’d die before he let her go.
“Verity!” he shouted after her retreating figure.
She only tried more frantically to get away.
“Verity, you’ll hurt yourself! Stop!”
She was now trapped on a jutting point with a sheer drop on either side. Kylemore’s massive gray horse blocked her exit. There was nowhere for her to go.
“Leave me alone!” she panted, backing away. The fear and hatred he heard in her voice cut him to the heart.
“I can’t,” he said with perfect honesty and piercing regret.
“I’m not coming with you,” she said bravely, although she must have known her bid for freedom was over. She raised her chin and glared at him as she’d once glared at him across Sir Eldreth’s drawing room.
He almost laughed, in spite of the moment’s g