It Happened in the Highlands(21)

And then it occurred to her that wondering had somehow become hoping.

A door opened and closed somewhere in the distance, and she gasped.  Pressing a hand against his chest, she drew back, horrified by her  actions, shaken by what she was about to do, and breathing hard.

The passage of years meant nothing. Their passion still burned, hot  enough to consume them. The innocence of youth was gone, replaced by a  firestorm of need.

"Wynne, I can't do this." Her voice shook. "We shouldn't."

"I'm sorry." His ragged breathing matched hers. He ran a frustrated hand  through his hair and looked in the direction of the sound.

"I . . . I have to go." She tried to back away, but he caught her hand.

Jo was starving and he was her sustenance. She was dying of thirst and Wynne was the only one who could quench it.

"Come with us tomorrow."

Her treacherous heart had already decided.

"I will," she whispered. "Until tomorrow."





Chapter 12


Wynne wasn't certain if it was a matter of wanting to do the honorable thing or if it was the devil in him.

Finding Dermot in his office, he leaned in at the door. The place had  more piles of books and journals and scraps of paper every day. The  doctor had clearly given up sitting while he worked because his chair,  like every other one in the room, was piled high with more volumes and  ledgers and medical equipment than Wynne could even begin to identify.

"If we ever have a fire, they'll be able to see your office burning in Edinburgh."

Dermot was standing at the desk by the window, writing in a notebook. He grunted in acknowledgment.

Wynne made no attempt to enter. There was no discernible path through  the mess on the floor. "Of course, you'll go up in flames as well. We'll  remember you as the Jeanne d'Arc of the medical profession."

Another sound came from the area of the window.

"I'll be out this morning, Joan. Just wanted you to know."

Another grunt.

"I've told Mrs. McKendry already not to expect us back before noon."

"Us?" The doctor's head lifted from his work, his eyes curious. "Who is going with you?"

"No worry about me?" Wynne frowned. "You don't ask where I am going or the reason?"

"You can go to the blazes. If you were swallowed by a loch monster, no  one would miss you," Dermot declared before a half smile broke over his  face. "Since when have you become such a delicate flower? Wait, I don't  care to have an answer to that either."

He wondered if his rival knew why Jo left their dinner guests early last  night and where she went. Wynne knew, and that was a kiss he'd never  forget.

"Very well, then. We'll be off."

"Who is going with you?" Dermot repeated the question. "And what does Joan of Arc have to do with any of this?"

"I'm taking Cuffe and Lady Jo to Knockburn Hall."

The doctor threw down his pen and searched for a way to the door. "Wait for me to get my hat. I'll come along."

"Stay where you are," Wynne retorted. "Hat or no hat, you're not invited."                       
       
           



       

"But I insist."

"You can insist all you want. You're not-"

Dermot stepped over a barricade of medical journals onto a smaller mound  of newspapers which immediately shot out from underfoot.

On instinct, Wynne nearly dived in to help, but it was too late. Dermot  landed on the floor in a very awkward position amid the avalanche of  fallen books and papers.

"Bloody hell. Help me up. I think I may have sprained something."

"I wouldn't be surprised if you did." Wynne crossed his arms over his  chest and leaned against the doorjamb. "But not being in the medical  profession, I wouldn't know."

"I've definitely split the seam in my pants, I can tell you that."

"That sounds quite serious. In fact, it's the final nail in the coffin. You're not coming."

"See here," Dermot snapped, planting his hands on the floor and glaring across the room. "Have you forgotten our conversation?"

"We have many, Doctor. Fortunately for you, I don't recall most of  them." As he began to back out of the office, Wynne paused, deciding his  rival needed clarification. "But I do remember the conversation you're  referring to. And to amend the concluding remarks of that discussion,  you will not be standing with her at the church door. That is, if you  can ever stand again."

Dermot's face was the very picture of surprise as he searched for a response.

"But while we're gone, try to do something useful for this hospital  you're so committed to." Wynne closed the door and started for the  stairs as the sound of another crash and a muffled curse came from the  office.

Six days ago, when the Highlander expressed his intentions, Wynne didn't  know his own mind about Jo. He certainly couldn't articulate to someone  else what she meant to him. But watching her, speaking with her,  getting to know her over these past days, and especially after their  kiss in the garden last night, he was in a far better place now. He  still didn't know what the future held for them, but he wasn't about to  let her be pressured into a marriage with his scoundrel of a friend.

Sixteen years ago, he'd done a poor job of breaking off his engagement  with Jo, but Wynne had no regrets about doing it. He still believed he  was protecting her from abominable treatment at the hands of his family  and horrible unhappiness during his long periods of absence. With the  war on and his naval duties, he couldn't have given her the life she  deserved.

Their lives were different now, but as he left the house, Wynne wondered  what was motivating him. Was it Dermot's actions or an awakening in  himself that was driving him? She was beautiful and accomplished and  wealthy, a woman any man would want. But to him, she was Jo. Just as  he'd known her. It made no difference if they'd known each other six  days or sixteen years. Something had reignited between them. All their  yesterdays and today were one. But he believed they couldn't move  forward from here, not until she allowed him to explain the past, and  forgave him.

Her initial offer, to pretend they'd just met, no longer suited him.

Wynne admired the woman she'd become. He was drawn to her as sure as the  bee to the flower. And if her reaction in the garden was any proof, she  wasn't immune to him either.

Their kiss had started a fire in him that had been nearly impossible to  contain. If it weren't for the slam of a door and the threat of someone  coming upon them, they could have gone too far. And that was wrong  because they still hadn't put the past behind them. Taking Jo in a  garden or in his bed without offering her a future was not what he'd  intended to do.

Thankfully, reason and respectability reared their stern and forbidding  heads, and she couldn't get away from him fast enough. In spite of all  she'd said, he sensed that the past was still wedged firmly between  them. The botched retraction of his offer of marriage. Her family. His  own family. His duel with her brother Hugh.

Jo had changed and so, Wynne realized, had he. Until she arrived, he  thought he knew himself and what his future would be. Now he wasn't sure  exactly what he wanted. Over the past few days, an ache deep in his gut  had begun to gnaw at him, and it was getting worse. As if he were a  young bull in springtime, stirrings of desire afflicted him, and he  would not stop in his pursuit. But to what end?                       
       
           



       

He needed to win her, but he would not hurt her again.

Cuffe and Jo were waiting for him by the fish ponds. As Wynne  approached, his focus shifted to the two. His son stood so confidently  as he spoke to her. He was meeting Jo's gaze directly, something he  still rarely did when speaking with Wynne.

For her part, Jo glowed with the sparkling water behind her. Enthusiasm lit her face at whatever the lad was conveying.

The image was perfect. A vision of harmony. The two were more at ease with each other than either was with Wynne.

His relationship with Cuffe had improved tenfold in this past week  alone, but the boy's decision to speak didn't make him feel like a  trusted father. The lad continued to complain and question his authority  and negotiate what Wynne said needed to be done. He had no doubt his  son still wanted to get back to Jamaica, the place he considered his  real home.

The conversation stopped as they noticed his approach. Undeterred, Wynne  asked them what they found interesting to talk about on such a fine  morning.

"Cuffe was telling me that between late last night and early this  morning he finished copying out Ohenewaa's stories into a volume of his  own," Jo replied as they set off toward Knockburn Hall.

One more reminder of his failure as a parent. He'd missed so many rungs  in the ladder of fatherhood. Last night, rather than a hastily said  "good night" from the doorway, he could have gone into Cuffe's room and  talked to him. He could have already heard from his son's lips about  this accomplishment.