Page 91 of A Rogue in Firelight
“For a moment, I feared you might go with them.”
“Hardly,” he said, and pulled her close. “No fear of that, lass.”
“He offered you money—”
“I keep clear of him and his lot. I know him too well.”
She hesitated. “It puzzles me, your past. I do not understand enough of it. I trust you,” she added. “I do. But Papa and Mr. Corbie cautioned me against you, and they would remind me of it if I need to explain any trouble.”
“What a parcel of trouble, having to tell them that rascal MacGregor ran off in pursuit of profit and crime as soon as he had the chance.”
“But you stayed.”
“I gave you a promise. You agreed to make me into a gentleman. I agreed to let you try.”
“You made it easy. Were you tempted to go back to smuggling?” She searched his face, his gaze.
He realized then that his ruse, and the ruse now assigned to him, were still in conflict. She truly did not know if he was a rogue or a hero. That was his fault. He had kept secrets and skirted honesty in favor of protection and silence.
“Who said I was a smuggler? Has it been proven?”
“I suppose not, but I thought—”
“Whatever I am, I would not have left you there.” He touched her chin, lifted it.
She lifted her face, waited, invited. He leaned down, nudged her nose with his, pushed her bonnet away, skimmed fingers through the softness of her hair. Then he kissed her, the warm cushion of her lips under his willing, inviting. He felt her breath catch, felt his heart pounding.
The feeling he had denied for too long swept over him, through him, like the rushing water not far away. As if his soul was a fish glimmering in a stream, going with the current of his life, he followed his heart, kissed her again, whispered reassurance.
He had wondered, once, if he would ever find this again. But here it was, more full, more meaningful. Kissing her, he felt sure suddenly that all this was meant to be somehow. Felt that he could lay at her feet all the truths and mistruths of his life. Kissing her, life made sense in the moment. He was just where he should be, with her, here, now.
Yet a cold rational sense surged through him, breaking that spell. He pulled away. No, he told himself. Not yet. Silence and secrets must be kept if he was to protect her, and protect his friends behind bars on Calton Hill.
“Beg pardon,” he whispered. “I did not mean—”
“You did. And I meant it too.” She stretched to kiss his cheek, the corner of his lip, and when he leaned in, unable to resist, she pulled away. “But we must go.”
“Aye.” And he would keep a wary eye until they reached there.
The gig creaked,bumped slowly along. The sky turned dusky purple. Ellison pondered, curious, heart thumping. “Ronan,” she began.
“More questions?”
“Just one. Pitlinnie asked if I knew who you are. Do I?”
He was silent, letting the horse push faster, wheel rattling. “I am a MacGregor to my bones.”
“One with many secrets.”
“Some must be kept for the good of others.”
“But why smuggle whisky and risk going against the law?”
“So many questions.” He shook his head. “Strathniven’s rooftops are just there, see, beyond that hill.”
“You will not give me all the truth?”
“Not yet. Just trust me.”
