Chapter 9
Thinking she could be Jules’s equal, Claire headed outside toward the boathouse. It took much effort to drag the heavy wooden boat she had found there across the grassy field that seemed to go on forever until she reached the shore of the loch.
She glanced around, searching for Jules.
Only an hour had passed since they’d been together earlier.
When she did not see him, she took off her shoes and left them on the shore.
Then, with the hem of her dress clenched tight in her fist, Claire pushed the ancient boat away from the edge of the loch.
She took the last three steps on the narrow beach, two in the water, then hopped into the vessel.
Her father had taken her out in a boat several times in her youth. While he studied the fish and animal life, she had drawn the scenery. It had been one of their favorite things to do on a sunny Sunday afternoon.
The wood creaked and moaned beneath her as the boat glided over the steel-gray surface of the loch.
She settled herself on the small wooden bench in the center and gripped the oars.
It took several strokes to find a rhythm that sent the boat out into the loch, instead of in a circle back toward the shore.
The air around her grew a little cooler.
A breeze tugged at the ends of the hair that had fallen from her chignon in her efforts to drag the boat from the boathouse to the water.
The air was heavy with the scent of heather and pine.
The oars gave forth a rhythmic cadence that seemed so in harmony with this setting.
Claire tipped her head back and let the sunshine warm her face. She drew a breath of clean, fresh air and relished the sensation of freedom that came to her as she glided toward the deeper waters.
She pulled the oars back inside the boat and picked up the net she had tossed in the back of the boat.
Cool liquid met her fingertips and dragged down the hem of her gown as water lined the bottom of the boat.
Obviously the vessel had a leak, despite the fact that she had inspected it before launching it into the loch.
A quick glance back at the shore in the distance brought a sense of unease, but she pushed the sensation away. She had come here to fish, and to prove to Jules that she was capable. And prove that point she would . . . unless she drowned herself first.
Determined to succeed, Claire turned the boat back toward the shore, then tossed the net over the edge. Several large holes were visible as the net dipped below the surface.
A leaky boat, a hole-filled net—this adventure was not turning out exactly as she had hoped. Dragging the net against the side of the boat with one hand, she reached for the oars and tried to row back to safety, but the netting hampered her movements.
The water level in the boat had risen to her ankles.
She felt a pinprick of fear as the frigid water crawled up her skin, but kept rowing.
The water was coming in faster now. Realizing she could row faster without the net, she dropped it, watching it for a moment as it sank down into the steel-gray depths of the loch.
Her heart constricted in her chest as the water came up to her midcalf.
She had learned to swim as a child. Her father had taught her how, but it had been years since she had been in the water.
She gripped the oars, rowed hard. Despite her efforts, the water flowed in, dragging the boat down, making the vessel heavy and impossible to maneuver.
Water slipped over the side. For an instant she floated as the boat slipped out from beneath her, pulling the oars from her hands. She let them go, unable to counter the deadweight. Fear threaded through her as she thrashed at the water. Regardless of her efforts, she slipped below the surface.
She felt herself falling, weightless, her arms spread and her hair escaping the tight chignon to float into her eyes.
Cold water sucked at her; the boat was a colossal shadow below her as they both sank deeper into the void.
Silver fish swam around her—trout. Her intention to catch a fish would have been realized had the boat not sprung a leak.
Yet now she would drown, unless she did something. She kicked, but the heavy drag of her skirt tugged her down despite her efforts. Anger warmed her, fired her blood. She would not drown. She had far too much to live for—the girls, Jules, all the paintings she had yet to paint.
She kicked fiercely at the water that surrounded her.
Slowly she glided forward, broke free from the weight that dragged her down.
At the surface, she drew in a breath of air, felt the bliss of warmth on her face, and something grabbed her hand.
Something yanked her farther up. A man surrounded in light.
Jules. His arms went around her waist. He pulled her close, his heart beat against her chest, and she drew comfort from it, from him as he swam toward the shore.
They were on the grassy shoreline. She collapsed to her side and drew a deep breath of heather-scented air.
Jules dragged her into his arms. They lay there, with his face pressed against her hair, entangled. Claire reached up and curled her fingers around his shoulder, feeling the soggy cloth of his shirt beneath her fingers, and a small smile tugged at her lips. He had come after her.
After his heartbeat slowed, he pulled back to stare into her face. “Has anyone ever told you that you are trouble?”
Her smile slipped. “Now why would you say that?”
He sat up and dusted the bank’s dirt from his chest. “You sank my boat.”
“I was trying to fish.” Claire shoved back her dripping hair. His gaze followed her movements.
“Fishing is much easier when you are not submerged in water.” His voice was light, and something reckless flickered in his expression.
His gaze wandered from her face to her breasts then down to her hips.
The thin, wet fabric clung to her body, molded to every curve, and revealed the dusky peak of her nipples.
The warmth of his gaze pulled her in. She shifted closer.
“I had a net,” she said, in her own defense. “I just could not handle the boat and the net at the same time.”
He reached up and captured a soggy tendril of her hair. He coiled it around his finger, and softly tugged her closer. “That boat was my great-grandfather’s. It was over sixty years old. Whatever made you think it was seaworthy?” His voice was gentle, tender.
“I . . . I didn’t think. I just wanted to catch a fish for dinner.” For you. She swallowed roughly against a sudden tightness in her throat.
“Come closer,” he challenged with a smile.
“Why . . . why should I?”
“Because you want to,” he said, his voice thick.
“You don’t know what I want. You don’t know anything about me. Despite the fact that we are married, we are strangers.”
“Yes, we are.” His smile faded and he looked out at the loch.
Loneliness. There it was again, that shared emotion. She had the sudden feeling he was speaking not just about them any longer, but a constant state, and she felt an odd sense of kinship.
“You never let me ask my three questions the other night, Jules. Tell me something about you now, something no one else knows.”
He frowned. “Why? So you can use that information against me?”
“No. So I can feel closer to you, even if it is just for this moment. One thing, that’s all I ask.”
A frown creased his forehead. He wasn’t going to answer her.
A heaviness descended over her in the silence that ensued until he said, “My favorite color is green. I once had a pet mouse. I named him Francis, after the saint. While in gaol, I used to imagine I was out fishing on the loch. And when my mother died, a part of me died along with her.”
“Jules,” she said, her voice raw.
He held up his hand, stalling her words. “I don’t know what it is about you. One minute I want to strangle you. The next minute I want to kiss you.”
Before she could stop herself, she touched her lips to his.
He hesitated for only a moment before he responded, kissing her back, pulling her closer, letting her in.
Even though she had instigated the kiss, she was unprepared for its effect.
A wild, indescribable sweetness mingled his breath with hers.
With a groan, he shifted his lips to her cheek, her ear, trailing hot kisses down her neck, weaving a sensual spell, until his mouth locked on hers once more. His tongue traced a hot line between her lips, coaxing, urging them to part.
The moment she yielded, his tongue plunged into her mouth, stroking and caressing. A tingling sensation spread from her arms and legs, gathering at her core, until a strange languid heat flowed through her entire being.
She surrendered to the sensation and to the stormy splendor of his kiss.
Her hands shifted restlessly over the damp fabric of his shirt.
She could feel his heavily muscled shoulders and forearms beneath the sheer fabric.
The sensation made her bold as her lips moved against his with increasing abandon.
When he finally pulled his mouth from hers an eternity later, their breath came in mingled gasps as the powerful, sensual force surrounding them was abandoned.
Feeling almost bereft at its loss, Claire surfaced from the blissful abandon where he had taken her, and forced her heavy eyelids to open so she could look at him.
He stretched out beside her on the grassy beach, his face hard and dark with passion, his blue eyes smoldering.
Lifting his hand, he tenderly brushed a copper lock of hair off her cheek, and he tried to smile, but his breathing was as ragged as hers. He fingered the locket about her neck. “You wear this always. Should I be jealous?”
“No,” she said tenuously. “It was given to me a long time ago.” He let the topic slide as Claire let her gaze drop once more to his finely chiseled mouth.