Page 4 of Wild Hearts

Tabby's eyes widened in disbelief at his words. She saw his rich garments and jewels and wondered who he possibly could be. "Who are you?" she whispered in awe. Her voice had a husky, whispery quality that tingled along his nerves. He hoped it was always like this, and not just when she tried to swallow tears.

"I am Laird of the Clan Cockburn, Master of the Castle of Cockburnspath, Warden of the Eastern Marches, and heir to the Earldom of Ormistan and his castle of Tantallon"— he bowed gracefully —"my friends call me Rogue."

"God, that's a right awful mouthful!"

His eyebrows went up. "Give a female an inch and she'll take a mile, every damned time."

A wild hope lifted her heart, and the words were out before she could stop them. "Are you my father?" she blurted.

"Cheeky devil"— he laughed—"I'm only about ten years older than you are!" He was secretly dismayed that she thought him old, until he saw the light leave her eyes and she seemed quite hopeless.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, his brows drawing together. "I do see how you would probably daydream about a father showing up one day and taking you away from this place." Silence stretched between them as they assessed each other. She wondered idly who he was if he wasn't her father, and why he was here. She raised hesitant eyes to his. "Why do they call you Rogue?" she asked curiously. The large emerald in his ear fascinated her.

"Probably because I'm a thorough scoundrel who drinks, curses, lies, cheats, steals and even . ."

"Murders?" she whispered fearfully.

"I was going to use the word kill. A Borderer never murders in cold blood."

She shrank from him. "What do you want of me?" she breathed.

He thought, Christ, she's timorous as a mouse. He wished he could reach out and lift the fear from her. If he could wipe out the unpleasant experiences that had brought about this condition, he would do so. His mind contrasted her with his sisters. If she had been indulged and spoiled a little, as they had, would she now be a delightfully saucy piece of baggage? He tried to draw her out and said, not unkindly, "Please sit down and make yourself comfortable by the fire. I only want to know what sort of a life you have here. What you learn, what you do for fun, that sort of thing."

"Fun?" she asked.

"Games— what games do you play?" he prompted.

"We don't play games, milord."

"No toys? Not even the younger children?"

"No, milord." She thought him the strangest man with the oddest questions.

"Dancing, then. Do you learn country dances?"

"Dancing is forbidden."

"Then singing—what songs do you learn?"

"Music is forbidden, milord. I am often chastised when I forget and sing to myself."

The picture that was emerging was so bleak, he could scarcely credit it. How had this delicate flower endured such an existence? "Outings. On Sundays do you go up on the moors?"

She shook her head. "Sunday is for the cleansing of the soul."

"A joyless existence! Do you do nothing for pleasure?" he demanded harshly.

"Life is not for pleasure, milord. 'Tis for duty and obedience," she told him seriously, repeating by rote what she had learned by heart.

He said low, "You don't believe that, do you, Tabby? Meekness doesn't sit well with you. Tell me, child, what do you recall of the world before you came to this place?"

"Not much. I remember my mother. Pretty, gentle, she always smelled nice and sang little songs to me. Also, I don't know if I dreamed it, or if there are such things. I played in a field of flowers and a beautiful thing with many colors flew and fluttered about. A wild little creature called papillon. If they ever let me out of here, I shall fling myself from flower to flower," she admitted breathlessly, emerging from her cocoon.

"Papillon is French for butterfly. There are such things, I assure you." As he listened to her words, his heart went out to her. He felt guilty that he had not thought of her in ten years, and knew a need to make up for it in some way. She was so like his sisters, he suspected she was a Cockburn. If he could unravel the mystery for her, he would do so. He smiled and said, "'Tis tradition for a Borderer never to visit a lady without bringing her a present."

"Did you bring me something?" she asked breathlessly, raising unbelieving eyes to his.

"I did. I want to see you smile when I give it to you." He reached into his doublet pocket and brought forth the pale green ribbons he had bought for Damascus.

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