She had not noticed it the few times she had been in this room, but she loved it now, the way the cushion firmly supported her frame as Beathan lowered himself on top of her, his strong, thick thighs straddling her slim ones.
“Ye’ve nae idea how I’ve missed ye, Kirsteen,” Beathan told her as he lowered his head down to meet hers, pressing a soft kiss to her mouth. “Every minute without ye is pure torture,” he said, punctuating each word with a kiss to her cheeks, nose, forehead, eyelids, and chin.
Kirsteen hesitated.
Should I tell him now? she wondered. This was the perfect entry into a conversation that would either confirm or demolish all her fears. They had to have it at some point; perhaps now was better, when they were both relaxed and feeling honest and open?
“I do know,” she finally said, struggling to get the words out in between kisses from Beathan, who seemed intent on kissing the words right out of her. “I know, because I’ve missed you as well. I thought…” she hesitated, unsure how to word the next sentence.
Beathan sensed her hesitation, sitting up and bracing himself on his arms so he could look her in the eye, he said, “What is it? Tell me, lass.”
“I thought you were avoiding me,” she blurted out, far less eloquently than she had originally intended. “When you did not send for me after the performance, I thought you had changed your mind. That you thought our kiss a mistake. That any friendship or connection between us was a mistake.”
“Nay, lass,” Beathan said, vehemently shaking his head. “There is no mistake here,” he said, indicating the space between the two of them with his index finger. “I dinnae send for ye because I was with me faither, makin’ a plan to find whoever shot at me and nearly got ye instead.”
Kirsteen winced at the memory, her hand immediately going to the scratch on her neck. Beathan caught her hand just before it touched her skin, bringing it to his mouth and placing a kiss on her palm.
“And this is nae a mistake, what we have between us, Kirsteen. It is far from it. Nothin’ that makes a person feel so good can be a mistake, lass, and by God, dae ye make me feel good. With yer words, yer lips, yer hands. Everythin’,” he said reverently, turning her hand over and kissing each of her knuckles.
Kirsteen had never known that kisses to a hand could be so…pleasurable. Though perhaps what she was taking pleasure from were Beathan’s words, for they confirmed to her that she made him feel just as good as he did her. The words confirmed that whatever was going on between them, it was not felt only by her.
Sighing with relief, Kirsteen decided to be bold, and hooked her hand around Beathan’s neck. “Well, now that that’s settled,” she said, letting a saucy grin overtake her face, “I would rather like to keep kissing you now.”
She drew him toward her, delighting in the open smile he gave her as he let her bring him down for one kiss that became a thousand as they settled into the settee, exploring the contours of each other’s bodies through their clothes.
Kirsteen knew what went on between a man and woman in bed; Madame Blanche had given her a rather honest talk when she was thirteen, explaining exactly what went on in the bedroom.
“If done right, with a good and patient man, it can be wonderful, ma fille,” Blanche had told her. “There are cruel men out there, Kirsteen, and you must do all you can to avoid them. Do not let them have power over you and take what is yours. Save it for someone who deserves it,” were Blanche’s words.
Blanche had gone on to detail some of what went on in the bedroom; enough so that when the time came, Kirsteen would not be totally uninitiated, but not so much that she overloaded Kirsteen’s young and innocent mind.
However, Kirsteen realized now that Blanche had not done justice to quite how good it could feel, to be touched and kissed by a man. She had told Kirsteen she would feel “tingles” and a “pleasant sensation”, but what Kirsteen felt now went far beyond that.
She felt like her body was made of a thousand tiny candles, all lit up at once and quivering with every kiss and caress Beathan bestowed on her. She could feel the flames most at her core, at the sensitive place she only explored when she was totally alone and in desperate need of release.
Kirsteen found, to her shock, that she rather wanted Beathan to touch her there as well. She thought of what it would feel like, to have his fingers manipulating her in ways only she had done before. She imagined the relief she would feel when he found the spot where she most needed to be touched, fingering her there until that sweet release finally came, a release that would be all the sweeter for who gave it to her.
She knew these thoughts were scandalous, and went against everything she believed in and wanted for herself. She was meant to save such activities for her one true love, for the man she was going to marry. And while Beathan might have confessed his affections for her, he had made no overtures about making her his wife.
And he wouldn’t, Kirsteen knew it. Though the passion between them might be strong and true, that did not change their stations, or the fact that Beathan needed a wife who could be a lady, something Kirsteen knew herself incapable of.
Dancers did not become ladies in anything except performances, she reminded herself.
Still, as she felt Beathan’s lips on hers, his fingers tracing the full, round shape of her bottom, Kirsteen couldn’t help thinking that maybe she shouldn’t wait. More importantly, maybe she couldn’t. For the need, the desire she felt as Beathan’s lips moved down her neck and toward her cleavage, would not be quenched with mere kisses and caresses alone.
She needed all of him, and she wanted to give herself to him in return. It was a dangerous thought, this, but Kirsteen’s mind returned to it again and again that night as she and Beathan familiarized themselves with each other’s bodies.
She left his chambers later that night knowing that her heart was in danger, but still, she could not resist him. She was powerless in the wake of his kisses. If those were what spelled her end, then a sweet end it would be.
11
Beathan woke up on the fifth day of his homecoming celebration feeling better than he had in years. He felt alive with energy, so much so that he sprang out of bed and was dressed before his valet had even come in with his breakfast.
“I’ve no need for food today, Barclay,” he told his valet as the man placed a breakfast tray down on the unmade bed.
“But sir,” Barclay said with shock. “Yer oats! Ye cannae start a day without them!”
“A man in me position doesnae need oats, Barclay,” Beathan said with a laugh, clapping the man on the shoulder as he passed him and left the room, no doubt leaving a gaping Barclay behind. To refuse oats was, after all, practically a sin in Scotland.
The position of which Beathan was speaking was, of course, that of a man in love, or at least very much on his way to being so. For these past few days with Kirsteen had shown him just how truly fascinating the lass was. The way she moved, walked, talked — everything about her enthralled him.
Beathan was amazed by how quickly his feelings for the lass had grown in such a short time period. They had spent but a few days and nights together thus far, yet time seemed of no consequence when a man had found his mate.
He planned to tell her as much tonight. He had mapped out the exact scenario the night before, after she had left his bedroom. After all, he had to do something to distract himself from the throbbing ache beneath his kilt. He had not had the lass yet, not bedded her properly, and his body was suffering.
Beathan was glad to wait, however. He knew Kirsteen was a virgin, and prized her virtue above all else. He would not take it from her, not until she was ready and willing to give it. If that meant days, weeks, even months of waiting, so be it. He wanted her first time with a man, with him, to be like that of a fairy tale (albeit one more suited to adult audiences). He wanted her to feel special and cherished and everything that made her feel good and coveted. If he needed to bide his time for that to happen, he was more than up to the chal
lenge.
Beathan had never cared so much for someone before, at least not romantically. All he wanted was for Kirsteen to be happy, and he was beginning to think that he had the power to make her so. She laughed at his jokes, preened at his kisses and caresses, and the smile she had first shown him days ago had only left her face for an evening; the evening after the attack.
It was the attack that now had him striding down the hall toward his father’s study. The manhunt had only been going for a day, but Beathan’s father had given him no word of its progress, and he was impatient for news Beathan knew the lack of information was partly done on purpose. His father had told him, “not to worry yer head about this, and instead enjoy yer homecomin’.”
Thanks to Kirsteen, Beathan was enjoying being home very much indeed, but that did not change the fact that he was also still worried that at any moment, he might be shot at and killed.
He’d heeded his father’s warnings to stay inside, but he’d have to leave the castle in the evening to lead Kirsteen to the waterfall. It was the most romantic place in the whole area, in all the land on the Dunn estate, and Beathan could think of no better place to tell the lass of his true feelings for her.
To tell her I love her, he reminded himself. He’d never said those reverent words to anyone but his mother, and he was nervous for the lass’s reaction. He hoped she would echo his words back to him.
He wasn’t quite sure what he’d do if she did not.
Hopefully that’s not how the night will go, he thought as he continued down the hall. God willing, she’ll have fallen just as hard for me as I have for her.
After a few more turns down various corridors and one more ascension of stairs, Beathan finally reached his father’s study and knocked quickly on the door.
The smile that, like Kirsteen’s, had been omnipresent on his face these last few days dropped slightly when Logan answered the door. The man might have worked for his father for all of his life, but that did not make his presence any easier to bear. It was impossible to feel at ease with Logan around.
“Sir,” Logan said, bowing his head slightly as he held the door open for Beathan to walk through.
“Good mornin’ to ye, Logan,” Beathan answered back, eyeing the man wearily as he stepped into the study.
His father was sitting behind his desk, his glasses perched on his long, thin nose, his eyes totally absorbed in the papers in front of him. Beathan turned around to find Logan shutting the door behind him, giving them the privacy that Beathan had been about to request.
Say what you like about Logan, he thought, but the man does know how to read a room.
“Faither?” Beathan said, clearing his throat to get his father’s attention.
“One minute. Nearly done with these calculations,” his father said, muttering what sounded like numbers under his breath.
“Four, plus seventeen, plus twenty, minus two…” Beathan heard as he took the seat across from his father’s in the heavily cushioned leather chair that sat across the heavy wooden desk.
“Ah ha!” his father suddenly shouted, hurriedly scribbling something on one of the pages with his quill. He looked at the sum, nodded to himself, then put down the quill and removed his glasses.
“Sorry about that, lad. Had to make sure the sums were right for this month’s rent profits,” he said as he focused on Beathan.
“Nae a problem, Faither,” Beathan said. “But I was wonderin’ if I could speak to ye a moment about the manhunt. I’ve had no word on the outcome thus far, and ye can well imagine I’m anxious for news.”
The affable grin on his father’s face drooped as he said, “Well, lad, to tell ye the truth, there’s been no news. The men cannae find anythin’. They’ve asked all around to see if anyone saw someone lurkin’ about the woods that day, but nae one saw nothin’. All we have is the hole in that tree, but I can tell ye it’s not much help.”
Beathan sighed in frustration and ran a hand through his hair.
As though reading his thoughts, his father said, “I ken ye’re annoyed, Beathan. I am as well. I’d hoped we’d have found somethin’ by now. After all, it’s not as though we dinnae have guards out that day! Ye can see clear to the forest from the castle entrance where they’re stationed round the clock. Surely they would have noticed some strange character ridin’ into the woods after ye.”
“Aye, that’s what I thought as well,” Beathan agreed.
“It’s a mystery, son, but it’s one I’m committed to solvin’. Yer life’s the most important thing to me, which is why I dinnae want ye goin’ outside until this is all done with. I hope by tomorrow, we’ll have found the man, but until then, ye‘re not to leave the castle’s interior. Dae ye understand me?”
Beathan hesitated. He knew his father had a point; if the attacker was still on the loose, there was every chance that he could get shot at the moment he left the castle. Add to that the fact that he was planning to walk out at night, when it was far easier for someone to sneak up on him without him realizing it. He might have a warrior’s sense, but most of his battles had been fought in the day, not at night. He did not trust his abilities in the dark of night, particularly when he had the distracting presence of Kirsteen along with him.
But despite these dangers, Beathan couldn’t abandon his plan for the lass. He wanted it to be a special night, and that called for a change of scenery. Romance like what he was planning could not be found within the castle walls. For this, for what he had planned, he needed the ambience that only a walk in the moonlight could provide.
Besides, the waterfall he was planning to take the lass to was off the more well-trod paths that led from the castle to the forest. An attacker was far less likely to know of those paths, which were used only by those who knew of them, which numbered few. Beathan, Graham and Andrew were the only ones who used them with any sort of frequency, and even then, it was only for bathing in the waterfall in the summer after a long day’s ride or, when they were younger, taking picnics out there on spring days when the flowers had just started to bloom.
We’ll be fine, Beathan told himself as he made false promises to his father. Naught harm will come to me or the lass.
Still, despite his confidence in those words, he could not help a shiver of anxiety crawling up his spine as he left his father’s study.
12
Kirsteen was anxiously drumming her fingers on her thigh, waiting for Blanche and Fred to go to bed. They had all been sitting around a fire one of the other players had made earlier in the evening, and Fred was currently belting out a song often heard in the French public houses they frequented when they were playing for nobility on the continent.
Normally, Kirsteen would have joined in, singing a few verses of the bawdy tune before breaking down into giggles over the silly lyrics. It was one of the more ridiculous songs Fred had in his repertoire, and it never failed to amuse her.
Except tonight. Tonight, Kirsteen was not amused. She was nervous. She had agreed to meet Beathan at the entrance to the forest at midnight, and the small pocket watch Blanche had given her for her eighteenth birthday told her it was nearing that time.
When will they stop singing? she wondered with a mixture of annoyance and worry as she looked at the small crowd of people sitting in a circle in front of her.
Kirsteen had naively assumed that since they had a rather long day of rehearsals ahead for the tragedy they were performing the next day, the troupe would go to bed early. Such was not the case however, as evidenced by the lively look on everyone’s faces. Kirsteen was becoming worried that she wouldn’t be able to sneak away unnoticed to meet Beathan.
Though Blanche knew about her meetings with Beathan in his room and had not commented negatively on them, Kirsteen knew her mother. She would not approve of Kirsteen meeting the man outside the castle. Ever since that attack in the woods, Blanche and Fred had been extra vigilant about her whereabouts. They never let her walk anywhere alone, and she now had a guard, requested by Fred
, who walked her to Beathan’s room and back to the camp each night.
It was annoying, to be sure, but Kirsteen consoled herself that at least Beathan was experiencing similar treatment from his own parental figures. The evening before, he had told Kirsteen that he hadn’t been out riding in days.
“Me faither thinks I will catch my death, quite literally, should I leave the castle itself,” he had confided in her. “I keep to his rules because it makes him happy, but I daenae mind tellin’ ye I’m goin’ half mad bein’ kept inside like this. A man needs fresh air now and again, ye ken.”
Kirsteen thought this was perhaps part of the reason why they were meeting in the woods, rather than in his chambers, as they usually did. And while she knew that they were both taking quite a large risk, going into the woods at night, alone and unguarded, she couldn’t help feeling rather excited.
Beathan had promised her that a surprise awaited them, and Kirsteen had spent all day wondering what it might be. Was it a swim in the loch? The water would be close to freezing, to be sure, but Kirsteen imagined that with Beathan’s warm body wrapped around her, she wouldn’t feel the cold at all.
If not a swim in the lake, then perhaps they would go stargazing, laying out on the cool, dewy grass and watching the stars sparkling in the night sky. Of course, once again, Kirsteen’s thoughts went immediately to wrapping herself around Beathan for warmth.
And for pleasure, if she was honest with herself.
Because though she had spent most of her life guarding her virtue like it was her most precious possession, around Beathan, Kirsteen had begun to find herself wanting to divest of it. To give her virtue up, in return for a union of bodies and minds she knew would bring her far more pleasure than her virginity ever had.
She wanted Beathan, so much that sometimes she could feel the need settling between her thighs, making her yearn for him so keenly that it was hard to remember why she had ever avoided lovemaking in the first place.
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