Heat of the Knight

by Jackie Ivie

  “Why would…you do that?”

  “Because you hate me,” he answered.

  “I do?”

  “If you dinna’ already, you surely will, if I allow this to continue.”

  That made less sense than anything he’d said the entire trip. Lisle reached out with her other hand and held to his. He opened his fingers the moment she did, allowing her to easily place them within the grasp of his, where they were swallowed by the size of him.

  “Why are you doing this…to me?” he asked. He wasn’t using his low, smooth voice. It sounded rough and mean.

  She’d done it more to keep herself from falling. That was strange. It felt like she was already falling. She didn’t dare tell him any of that. “I doona’ know,” she answered, lifting her face to his.

  “Doona’ offer what you’ll regret, Lisle.”

  “I haven’t offered anything,” she replied.

  “Then, sit back onto your side like a nice young lass, and allow me some time to gather myself.”

  “What if the answer to that is ‘nae’?” she asked.

  “How long have you been without a man, Lisle?”

  That was absolutely senseless. She’d just left Angus that day. She opened her mouth to say it, and then closed it again. She knew then that wasn’t what he’d meant, and her tongue reached out to lick at her own lips to moisten them so she’d be able to answer.

  “A long time,” she answered, and then added the truth. “Never.”

  The fingers tightened on hers, entrapping them, and she could feel the muscles above his knees going to the same tautness. He has muscle above the knee? She wondered at it and wished he’d let her go, so she could experiment further with such an idea.

  Instead, he was moving forward, his knees bending into a right angle to the floor of the carriage, and then he went past that, to a near-squat as he took up entirely too much room. He was definitely the most handsome man she’d ever seen, she decided, looking from the top of his shiny black hair, which he’d tucked behind his ears, down the aquiline nose, and ending at lips too perfect to belong to a mortal man. None of this was fair, she told herself. He wasn’t supposed to be beautiful, and she wasn’t supposed to be holding to him, and she definitely wasn’t supposed to have her parted lips within inches of his.

  “Do you ken what it is you’re about?” he asked, using a whisper of sound she barely heard over the roar in her ears.

  She nodded. Then, she shook her head. There was an answering smile hovering on his lips. She didn’t look past that.

  “Doona’ close your eyes this time.”

  This time? Why was nothing making sense? As far as she knew, there had never been a first time. She didn’t shut her eyes. He did. Which made it awful strange that he had no trouble tilting his head so he could fit his perfectly formed lips to hers.

  Lightning struck the coach, lighting the interior to the point she couldn’t keep her own eyes open. That was especially strange, since there hadn’t been a hint of it in the weather before, and it had never filtered into her breast before, making her heart feel like a caged animal, and her breath hard to find. She didn’t even know where it had gone to. Lisle rocked in place, worse than any coach movement could possibly make, and her head moved of its own accord, tilting the opposite way his was, making it easier for the kiss to deepen, and harder to find one part of her that didn’t want it to.

  There was a groan coming from his chest, the sound filling her mouth and then the coach, and then it was accompanied by such a trembling of his entire frame, that she felt it and responded to it with everything that was maternal and loving and caring about her. Then, he was pulling his lips from her with a vicious twist that felt like it tore skin. Lisle didn’t dare open her eyes for several moments, and she felt none of the dizziness or blurred feeling of the past minutes that could just as easily have been hours. She felt painfully sober and cold all over.

  She opened her eyes.

  He was inches from her, black eyelashes shadowing what she knew was the dark ale color of eyes, and with not one expression on his face. Damn him for being so handsome, she told herself, pulling her right hand free so she could mold it around his cheek and cup his chin with her palm.

  Lisle’s eyes filled with tears. She didn’t know why, or even where they came from, as his image distorted and then cleared, and he was still far too handsome. She also felt his pain, and wished she could help him with it, help mute some of it…and she didn’t know where that insane idea came from.

  “Doona’ ever do that again,” he said softly, brutally, and with a note in his voice that spoke of absolute finality and nothing more.

  Lisle’s heart stopped, and then decided it really would continue beating. She didn’t know what had taken place, or why she’d done any of it, and he reacted like this? Her hand started stinging where it was still touching him, and she lifted it away and let it drop. Her left hand was still entwined with his, making it impossible to move it away as easily.

  “I won’t be pitied by anyone. Highlander or not.”

  “Pitied?” she whispered.

  “You ken exactly what you did, and you also ken exactly why you did it,” he answered.

  “Pitied?” she repeated. He thought she’d kissed him out of pity? What was wrong with the man that he’d get such an idea? And why was she fighting it? She didn’t dare think through what might be the true reason—that she’d lost her mind. It was better that he thought it pity.

  “When we arrive at Monteith Castle, go to your room. Doona’ touch me again.”

  She nodded and loosened her fingers, and then she was pulling them away from his. He didn’t help her, but he didn’t fight her, either. Lisle didn’t think she had feeling left in her left hand from the grip he’d had on it. She didn’t flex it to check. She didn’t move anything on her.

  “You aren’t welcome in my bed,” he told her.

  She gasped. “I’ve not said I wish to be there,” she answered.

  “Good. Keep it that way.”

  Lisle sucked in on an emotion that she instinctively knew would go beyond tears and turn into full-fledged sobs if she let any of it through. There was no reason for any of it. She didn’t want to be in his bed! Good Lord—that he would think such a thing! She didn’t want any part of him. She only wished the place beneath the seed pearl beading of her bodice wasn’t such a painful lump that she nearly clasped her hands to it to stop it.

  “Why did you wed with me? Why dinna’ you just buy up the land, like everywhere else?” she asked finally, wishing the words from existence almost before they left her lips.

  “Remember how I spoke of hidden things?” he asked.

  She nodded. She only wished she could move her gaze down, and not keep it linked with his like they were strung together with pieces of spun wool, or worse, jewelry wire.

  “That’s good. That’s very good.”

  He blinked slowly at the end of his words, releasing her, although nothing on her obeyed the newfound freedom. She was still gazing raptly at him when he opened his eyes and caught her at it.

  “We haven’t much left of this ride,” he offered.

  Lisle would have answered any of his words, if she had a voice left. She was afraid of what might come out of her mouth if she opened it, so she didn’t. She just sat there at the edge of her seat, looking into dark brown eyes and a handsome face, with perfect lips that were spewing unintelligible words at her, seemingly without end, and wondering how such a thing had transpired.

  He was the Black Monteith. He was the enemy of all that was Scot, and detested by every Highlander with faith and integrity and honor, and little else, left to his name. He was a spendthrift, a fool, and a coward. He was her husband; the man she was supposed to give herself to…and the man who had just told her she wasn’t welcome in his bed.

  “I would appreciate it if you stay on your side of the coach, and allow me the other.”

  She nodded.

  “You agree?”
/>
  She nodded again.

  “Then cease looking at me like that!”

  Lisle turned her head away, and it wasn’t easy. She didn’t know what expression she’d been looking at him with. There weren’t any mirrors, and she’d die before she admitted any of it.

  “And doona’ touch me when we arrive. I won’t allow it.”

  She nodded again. The mahogany strips on the side of his coach were set in a slanted wood pattern. That probably added to the expense of it, for it had probably taken longer and cost more. She hadn’t noticed that before.

  “You’re to go to your rooms, and stay there.”

  “I doona’ know where they are,” she replied. All of it was ridiculous. It sounded like he was telling her to report to her prison and stay there; exactly like what had happened at the French school more times than not.

  “They’re at the top of the right stair, next to mine. Doona’ bother checking the connecting door. I’ll make certain it’s locked.”

  He had a connecting bedroom to hers, and he was going to make certain the door was locked. What on earth for? Did she look like she was going to try to get through it, and attempt ravishment on a man who had just told her she was not welcome in his bed? She was very grateful there weren’t any mirrors so she could have seen the look on her face that would have him thinking such a thing as locking his door was necessary.

  And there wasn’t anything she liked about wine.

  Chapter Seven

  Lisle lay on her belly, stretched in the length and width of a bed that she couldn’t tell the size of even if she flapped her arms and legs, and wondered why she felt so grand. There wasn’t any reason for it, save the obvious. She’d been wed to a man known to consort with the devil, gotten a bit tipsy, actually kissed him without compunction, been denied access to his bed, and not one thing else had happened, other than the bidding of a good night. She felt like she’d been given a reprieve, at the last possible moment, and knew how prisoners must feel who’d been granted the same.

  A long, low-pitched tone, coming from a horn of some kind, filtered through the maroon-colored, drape-lined window, or maybe it came from one of the smaller windows that were all along the top of her two-story-high room. She rolled over, wincing at the bruising pressure from the row of pearl buttons up her back, and looked at those windows with her forehead wrinkled. Placing windows so high up made no sense, unless it was to catch a ray of sunshine and send it through the light-tone wood that latticed across the ceiling of her room. She looked at it through the sheer white canopy that topped her bed. Everything in her new suite was either white, or a shade of maroon. There wasn’t any other color. Even the wood bureaus were painted white, with little knobs painted with maroon flowers on them.

  The note ended, leaving a haunting feeling behind. She’d heard that same tone more than four times already, and had thought it part of her dreams. She didn’t know what she was supposed to be doing, but that melodic note demanded investigation, and she was never one for sitting abed, waiting for what the day brought, anyway.

  Lisle slid from beneath bleached, white, muslin sheets, woven so tightly they made the ones she’d called her own look amateurish and cheaply made. They’d felt luxurious against what skin felt it through her wedding gown, and they hadn’t even been snagged by the hundreds of seed pearls. Her abilities as a seamstress had been tested by sleeping in such a gown, but she didn’t have anything else to wear and there hadn’t been a soul around to help her with the unfastening of it, save her new husband. She wasn’t letting him touch any part of her, ever again.

  That’s how much she wanted to be in his bed! she told herself.

  There wasn’t anything hanging in the room off to the left of her bedroom. She knew it was supposed to be a dressing room; only that sort of room would have rows of empty rails, and pegs along the walls for holding the heels of her shoes, if she had any with heels. She found out the same thing about the room off to the right, for it held rows of railing and pegs awaiting the same thing.

  No woman could possibly have enough clothing to fill one of those dressing rooms, let alone both of them. She sincerely hoped Monteith didn’t expect her to. She’d have to wear a different outfit every day of the year, and probably twice every day, too. What a waste that would be.

  The door that must connect to his chamber was on the other end of her right dressing room. She didn’t test the handle. She told herself she didn’t care enough to. She returned to her bed chamber. Neither dressing room had any windows, save those high up on the outer walls.

  Lisle approached the window, pushed the drapery aside, and then she was grimacing at diamond-paned, cut glass that had been polished until each facet shone. The amount of gold that could buy such craftsmanship had to be staggering. She ran a finger along one of the edges, feeling how it had been rounded after the cut of it, by a master at his art. Unfortunately, it was also difficult to see anything through it, muting and distorting anything she might have been able to see outside. That wasn’t helpful to her investigation.

  Her belly growled, reminding her of its emptiness. Aside from the two dollops of wine—that was all he’d let her have—she’d not eaten or drunk a thing since…she couldn’t remember the last meal, but thought it was the watered-down ham broth sup from the MacHugh Castle.

  “Good morn, my lady. It’s time to be up and about. We dinna’ know what time to expect you to awake, or what you favored, so Cook Higgins, Letty, and Dame Margaret-Lily sent up everything they thought might tempt you. Oh. There you are. I dinna’ know you were such an early riser. Here. Let me assist you into a chair, and fetch you a bed jacket. We doona’ want those shoulders catching cold.”

  The door had opened, letting in a loud voice that was attached to a very large woman, followed by a train of servant women bearing smells that turned her belly into a roar of emptiness. As the entourage bore down on her, Lisle had the insane desire to run for the safety of one of the dressing rooms. It wouldn’t have helped. The woman was holding up a waist-length, sky-blue jacket, knitted of large, looped, thickly spun wool, and finished off with a dark blue velvet collar. She could just as well have been using it to cut off any such escape route, as anything else she was doing with it.

  Lisle’s eyes were wide as the woman helped her into it, although the high-necked wedding gown wouldn’t have allowed a hint of cold to get to her shoulders, anyway.

  “Set them down there, and there. And over here. Now serve. And send Mistress Beamans in. There’s sheets to air and such. There’s no time for her staff to laze about. There’s a lady of the house to impress. You could have knocked us over with a whiff of air over that news, my lady. Just let me say it and get it over with. We dinna’ even know the master was inclining himself toward courtship of that nature. We’re ever so proud to be able to serve you. Move smart, now.”

  Courtship? Lisle wondered. Sheets to air? They already smelled of sunshine and dew and everything else that was fresh and vibrant, and they hadn’t had but one person sleeping on them—her—and that was for one night. Then her attention was moved to where they were placing trays, taking off covers, and setting out food; sending the smell and sight of scones, and cooked oats, and breads, and honey melons, and grapes, and every kind of meat, prepared in various different ways; some with sauces, some heated, and some cold and thinly sliced, while everywhere was the gleam of silver plate.

  Her mouth hadn’t shut yet, and she was afraid it was about to drool, too, so she put her own hand on her jaw and forced it closed. There was enough food there to serve the MacHughs for a fortnight. Lisle was appalled enough at the waste that she didn’t think she could take a bite without it sticking to the roof of her mouth and making it impossible to swallow.

  “What do you feel like having for your breakfast, my lady?” Each one of the servant women hovered above one of the trays, a large spoon in one hand and a plate in the other, as it looked like they were actually preparing to fetch anything she wanted for her.

/>   “I—”

  Spittle choked the word, and she couldn’t say what she wanted before the door opened again and more than six chambermaids entered, making the enclosure spin with womenfolk and talk, and perfectly ironed black outfits, with crisp, starched white aprons, and cleaning rags and such. Three of them attacked the bed, while the others were intent on wiping cleaning rags all about the base of furnishings that hadn’t time to think of catching dust. Lisle watched it and could actually hear the women humming to themselves.

  Then, the sheets were pulled from the bed, and someone exclaimed at how there wasn’t any blood speckling them before being hushed with words over how the new wife was a widow, and hadn’t they heard. That’s when she put her hands to her ears, and told them all, in no uncertain terms, that they were to leave, and leave immediately.

  For a lady who was supposed to be the chatelaine of her own home, her order was instantly and complete ignored, although they all stopped what they were doing and stared at her.

  “You want us to leave? But we haven’t finished. We’ve just started, and His Lordship—”

  “Am I the lady of the house, or na’?” Lisle asked through clenched teeth.

  The woman who had been standing, directing the work crew, and who must be the main housekeeper, nodded.

  “Good. Then I expect to be obeyed. Instantly and perfectly. Leave. Now. Please.”

  “I’ll have Her Ladyship up and about when she’s breakfasted, Mabel Beamans. You can come back then.”

  The large, jovial one who had first attacked her chamber was the one whispering it and escorting all of them out, although they took the bedding with them, and once they left, Lisle noted that they even had the maroon drapery and sheer white canopy with them. They were airing out such things?

  She was going to put a halt to this senseless waste of time, effort, and coin, and she was going to do it before she got much older, too.

  “Them, too,” she said, when the kitchen serving women just stood there, hovering over their trays, with their utensils and plates.