He knew her soul, had seen into the deepest, truest part of her.
She would die if she left the Hebrides.
But returning to Sway was out of the question. And much as she’d come to care for Laddie’s Isle, even with all her spirit and strength, she couldn’t remain here alone when Roag and his men sailed away.
Doing so would see her meeting the same fate as the poor ghost laddie who walked the isle.
She pressed a hand to her lips, furious that they quivered. It galled her to admit such a weakness, but she was not ready to leave this world.
She wanted to live, and love…
She yearned for…
She wasn’t sure, but Roag’s image swept her mind. His dark eyes and his bold, rugged face blotted all else until her only thoughts were of him and how much she wished he loved her. Her hope that he’d do so fiercely enough to never let her go.
Instead, he was scowling down at her, his expression hard and unreadable. The strong hands still gripping her arms felt angry, not loving. Fury and not passion fueled his firm hold on her.
“I can see, lass, that you are in sore need of a soak,” he said, releasing her at last.
Going to the fire, he picked up a length of rough woolen cloth and folded it several times, using its thickness to protect his hands as he unhooked the brimming kettle from its chain. Carefully, he then tipped the steaming water into the linen-lined bathing tub.
“I will fetch a few pails of cool rainwater to temper the heat, and for you to rinse with,” he said, already making for the door opening in the wall. “See that you are unclothed and wrapped in a toweling cloth before I return. I will stay on the roof long enough for you to prepare yourself.
“I ken, too, that you have a pot of lavender soap somewhere,” he added, pausing at the stairwell. “I have smelled the scent on you and appreciated its pleasantness.”
“My soap is in my chests.” It was all she could manage to say, her gaze flashing to the two crates from Sway—both of them on the far side of the room.
“I will need a few moments to retrieve my soap, and to undress.” She was already heading across the chamber, half certain that, shaken as she was, she wouldn’t manage to find the little earthen pot of soap. “I will call you when I am ready.”
“Do that, my lady.” His voice was deep, his tone as unemotional as if he’d ordered his squire to help him remove his armor.
Yet Roag the Bear wasn’t a man who relied on servants. Hadn’t he prepared her bath himself? And didn’t he treat every man in his party as an equal?
He did, and those were all things that she admired about him. They were reasons she’d found herself softening toward him. Why, she suspected, she’d come to feel so strongly about him.
She wasn’t just wildly attracted to him, she respected him. And she couldn’t bear the thought that he could kiss her, that he could want to hold and ravish her, and yet rather than keeping her at his side, he wished to deliver her elsewhere.
It was a truth that broke her heart.
Half tempted to say so, for she was still bold deep inside, she stopped rummaging in her chests for her soap and glanced over her shoulder, ready to challenge him.
But he was already gone.
The door opening to the roof stair was empty, nothing peering back at her but darkness.
In that moment, her fingers closed over the soap jar, so she pulled it from the crate and stood. She knew he would stay out of sight until she was undressed and then properly covered again, draped in a towel.
For a beat, she considered calling for him when she was yet naked.
But if she did so and he rejected her, the shame would gut her.
No, that wasn’t true.
She was already gutted. And it wasn’t humiliation or embarrassment that hurt her.
It was the love in her heart.
Chapter Twenty-Six
If ever he was a bastard, he was the greatest one now.
Roag stood in the window embrasure on the far side of the laird’s chamber from the hearth and Lady Gillian in her bath. Trying not to think about where she was and what she was doing, he braced his arms against the cold damp stone of the window arch, his heart and mind in turmoil.
Behind him, he could hear the warm, scented water lapping against the rim of her bathing tub. Soft splashing also reached his ear, the sound torturing him, setting him like granite. No red-blooded man should remain in a bedchamber when a lady bathed. Yet, much as he knew he should, he couldn’t bring himself to leave.
He had sworn to keep his back to her.
So far he’d done so.
But staring out the window brought torment of another kind. This high up in the tower, no noise from the hall could be heard. Beyond the tall, ancient window with its crooked, weather-warped shutters, a great silence had descended, deeper than any he’d ever known. To his astonishment, he found that the immensity of the stillness filled him with a surge of freedom and wonder.
At Stirling Castle, there was no escape into quiet.
Never, not even in the smallest hours.
Loud and raucous, or muted, the din of many people and the running of the stronghold was a ceaseless accompaniment to daily life.
Nothingness such as this was new and unknown. He embraced it gladly, the night’s peace sliding round him like a sweet, soothing balm.
And as he looked out at the open sea, dark now save the silvered path of the moon, he’d swear he hadn’t just sailed to a wee Hebridean isle, but had entered a different world. At last he understood Gillian’s fierce attachment to her home. Why she could claim that more shimmered beneath the rush of wind or the wash of waves on the rocky shores. From somewhere in the night came the cries of seals, a poignant, almost human wailing that she’d surely ascribe to merfolk, a belief he’d no longer call nonsense.
He finally understood her affection for the isle and its sad, age-worn tower.
Indeed, he was beginning to feel the same.
Perhaps he already did.
Here, atop a soaring black cliff and with the whole of the night-sheened sea beneath him, it was easy to accept that there was more in the running tide than one could see with mere eyes. That perhaps a tower’s stones truly did absorb all they’d seen of past lives, the comings and goings of men.
Who was to say that with the passage of countless centuries, stones didn’t begin to think for themselves?
Roag drew a deep breath of the chill and briny air, no longer scoffing at the possibility. Gillian believed that the tower held memories and might welcome a caring hand.
And if that were so…
He’d like that hand to be his.
Gillian’s touch would be even better.
Yet he’d already offered her all he could. His life wasn’t his own for him to be able to give her more. She was a lady, a chieftain’s daughter, who deserved all the courtesies of her station. He was a fighting man and adventurer with no wealth or property to speak of.
Court bastards had little to give ladies.
But he could make certain that he left her content and at peace when they parted.
Determined to do so, he turned from the window to cross the room to the bathing tub, taking care to keep his gaze on her face.
Unfortunately, he failed.
“My apologies, lass, but we must speak.” His gaze drifted lower, gliding slowly over her and setting her cheeks to flame.
“Speak or stare at me?” Clearly flustered, she grabbed a washcloth and clutched it to her breasts.
“A bit of both it would seem. I’ll no’ lie.”
“You promised to stay across the room,” she accused, her brows snapping together.
“So I did,” he agreed, glad that the washing tub was deep enough, its water dark.
Try as he might—and he was looking—he could see no more of her nakedness than her bare and glistening shoulders.
Lifting his gaze at last, he gave her a lopsided smile. “I have warned you that I am an earthy, rou
gh-mannered lout, for all that Stirling is my home.”
“Is that why you interrupted my bath?” She looked at him, her green eyes sparkling in the firelight. “To remind me who you are?”
“What I am, lady.”
“I already know—I have done since you first arrived.” She angled her head, the motion giving him an all too tempting view of the soft, creamy skin of her throat, the sweet curve of one shoulder.
His damnable cock twitched then and he scowled, wishing he’d stayed in the embrasure.
But it was too late. All restraint and good sense had long fled. He wanted her, and he did so badly.
Yet there were things he needed to know.
Thereafter…
He swatted at the folds of his plaid, hoped they’d shield his baser thoughts from her.
Apparently that was so, because she was still peering up at him, her face chilly with annoyance. “Well?”
“I would hear why you dinnae want to return to Sway,” he said, his tone more brusque than he’d have wished. “Only if you speak plainly can I help you.”
“I do not require aid unless you’re prepared to take me to Glasgow. If you’re still unwilling, you would serve me better now by returning to thon window.” She glanced across the room to the embrasure he’d vacated. “I am finished bathing and the water is turning cold.”
Roag folded his arms, not budging. “Answer me and I shall go.”
“It is none of your concern.” She glared at him.
“I am making it so.”
“You have no right.”
Roag arched a brow. “I am laird of the isle, for the now, anyway. You are the handfasted bride of Laddie’s Isle’s keeper. I am that man, whether it pleases you or nae.”
“We are not bound in truth.” She let go of the washing cloth and snatched a length of drying linen from the stool beside the bathing tub, throwing it swiftly around her as she surged to her feet. “Why I do not wish to return to Sway has nothing to do with you,” she added, climbing from the tub.
“Even so, I am making it my business.” Roag stepped around before her, blocking her path, when she sought to scoot past him. “Speak true, sweet, and I will be gone.”
“I know fine you are leaving.” Her chin came up, her eyes suddenly blazing. “You have made no secret about your wish to depart, or to be rid of me.”
“You dinnae want to know what I wish.” I want only to rip thon toweling from you and scoop you into my arms, kissing and then ravishing you properly.
“What I want, sirrah, is—”
“You want to stay here—in these isles.” Roag gripped her arms, looked down at her, locking his gaze on hers. “I mean to see that desire granted.”
It is all I can give you.
She pressed her lips together, her eyes snapping like emerald fire. But then she released her breath in a rush and broke free of his grasp to begin pacing, the linen wrapping clutched tightly about her. Clearly furious, she sailed to the window embrasure where he’d stood and then whirled to face him.
“As you will not give me any peace until I tell you, it is my stepmother, Lady Lorna, who keeps me from returning home,” she declared, high color staining her cheeks. “It is not just that I fear for Skog.” She glanced to where the old dog slept curled on his plaid pallet before the brazier. “She is no lover of animals and can be careless in her treatment of them.”
Anger swelled in Roag’s chest. “She would hurt a bony old dog?”
He couldn’t believe it, though he should know that all manner of folk walked the earth.
In his Fenris dealings, he’d seen the worst of men, and women.
“I have already told you some of this,” she said, coming a few steps back toward him, her lavender scent swirling out before her, enticing and irritating him. “I do not think she would willfully hurt Skog or any pet. But she forgets to think of them. When a dog is old and frail, he depends on the people around him to make sure his world is safe, free of obstacles and possible dangers.
“My stepmother has other interests.” She lifted a hand, pushed her skein of damp and gleaming hair over her shoulder. “She is careless, that is all.”
“I am sorry. I didnae ken—”
“She is also unkind to my father,” she added, “though I have no proof of my suspicions.”
“She is unfaithful?” Roag guessed.
She nodded. “I have seen the way she looks at my father when she thinks no one is watching. Her eyes hold disdain, not love. Yet she stays abed with him for hours on end, sometimes even days, and I know that they…” She broke off, her cheeks brightening. “I know that they are coupling properly because I have heard the sounds when passing their door,” she finished in a rush. “Her gasps and cries are lusty, easily heard in the passage and even down in the hall. My brothers would say you the same.”
“I see.” Roag scratched his neck, thinking.
More than one daughter had been known to resent a stepmother, especially if the father was well-loved. Whoever Lady Lorna was, whatever sort of woman she might be, she would not be the first wife of such tender years to feign passion for a much older husband. There were many such unions at court. And he wasn’t the only man who’d taken advantage.
Unhappy, poorly satisfied wives made excellent lovers.
Such women were willing and eager to air their skirts. And they made uninhibited and lascivious bedmates.
They also posed no threats to a man’s freedom, asking only discretion.
“There are worse things than a young wife pretending to desire an older husband.” Roag spoke as he saw it, not surprised when she scowled.
“It is more than that.” She grabbed her night-robe off the bed and swirled it around her shoulders, letting the damp drying linen fall to the floor. “You have not seen—”
“I ken what you mean, lass. You believe she seeks pleasure elsewhere.”
“She has a lover who visits her when my father and brothers are away at sea.” She began pacing again, another pleasing waft of lavender trailing after her. “I am sure of it, for I have seen her setting a signal lamp in her window. I caught her at it and she denied it, but not before I saw the galley that was beating toward Sway. It flashed round and sped away the moment she doused the lamp.”
“Did you no’ tell your father?” Roag was sure she hadn’t.
“I couldn’t,” she confirmed. “How could I? He is besotted with her. It would break his heart if he knew.”
“If what you say is true, he would be better off without her.” He closed the distance between them, took her hand in both of his. “You should no’ let such a woman keep you from your home.”
“She doesn’t.” She met his gaze, her voice firm. “It is for my father that I wish to stay away. It was becoming difficult to stay silent, to keep my suspicions to myself. My father is charmed, now. But he is also not a fool. The day will come when he sees through her. It is best that he does so himself. You do not know him. He is a proud man and will stand taller for handling the matter on his own. That he shall, I’ve no doubt. When that day comes, I will go home.”
She slipped her hand from his grasp, stepping away as if his nearness upset her as much as her stepmother. “Until then, I’d hoped to stay in Glasgow. It is a good distance from Sway and—”
“So is this isle.” Roag tamped down the disappointment that she didn’t wish to be here, a prospect that suddenly struck him as something he wanted above all else.
Until recently, he’d been sure he only lusted after her.
Then…
He drew a great breath, pulled a hand down over his face—almost as if he could wipe away any trace of his feelings that might show there. His ridiculous belief that Laddie’s Isle and its terrible tower needed her. That, as much he’d damned her intrusion, he now couldn’t imagine her not being here. Her smiles and laughter in the hall of an e’en, their shared hours up on the bluff each day, the quiet trek back down in the soft light of gloaming.
The won
der she saw in the turn of the tides, the crashing of waves, or the roar of the wind. Her steadfast trust in the fey and the ways of the ancients, how she smiled each time he touched his Thor’s hammer amulet.
Her ever-amusing-to-him love of cold and rain.
How many times a day he just wanted to grab and kiss her.
He was sure all that stood on his face and for just as many reasons, he didn’t want her to see.
“You still do not understand, do you?” She came close again, going toe to toe with him. “I have nothing at all against staying here. Truth is, I have come to love this isle.
“The problem is you, not Laddie’s Isle.” She looked up at him, the firelight glinting on her hair, her lavender scent rising up between them, bewitching him yet again. “I would stay here, and gladly. For all time, even. But I have no wish to remain where I am not wanted.”
“Och, I want you fine, lassie.” It was her scent that pushed him over the edge, making him blurt the truth he’d fought so hard to hide. The blaze in her eyes, a flame he burned to see switched over into the fire of passion. “If you’d know the way of it, I have ne’er wanted a woman more.”
He started to touch her cheek, but instead he cupped the back of her neck, thrusting his fingers into her hair. “If I were a fine and courtly noble, I’d no’ be so plainspoken,” he admitted, aware of the roughness of his voice and making no attempt to hide it. “But I am my own lowborn self and I’ll no’ lie to you.
“I want you badly, lass.” He whipped his arm around her, pulling her hard against him. “So much that I’m ready to cast aside everything that’s aye mattered to me.
“Everything, that is”—he lowered his head, kissing her hungrily—“except you.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Oh, dear…” Gillian’s heart thundered and she clutched his shoulders as she leaned into him. The desperation of his kiss stunned her, making her pulse race and blurring everything around them. Even the room seemed to tilt and spin so that she was aware of nothing except him crushing her to him, his warmth and strength, the wildness of his kiss as he plundered her lips.
To Desire a Highlander Page 25
