He scoffed at her. "Why is it so important to you that I admit that I'm concerned?"
"It's not. I just like to nettle you with it because the idea of it seems so distasteful to you. Perhaps I should be offended?"
To her surprise, he reached out with his large hand and brushed a strand of stray blond hair from her face. The gentle touch was so out of character for him that it raised chills on her body and made her heart ache in tenderness.
He was a decent man when he wanted to be.
"I was worried," he admitted finally.
She fought the urge to close her eyes and savor his light touch. How could a man so large be so gentle?
"It was nice of you to come after me."
He grunted and lowered his hand away from her cheek. "What kept you?"
"I was picking flowers." She showed him her collection.
He curled his lip. "And you think that handful of weeds was worth risking your life and well-being?"
She pouted as she ran her hand over the wild flowers that released their sweet scent into the air. She inhaled them and let the smell remind her of her childhood days when she and her mother had spent hours alone gathering them and tending her mother's garden.
She cradled them to her breast. "My mother has oft told me that men have sacrificed their lives and kingdoms for a woman's smile, so why not risk the ire of a bear for a bouquet?"
"Most men are fools."
She paused at his words and the pain she heard his voice. Remembering what Sorcha had said about his betrayal, she felt sorry for the man who had forsworn beauty in his life. "You don't think beauty is worth sacrificing for?"
"Nay. I do not." His sincere blue eyes scorched her.
He meant that.
"But surely you didn't always feel that way?"
"I learn from my mistakes."
Her stomach tightened at what he said. She couldn't imagine such a life.
"And you've been without beauty ever since," she said wistfully. "I'm sorry for that, Ewan. Everyone needs some beauty in his life."
Ewan wondered for a moment if she were mocking him, but one look into her guileless amber eyes and he knew she wasn't.
She could never relate to the kind of pain he lived with. To her, the world was a kind, happy place filled with only goodness and light.
How he wished he could live so ignorantly.
"I can't imagine living a life where nothing gives me pleasure," she said softly. "It would take a strong man to live as you have. To get up every morning and carry on when all you can see is the gloom and misery of the world."
"I'm not strong," Ewan confessed. He wondered why he said that. It wasn't like him to be open with anyone. But there was something about Nora that comforted him. Something about her that made him want to share things with her. "I was a weak-minded fool who believed a lying termagant. There's no strength in what I do now or what I did in the past."
He took her back through the woods, toward the gypsies' camp.
"I disagree," she said as she walked beside him. "A weak man wouldn't still be alive."
"A strong man would be able to look his mother in the face." Ewan couldn't believe those words had left his lips. Never before had he confided that secret to anyone.
Nora paused and took his hand into hers.
Ewan stared at her tiny hand, at the long, graceful fingers that were laced with his own. His hand was almost twice the size of hers. Her skin was pale, soft, while his was tanned and callused.
There was no softness in his life.
No grace or beauty.
In truth, there was nothing in his life at all.
"This is not the hand of a weak man," she said as she gave a light squeeze to his fingers. "You could have left me to my own ends and yet you didn't. Even though my situation caused you pain, you came with me rather than see me hurt. What is weak in that?"
Ewan didn't know what to say. No woman had ever said such a thing to him. No one had ever before defended him.
She made him feel almost heroic.
How did she do it?
Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed it gently and inhaled the soft, fragrant scent of her skin. She smelled of the flowers she held in her other hand, of the earth and of the woman. It was a heady combination. One that cut through him and made his entire body burn.
In that moment, she was beautiful to him. Not just in her looks, but in her being.
She was the beauty he wished he had. The beauty he would love to spend the rest of his life staring at and holding close to his heart.
But she could never be his.
She belonged to someone else.
"Thank you," he whispered, lowering her hand.
"For what?"
"Making me feel better."
She smiled at him, and he felt an invisible fist slam into his gut.
How he wished he could keep her with him like this forever. But it wasn't meant to be. She was promised to someone else, and like as not she had a father who was probably beside himself with panic at her disappearance.
If he were a decent man, Ewan would head off to Lochlan's castle with her now and let his brother find her father so that she could go home and relieve the man's worry.
Instead, he was going to spend the next few days with their untoward hosts. Not just because he wanted to find out why he'd been taken, but because he wanted to spend more time with this woman.
It didn't make sense.
Nora was everything he should hate. She was bold and stubborn. Vexing.
But most of all, she was enticing, and it had been so long since anyone had enticed him. An eternity since he'd felt the molten heat of passion or desire.
He wanted her.
With every ounce of masculinity he possessed, he wanted to take her in his arms and claim her body with his. To peel the clothes from her and explore every inch of her bare skin with his mouth.
To fan her hair out across his pillows and watch her face contort with pleasure as she came beneath him.
Yet it would never be.
She was a virtuous maid.
And he would move heaven and earth to keep her that way.
Nora held her tongue as Ewan led her back to camp. He must have washed his face right before he came to seek her. His black curly hair was slicked back from his face and sleek. His shoulders were broad, and yet he didn't appear as fearsome to her now as he had before.
She was growing accustomed to his brooding features and scowls. He was a strange combination of gentleman and beast. An intoxicating blending of dangerous predator and protector.
His touch was so gentle that it amazed her. He showed a kindness with her that she would never have thought him capable of.
And in the back of her mind, she wondered what he would be like as a husband.
Would he listen, or would he be like the others of his kind and shut her out merely because she had been born the wrong gender?
Nora, what are you thinking?
The man is wholly unsuitable.
Truly he was. Big, hulking.
With kind blue eyes that glittered with tormented pain.
She shook her head to clear it of the thought as she rejoined the gypsies.
Viktor and Bavel were sitting in front of the fire, smoking from pipes and drinking ale as they chatted together. Lysander was off to the side of them, lying down with his arms crossed over his chest, and appeared to be dozing, while Catarina was making dinner. Pagan sat beside the fire, whittling a small piece of wood with a curved dagger.
It was a strangely cozy scene.
Catarina waved her over while Ewan left her to join the men around the fire.
"So he found you," she said as Nora drew near.
"Aye."
"He was worried about you."
"That's what he said."
"Nay, my lady," she said, her eyes burning her with a deep sincerity. "I don't think you really understand what I mean. He was extremely concerned for your welfare. Have you not
noticed the way he looks at you?"
Nay, she hadn't really paid much attention. "What way is that?"
"Like a beggar before a banquet. He has hungry eyes where you are concerned."
Nora scoffed at the idea. Ewan barely noticed her, and when he did, he seemed always to be peeved by her very presence. "You are mistaken."
"He watches every move you make."
Nora glanced around to where Ewan sat with Viktor and Bavel. True to Catarina's words, his intense gaze was on her, but as soon as he realized she was looking, he averted his eyes.
"See," Catarina said.
"You make too much of it."
"Perhaps. But what do you make of it?"
"I make nothing of it."
"Nothing?" she asked incredulously. "Then you've no wish to claim him as your own?"
Nora was slightly aghast at the thought, though to be honest, she wasn't as aghast as she would have been the day she met him.
"Nay, never," she said quickly. "I'm bound to my aunt's in England. Ewan is… Well, I'm sure he'd like to return home and forget the day he ever awoke to find me in his cave."
Catarina cast a speculative look to him. "He would make a fine husband to some lucky woman. He's a handsome one, to be sure."
"Aye, he is."
"Strong. Quite charming, I think."
Nora frowned at her gushing praise. Just what did she mean by that?
"Not too charming," Nora said as she helped stir their stew. "Rather moody and quiet, to be truthful. He can be rather rude when the mood strikes."
"They say still waters run deep…"
Nora paused as she watched Catarina's face while the woman looked to where Ewan sat with the others. The woman's beautiful features were dreamy and glowing.
Speculative, one might even say.
Nora didn't care for the look of her at all. "What are you thinking?"
"Just that if you're not interested in him, perhaps I should give it a try. I haven't found any man to equal one like him. He is one of a kind, and I happen to be fascinated by his earthy ways and rugged bearing."
Nora's heart sank at the thought of Catarina and Ewan embracing. Of the thought of Catarina doing anything with Ewan.
"The thought bothers you, doesn't it?" Catarina asked as she looked back and caught her gaping stare.
Nora closed her mouth and started to lie, but couldn't quite manage one. It bothered her much more than it should, and it made her want to do nasty things to Catarina for even hinting she was interested in Ewan.
Catarina smiled. "Tell me, Nora, have you ever heard of the works of Rowena de Vitry?"
Nora was thrilled to find another person who knew and loved bardic tales. "Aye! The Lady of Love is one of my favorite troubadours."
"Then you are familiar with the 'Romance de Silence'?"
"Nay, is it new?"
"Fairly." Catarina added the vegetables she had been cutting, then took the ladle from Nora and stirred them into the pot.
Catarina tapped the ladle twice against the pot, then set it aside. "It's the story of a woman in love with a man she sees every year at a fair. She watches him as he grows to love another, and as the years pass, she sees him with his wife, his children and such until he is an old man. On his deathbed, she goes to him and tells him of her love. That she has been dreaming of him since he was ten and eight and she just a bright-eyed maiden. That because of him she never married and never knew any happiness except in her dreams, where she could pretend he was hers."
Nora's throat tightened in sympathetic pain. It was a tribute to Rowena's wonderful imagination that she had written such a tragic tale. "How sad."
Catarina wiped her hands on her skirt. "Aye, but the saddest part of all is that right before he dies, he confesses to her that he always loved her as well. That he would go to the fair every year just so that he could watch her from afar, but since she refused to even meet his gaze, he assumed she felt nothing for him. So the two of them spent the whole of their lives aching for what they could have had, had they just talked to one another."
"How tragic."
"Aye, and you're not following where I'm going at all, are you?"
"What do you mean?"
Catarina nodded at Ewan. "Don't you think it odd that you feel jealous when I speak of wooing him?"
Nora stiffened at what she was implying.
"Nay," she lied.
Catarina laughed. "You like him, admit it."
"I do not," she said primly, picking up the ladle and returning to stir the stew. She didn't dare admit her feelings aloud to anyone. She could barely acknowledge them to herself. "He is entirely not the type of man who interests me."
Catarina looked aghast. "My lady, you set your sights too high. What more could you ask for in a man?"
"Refinement. A man who is decorous and mannerly. One who is—"
"Boring."
Nora gave her a peeved look. "How so?"
"Have you ever been around such men? They're mewling. Fussing over their hair, their clothes. They're more woman than man."
Catarina indicated Ewan with her head. "Give me a man who isn't afraid to get a little dirt on his hands any day. Think you your gentleman would have gone after you because you tarried in the forest? He would have feared for his own life and given no thought to yours.
"Do you think such a fanciful, prim man would have laughed off what we did to him? Or would he have demanded our lives for daring to muss his hair and clothes? Ewan has been a very good sport, all things considered. Any other man would have Viktor's head for what we've done. Instead Lord Ewan travels with us as a friend and equal."
"He is a bit odd, which confirms what I'm saying."
Catarina shook her head. "Sometimes, my lady, a person needs to look at someone only with her heart and not with her eyes."
Nora glanced over to where Ewan sat. The other men were joking and laughing. He sat with his face stern, his eyes troubled.
How she wished she could make him laugh. "He's always so sad."
Catarina concurred. "You know, my mother has a saying. A jovial man can be happy with anyone, but when a sad one laughs, he treasures the one who brings him the sunshine."
Nora thought about her words. There was truth to that. No one should live with the guilt Ewan did, especially when he hadn't been at fault.
Kieran had made the choice to end his life. Ewan had done nothing more than make the mistake of believing a lying tongue.
Nora had no real designs on Ewan romantically.
No matter how appealing he was or how well he kissed. At the end of the day, he wasn't what she wanted for a husband. But she wouldn't mind i helping him if she could.
No one deserved to be relegated to a cave without family or friend.
She had a few days with him. Mayhap a little reprieve would help him see that life was better when one participated in it.
* * *
Chapter 6
« ^ »
"What are you doing?" Ewan asked as Nora came up to him with a peculiar impish look on her face. The look was so out of character that it made the hair on the back of his neck rise.
She handed him her lute. "You said you would teach me to play. I would like another lesson."
He took the instrument from her hand while she sat down next to him.
Close to him.
He tried not to notice the happy glint in her eyes. The way tendrils of her blond hair fell around her face as she lowered her brat to watch him.
She possessed a great beauty. Beauty that made him burn for her.
Even now he could taste her innocent kiss, remember the sensation of her warm breath on his face.
The way she had looked when she had told him that he kissed well…
It set fire to his blood. His heart pounded, and he felt oddly dazed, as if her presence alone intoxicated him. Made him light-headed and happy.
No woman had ever made him feel like this.
Not even Isobail.
Iso
bail had only aroused his body. At the time he'd been too young and inexperienced to understand the difference between love and lust.
What he felt for Nora was entirely different. He actually liked the lass. Liked spending time with her, listening to her unique ideas and endless stories.
On some deep inner level, she soothed him.
He took her left hand and moved her fingers into position as he showed her the first three chords to his mother's favorite ballad.
"You're very good at teaching," Bavel said from across the fire.
"Yes, he is," Nora agreed.
Unused to praise, Ewan cleared his throat and showed her another bar. "A teacher is only as good as his student."
She smiled up at him.
Enchanted, Ewan couldn't take his eyes off her face. Her skin was so smooth and perfect. Her eyes were clear and bright. Her lips, red and plump, were made for long, hot kisses. For driving a man wild with desire.
And she was definitely doing that to him now. He felt reckless and somehow free. Wanting her no matter the rational arguments.
Her presence took him past sanity and reason.
It took him straight into the realm of fantasy where anything was possible. Where there was no past to torment him. No future to fear.
There were only the two of them, and nothing else mattered.
He had to get away from her. Quickly, before any more of his will crumbled.
Moving back so that he was no longer near her and the danger she posed, Ewan nodded at her progress. "Just keep practicing those chords and I'll teach you more later."
While she strummed, Bavel went to fetch his own lute.
"You play your three chords, Nora," he said as he returned to his seat.
As she did so, Bavel composed music to go with hers.
Catarina came forward, clapping her hands in time to their song.
Ewan sat back, listening and watching.
Nora's amber eyes danced with happiness, and her cheeks were flushed. No doubt she was enjoying her small part in the harmony. The heightened color looked good in her face, making Ewan wonder what she would look like while fired with passion.
He ground his teeth and looked away, unable to think those thoughts. Unwilling to let his mind ponder the delicacy he knew she would be.
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