Beloved Stranger

by Patricia Potter

  “I would have seen you. Or others here would have.”

  She released his hand and touched his face, trying to smooth out all the new crevices, and ease some of the anguish and confusion she felt in him.

  “Kimbra.” His voice was a caress. His breath was feather light on her forehead, the slight whisper of a kiss. Warmth spread through her, like a hot summer’s sun pooling golden rays on a lake.

  He stroked the side of her neck in gentle movements. Her pulse quickened, and she trembled. She moved instinctively closer to him, the warmth turning molten.

  The searing heat of their bodies radiated between them, melding them into one. His lips hungrily traced the lines of her cheek, then her neck, hesitating there. She lifted her face to his, wanting more of the feelings and sensations and emotions that shimmered between them.

  Tremors shook her body. Careful not to hurt his bandaged shoulder, her arms went around him. Her heart thundered, and she heard his as well.

  His lips left her mouth, moved to her ear, where he nibbled, his breath sending shivers of pleasure through her. His feathering kisses moved to her neck, to the pulse at her throat, and she lifted her head up, her eyes misting as she felt the tenderness in each caress. Yet his body shuddered with restraint, even as its rigidity radiated his need.

  She was consumed with wanting and feeling, and anticipation made her writhe inside. She heard something like a purr coming from her throat, and his lips parted in a smile so wistful it hurt her.

  He went to the door, pulled the bolt close. Then he took a few steps to the bed and sat, bringing her down with him.

  She wanted him with a need that erased every warning in her head. He had been wounded only hours earlier, and his shoulder must be agonizingly painful, yet he seemed more concerned with her than with himself. But then it had always been thus, from the first day she had brought him to the cottage.

  Someone might come. The lock would prevent anyone from entering, but a locked door said much on its own.

  If Cedric . . . or even the Charlton . . . ?

  But surely there was no harm with lying next to him. Reveling in the fact he was alive!

  He untied the laces of her dress, and suddenly she wore only her chemise. He pulled that off, wincing as he lifted his arm. The expression faded as his hands slipped up her body ever so slowly, exploring her back, her waist, and then her breasts.

  He leaned down then, and his lips touched her nipple with exquisite lightness. Nothing could have been more seductive. His eyes blazed with the flames she felt, and the barely restrained passion was irresistible in its promise. She reached out and touched the corner of his mouth, then her fingers traced the strong, fine lines of his cheeks.

  “It is not wise,” he said softly, obviously wanting to be persuaded that it was.

  She hesitated, but she was lost in those eyes of his, in the steady hold of them. “Nay,” she agreed. “But I weary of being wise.”

  He smiled at that, then winced as he moved slightly.

  “You are in pain,” she said.

  “’Tis not the pain from the wound that haunts me.”

  “What does haunt you?”

  He was silent for a moment. “Too many things, love.”

  “The images?”

  “Aye, and how much . . . I want you.”

  “Is there ever a woman in those images?”

  “Aye,” he said reluctantly.

  Unwanted jealousy ripped through her. “What does she look like?”

  “She is not as bonny as you,” he said. “She does not have that upturned nose and determined chin and wild dark hair.”

  “Do you love her?”

  “I felt something. Love? I do not know.”

  “Then you must find her. You must leave this place and return to where you belong.” It hurt her to say the words, but her conscience demanded it.

  “I belong with you.” He looked as surprised at his words as she felt hearing them.

  “Nay, you belong somewhere else.”

  He caught her finger that was still wandering about his cheek. “I feel as if I have always known you, that we were meant to be.”

  “I am English. You are a Scot. I am a reiver’s wife. You are obviously of high rank. We were not meant to be,” she said.

  “You do not know what I am.”

  “I can well guess! And I know that nobles have little care for those not of their rank. When you get your memories back, you will have little use for the widow of an English reiver.”

  “You do not think much of me, then.”

  “I know what nobles do.”

  “What do nobles do?”

  “My mother. One promised everlasting love until she was with child. Then . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “Then?” he probed.

  “He tried to kill her. He did kill her father. He wanted no bastards to embarrass a new fiancée. She escaped but she lived in fear every moment of her life.”

  He stared at her. “My God. You believe I would do something like that?”

  She dropped her gaze. “Nay, but you might well be wed. Do you think a wife would welcome me?”

  “I would never betray you.”

  “Would you betray your wife?”

  A muscle throbbed in his throat. She knew he had considered the possibility. But rather than answer, his lips touched hers and offered unsaid promises. He was asking her to trust him.

  She did not know whether she could, but for the moment she was being drawn back into a world of sensations. When he touched her, she did not care whether it was wise or not. And yet she tried. “I must go,” she said in a voice that sounded hollow even to her.

  “Aye, before I do something you might regret, love.” His slight smile was infinitely wistful.

  She touched his face again. She wanted to erase the look of haunting loneliness she so often sensed in him. She did not know whether it was from not knowing who he was, or something far deeper from the life he had before.

  Mayhap someday she would regret it. But at the moment she did not care.

  “There could be a bairn,” he said softly.

  She stilled. She would love his child, even if he left her. One with auburn hair and serious blue eyes.

  She stretched out in invitation. Her lips touched his, and he pressed down hard on her mouth. As he kissed her, his good arm undid the cap she wore, and her hair came tumbling down around her face.

  “So bonny,” he whispered.

  He ran his fingers along her skin, seducing, caressing, stroking, yet she had an odd feeling that it was instinctive, not practiced.

  Nonsense, she told herself even as heat from his body scorched her. His mouth fastened on hers, and their tongues met, explored each other until she thought she would cry out with the pleasure of it.

  The last remnant of caution faded as he positioned himself above her. Still, he hesitated. “Kimbra?”

  His voice was seductively low and husky. Will had never asked her permission. And never had her body so ached to join to another’s.

  “Aye,” she said, her heart drumming. She felt his beginning probe, ever so slow and infinitely careful. Too slow and careful. Her arms went around him, and he entered deeper, then hesitated until she was mad with wanting. A deep, intense craving gnawed at the deepest core of her, and she moved shamelessly against him, savoring the contrast of her body against his hard one.

  The very tentativeness of his movements when she could see the need etched on his face and feel it in his taut muscles made her throb with caring for him. Something was holding him back—his past, his present—and she did not want him to hold back. She arched upward, inviting him deeper inside.

  The hesitation turned to urgency as he ventured deeper. Heat flooded her as his rhythm increased. Pleasure rolled through her like rumbles of thunder, each wave more powerful than the one before as the momentum mounted and she was swirled into a world of flashing lightning and bursts of splendor.

  She cried out, and he t
hrust once more, igniting one final explosion that left her body sated. They both fell back on the bed. Her body glowed as it continued to quake with the aftershocks of their coupling. The turbulence faded, but a quiet fulfillment lingered.

  She lay there, listening to his heart, to her own ragged breath intermingled with his.

  She had loved Will, but she’d never felt like this before. He’d been a hasty lover, often leaving her unsatisfied. She’d never known it could be different, that it could be a beautiful, exquisite journey with each giving as much as taking.

  She lay her head against his heart. She did not want to leave, but she knew she must. She had already lingered far too long. Neither of them could afford gossip. And one of the maids was looking after Audra.

  “I must go,” she whispered reluctantly.

  “Aye,” he said simply.

  She forced herself to stand and put on her gown. She searched the floor for the pin that held her cap in place, found it, then scooped up her hair and twisted it in a knot before pinning the cap in place.

  She turned to him. “Do I look respectable?”

  His reply was that slow smile. “Eminently,” he said.

  She did not know what that meant. But his eyes approved, and she could do no better without a mirror.

  “I will see how you are doing later,” she said, “though I am beginning to believe you are indestructible.”

  “I do not think my body agrees,” he said. He rose and went to the door. He opened it, looked outside, then nodded to her.

  As she went by, he leaned down and gave her a whisper light kiss on her cheek. “I will no’ let you go,” he whispered, lapsing into a thick Scottish brogue.

  She felt that kiss all the way to her chamber, and the words echoed in her mind.

  If only it could be . . .

  But it could not. She resolved that she would stay away from him in the future, because she lost all reason when he was near.

  She could do that. She could!

  THE tower hummed with activity over the next several days. There would be retaliation against the Armstrongs. But first the traitor must be found.

  Lachlan found himself a hero in some eyes, a possible villain in others. He didn’t think he was the first, and wasn’t sure about the second. He was becoming more and more mired in deception.

  He took his meals in the hall with the others. He occasionally glimpsed Kimbra, but she was either tending the wounded or with Audra, and he realized she was avoiding him. Even when Audra ran up to him, Kimbra hung back, her gaze going anywhere but to him.

  He could not blame her. Neither could he go to her room. She’d had an excuse to come to his, but now there were many eyes on him, and he feared hurting her in any way.

  His arm was healing well, and his leg was far better. He spent much of the day working with the sword and exercising sore muscles. He was constantly on guard against slipping into a Highland burr. He was only too aware he had done so the night he had made love to Kimbra.

  Was she regretting it? Did she think that he would discard her as easily as she’d indicated? How he wanted to touch her again, to soothe away doubts. To feel her in his arms again.

  The Charlton visited several times, each time pressing him about his military experience on the continent, on battles he had fought. Oddly enough, he could describe cities. Paris. Rome. He could even describe battles, though he did not even know if he’d participated in them. The knowledge was just in his head somewhere. He did not understand how he could remember some things, but things that should have been important, nay, essential, eluded him.

  The third day after the raid, the Charlton appeared in his room, the chessboard under his arm again. As they started the game, the Charlton peered at him. “What did ye see the night of the raid? Before ye joined me?”

  “Just the raiders,” he said. “I did not know they were Armstrongs then.”

  “Did any of our men act strangely?”

  He thought about saying something about Cedric, but Cedric would only deny it and try to send suspicion his way. He could not afford more scrutiny.

  “Nay, I was too busy defending myself.”

  “Cedric showed up last night. He said he was attacked as he tried to follow them and lost his hobbler.” The Charlton’s eyes met his. “He said ye had an opportunity to strike down an Armstrong and ye did not.”

  “Did he say what he was doing at that particular time?”

  “Nay.” The Charlton waited.

  “I do not know what he was doing, either. I am surprised he had the time to see anything but his own opponent.”

  “Then ye did not spare anyone?”

  “Nay. I turned away when I heard your name called.”

  The Charlton’s face relaxed. “For which I am grateful. But Cedric is spreading gossip. He is saying that ye failed to strike because the Armstrongs were allies.”

  “Then I am sorry the Armstrongs did not feel the same way,” he replied, glancing down at his arm, which was still bandaged.

  “I had to have your answers. Cedric is trying to incite others against ye.”

  “I am a stranger, and Cedric is one of you,” Robert Howard finished.

  “Aye, but Cedric did not save my life.”

  “I had no opportunity to contact anyone,” Robert Howard added. “Whereas I imagine Cedric did. Hasn’t he been gone much?”

  “On my orders.”

  Robert Howard shrugged. He had said enough. He would let the Charlton reach his own conclusions.

  “Check,” he said, moving his queen to take the Charlton’s bishop.

  The Charlton’s brows furrowed together as he moved a knight to block her.

  In three more moves it was over. “Checkmate,” Robert Howard said.

  The Charlton frowned. “At least it took you two more moves this time.” He reset the pieces. “Another game?”

  Robert Howard nodded, wondering whether the Charlton really wanted to play or whether it was simply a device to learn more about him. One could learn much about a man by playing chess with him. Was he cautious or reckless? Did he cheat or no? He was learning something about himself as well.

  The Charlton played better this time, and the match was more equal. Robert Howard thought about purposely losing, then discarded the idea. The Charlton was a shrewd man and would realize it. The Charlton obviously did not like losing, but he had said he wouldn’t like winning without earning it.

  Robert Howard was two moves from winning when the Charlton looked up. “Have ye thought more about staying after your wounds heal?”

  He had. And far too often. But as much as the Charlton was grateful, Robert Howard doubted he would tolerate the idea of an enemy in his midst. It would be far too likely then that he would be accused of being the traitor. And what would happen to Kimbra and Audra then?

  “’Tis a fine offer,” he said, “but I have roaming in my blood.”

  “What about Kimbra? I see the two of ye looking at each other.”

  He was stunned. He thought they had been so cautious.

  “I do not know,” he said. And he did not. He could take her and her daughter with him. To what? To where? With little or nothing? No name. No family.

  Or he could search for his family and return for her. That had risks as well. ’Twas obvious she was a prize. One that might well be bartered by the man he now played chess with. It also frightened him that she lived alone. He was aware now, as he hadn’t been before, of the dangers of the border.

  “Ye can have her if ye stay,” the Charlton said unexpectedly. “Ye can have her cottage.” Although he had mentioned previously that he wanted Kimbra happy, he had never before made such a firm and generous offer.

  “Would she have naught to say about it?”

  “Aye, but I think she would accept.”

  “Others are courting her. They would not be pleased.”

  “It does not matter what others think,” the Charlton said.

  He was tempted. More than tempt
ed. He wanted to accept. He knew Kimbra did not really believe what he’d said. He wanted to see the look on her face when he told her he would stay, that he wanted her. Not just for a night. But forever.

  But what if he had another family?

  “Think on it, lad.”

  The Charlton rose painfully.

  “I do not understand why you would trust a stranger,” Robert Howard said.

  “Mayhap an old man’s fancy,” the Charlton said. “I need someone strong to take care of the Charltons when I die. There is no one now. I thought at one time Cedric, but he is a sly man, and I have come not to trust him. His brother is too much like him. There is no one else.”

  “I will think about it,” Robert Howard said.

  “Spend time with Kimbra and Audra,” he suggested. Then he limped out of the room.

  Robert Howard watched him go, wishing he was the man the Charlton believed him to be. He had the devil’s own decision to make, and he feared he would bring disaster whatever he did.

  Chapter 18

  RORY could not dismiss the thought that he might have recognized the man behind the iron helmet several days earlier.

  The image nagged at him as he and Jamie continued to search for word of Macleans and Campbells along the border. They found nothing at the last church they’d visited.

  They went into a tavern. “I do not understand it,” Jamie said. “Lachlan has just disappeared. And that lad . . . no one seems to have seen him.”

  “At least no one has recorded his death,” Rory said. “I just wish we could find that lad. He must know something.”

  “The Armstrongs have searched everywhere except the Charlton lands. Not particularly wise to go there now. Too many of the Armstrongs are known personally to the Charltons.”

  Rory said nothing.

  Jamie took a sip of ale. “There is your mysterious Charlton. Mayhap we should visit the Charlton land and satisfy that itch you have.”

  One of the accompanying Armstrongs stared at him with dismay. “They will no’ be welcoming Armstrongs. Or any Scot.”

  “I think I understand that,” Rory said dryly. “But surely there must be one Armstrong unknown to most Charltons. I will pay that man very well.”