"'Tis also where she died." Ciara shook her head. "As long as you occupy that room, you will do so alone."
A shiver licked his spine and the seed of hope began to grow. "It matters not where I sleep, Ciara. What does matter is that you soon come to me as my wife."
"I do not know if I can, MacDonell. That prospect is not within my power to bestow right now."
But she was thinking about it. That knowledge alone sent his spirits soaring through the roof.
"Fair enough."
She lifted her gaze. "You are not angry again?"
He managed to smile. The woman had no idea how deeply infatuated with her he was. Her mere presence kept him aroused to the point of discomfort most of the time. Alastair was eager to fulfill his vows, yet he intended to honor his word.
"I am not angry."
An oppressed sigh escaped her lips. "'Tis glad I am to hear." She walked toward the door, paused, and looked at him from over her shoulder. "Do you plan to stand there all day, or will you help find me some clothes?"
Ciara gave him more pleasure in that moment than she would ever know.
Unbeknownst to her, she had just surrendered a piece of herself to him.
* * *
"Merde!" Ciara swore and tossed aside yet another gown. "Were all the previous owners strumpets?"
Through the dusty silence of the storage room, MacDonell retrieved the discarded gown. "This one belonged to my mother."
Ciara closed her eyes and silently wished the floor would open and swallow her. Yet what was she to think? All the clothes she looked at so far appeared to be cut clear to the navel.
She rubbed her brow and sighed. "MacDonell, I did not mean to insult your mother."
"I know. Here, what is wrong with this one?"
Ciara opened her eyes. Bathed in the glow of a winter sun, MacDonell held a gown of sapphire blue velvet. She had to admit it was a lovely creation, except for one thing.
"Naught is wrong with it if I want to show my bosom to the clan."
He frowned at her and moved across the littered room. "The neckline is modest," he said and pressed the fabric against her body. "And before you tell me it is more suited for a mistress, this was also my mother's."
Ciara sighed and held the gown against her belly. She gazed down at the lush fabric and had to admit it covered more than she first thought.
"Very well, MacDonell, this one will do." She compared the waist of the gown against her own. "I think it will fit."
"Aye, now that you mention it, you are about the same size as my mother." He released his hold on the material and searched through the other gowns discarded on the floor. "Ah, this is the one I had in mind."
MacDonell held before her a beautiful gown of forest-green silk adorned with tiny white stripes.
Ciara remembered tossing it aside, although it did suit her tastes. She folded the blue gown and avoided his gaze. "'Tis fine silk."
"Aye, and it would look wonderful on you."
She shook her head. "That should be worn on special occasions." Ciara held the folded gown before her and stared at the floor. "I would ruin it."
His sigh stirred the stale air. "Ciara, I asked you not to degrade yourself."
The authority of his voice drew her gaze. Why did he care? It made no sense to her.
"You will take this gown and wear it." He held it out to her.
Ciara hesitated. Such finery did not belong on her. The dusk of his eyes swept over her and she knew that he would not yield on this issue. Her fingers took the gown from his grasp.
With a satisfied nod, he turned to survey the room. "In fact, all of these should fit you. I will have them sent to your chamber."
Ciara's heart dipped to her belly. "Och, MacDonell, I could not allow such an extravagance. Two or three are all I need --"
"All of them," he said with a lift of one dark eyebrow. "'Twould be a pity to leave these things up here to collect dust when you could use them."
For the first time in her life, Ciara was speechless. In the past, she felt fortunate to own three serviceable gowns and one presentable enough for unique events. Now MacDonell spread the wealth of a garment kingdom at her feet and ordered her to indulge.
"Words fail me," she whispered. "I have never owned such finery before."
The smile that curled his lips melted into her heart. "It gives me great pleasure to delight you, Ciara."
She had the distinct feeling his words held a double meaning. At this moment, she didn't care. "Then I accept your generosity, Alastair."
The gleam of the devil entered his eyes. "My name sounds sensual when it passes your lips."
Ciara's breath lodged in her throat. Too late, she realized she had called him something other than MacDonell.
"'Twas naught but a slip of the tongue, I assure you."
Clearly, he did not believe her. A wicked grin touched his lips and he moved toward her with the grace of a panther.
"Do not deny me the pleasure of the moment, Ciara."
She backed away from him. "MacDonell, behave yourself." His grin wedged her heart between her ribs.
"I have been a perfect gentleman thus far."
Ciara swallowed hard. "I am not certain about the perfect part, especially now."
If he touched her, Ciara knew there would be no diversion. Worse than that, she wasn't sure she would want to escape.
"Cease eluding me, woman."
His husky whisper just confirmed her thoughts. Ciara shook her head, turned on her heel and ran from the room. At the bottom of the steps that led to her floor, his laughter bounced off the stones.
Ciara paused and struggled to regain her breath. The man enjoyed baiting her. She frowned and hurried down the hall to her room. Once inside, she realized she still held the two gowns.
So MacDonell wished to toy with her, did he? She approached the table and lay the green one over the back of a chair. The blue one would serve her needs. She shook out the gown and held it before her. The cut of the bodice was indecent, yet MacDonell needed to be surpassed at his own game.
A delicious shiver slid down her spine. This time, Ciara would be the victor.
* * *
Alastair stood at the windows of the room he once shared with Valerie and stared out at the black smoke that billowed into the air. It curled through the bare branches of trees and disappeared into the snowy heavens.
His order to have his bed burned met with resistance among the clan. Torquil, recently forgiven for his slander of Ciara, was the strongest opponent. Although the words were never spoken, Alastair knew his friend thought he was bewitched.
Maybe he was. Alastair didn't know for certain. The only thing clear in his mind was removing the past so he could create a future with Ciara. Deep down, he felt it wasn't the master's space that caused her hesitation, but the furnishings.
With that in mind, he had the room stripped and the mattress burned. Ciara could wander the rooms of the keep and choose what furniture she wished for their chamber. With her touch, the room would be transformed into a place she would feel content to enter.
"I smell smoke."
The sound of Ciara's voice pulled him from his thoughts. His gaze still on the blaze below, he sighed. "Aye."
The hush of her feet moving over the stone floor echoed through the barren room. "MacDonell, what have you done?"
"Naught," he whispered, his gaze still transfixed on the flames.
With his decision, he had buried Valerie once and for all. Aye, she would always occupy a place in his heart. He would always cherish Valerie for gifting him with Ciara.
"Where is the furniture?"
Again he sighed. "I had it removed." He nodded toward the fire. "Methinks you would like to furnish this chamber to suit your taste."
Silence lingered between them. At his back, he felt the brush of her breath against his neck. He closed his eyes. The woman had no idea the power her presence had on him.
"You are burning the bed?"
&nb
sp; He swallowed hard, opened his eyes and nodded. "Aye. I will have a new one made for . . ." His voice trailed away. He promised her time. A weary sigh escaped his lips. "'Tis something I felt had to be done."
Again, silence lingered between them. The gentle rush of her breath filled the air.
"I ask your pardon for placing such a burden on you, MacDonell."
The quiet turmoil of her voice tugged at something buried deep in his chest. He frowned and turned. Whatever words he had formed in his mind vanished the moment he saw her.
Sapphire-blue velvet hugged her waist. The velvet bodice circled her ribs and enhanced her silk-encased breasts. The tempting fabric molded to her ripeness and lured his gaze to the swell left exposed.
"I told you the bodice was indecent."
Her timid whisper drew his gaze from her bosom. He stared into her luminous eyes and had a difficult time catching his breath.
The spiraled mass of her flame-kissed hair lay in a disorderly pile atop her head. A simple ribbon of blue that matched the gown was woven through her tresses. Wisps of errant curls framed her face and brushed the ivory of her neck.
The pads of his fingers ached to loosen the ribbon and fill his hands with her wondrous hair. He could almost feel it tangling around his fingers.
Ciara lowered her gaze. "I will go change."
"Dare not," he whispered, halting the steps that would carry her away from him. The tempting blue of her uncertain eyes met his. "You are a vision I fear will vanish if touched."
One trembling hand rose toward her cheek and hovered near her flesh. He wasn't sure he trusted himself enough to stroke her cheek. She looked so damned lovely, he knew one touch would never suffice.
A coy smile traced her lips and a blush crept into her cheeks. She bowed her head and drew in a breath. "'Tis the most pleasant thing anyone has ever said to me."
"'Tis the truth I spoke." His fingers brushed her cheek and his heart dipped to the pit of his belly. With care, he slid his fingers along her flesh and raised her chin. "You are beautiful, Ciara."
Darkness clouded her eyes and she stepped away from his touch. "I almost believed you, MacDonell." Her lip trembled and moisture gathered in her eyes. "I should have known better."
She turned and fled the room before he could blink. What the hell happened? He spoke only the truth. Why did it upset her?
Understanding slowly seeped into his muddled brain.
He dared call her beautiful. 'Twas the fateful word that broke the spell she cast over him. A frustrated sigh escaped his lips. He shoved his fingers through his hair and headed from the room.
Things had gone as far as he planned to allow. Tonight, Ciara would be his.
Chapter Twelve
Ciara stood at her window and stared into nothingness. 'Twas a foolish notion indeed, to try to best MacDonell. Her feeble attempt to goad his dander turned on her.
Beautiful. MacDonell had called her beautiful. Ciara snorted and shook her head. How could a person tell such a bold-faced lie?
Still, when he first looked away from the window, something in his gaze had made her feel pretty for the first time in her life. 'Twas those damned eyes of his that had the ability to turn her thoughts to mush.
She had played right into his hands. Ciara closed her eyes and tried to blot the memory from her mind. Never again would she place herself in a position to be hurt.
A weary sigh escaped her lips. She turned away from the window and the blanket of darkness beyond, and approached her small table. It felt like midnight instead of the dinner hour. Facing him below in the dining hall was at the bottom of her list of favorite things to do.
The leather hinges on her door groaned. Ciara paused and glanced at the barrier. MacDonell entered the room, a covered tray in his hands. She frowned and avoided his gaze.
"I see your mother failed to teach you how to knock on a closed door." She took a candle and lit another with its flame.
"My mother taught me many things; mainly, how to get my way."
Ciara watched him approach and place the tray on the table. She replaced the taper and frowned. "What is this?"
"A tray," he said before returning to the door.
"I can see that, MacDonell. What is it for?"
The clasp of the door rattled. Ciara's heart lodged in her ribs. Did he lock them in? MacDonell turned back and her breath snagged in her throat.
"'Tis a meal, nothing more." He moved toward her.
Ciara retreated a step. "I am not hungry."
"You will be."
Worry rushed through her veins. The look in his eye, the grace of his body. She didn't like the way the air crackled from his presence. "MacDonell, unlock that door."
A look of indifference touched his face. He moved past her to the window. The latch gave under the pressure of his fingers and the barrier swung open. Cold air rushed into the room.
Suspicion unfurled in her belly like the petals of one of her paper roses. "MacDonell, I said --"
"I heard you." He tossed the key through the opening, then closed the window against the chill. With ease, he turned to face her. "I chose to ignore you."
Dear Lord, this could not be happening. Being trapped in a bed chamber with MacDonell was not what she wanted.
"Pray tell me you have another key," she whispered, her throat dry.
His gaze swept over her and he gently shook his head.
Ciara trembled. What was she going to do? What did he plan to do? She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and turned away from his intense gaze.
"I fail to see why you did that." She averted her gaze and toyed with a bead of wax that clung to the side of the taper.
"'Tis simple."
The hush of his voice sent chills down her spine. She closed her eyes and prayed he would not speak her worst fear.
"I plan to make sweet, passionate love to my wife this night."
Ciara's breath rushed from her lungs. She swayed and clutched the table to keep her balance. This was a very bad dream, one she could not wake from soon enough.
"Dare not presume --"
"I will not force you. There will be no need," he said, his tone low. "By the time dawn colors the sky, you will be mine in every way possible."
Ciara's heart raked her ribs. Her fingers tightened on the table until her knuckles ached. She took a deep breath and slowly opened her eyes.
"You sound sure of yourself, MacDonell," she whispered. Her gaze rested on the tray.
"I am."
The whisper of his steps moving closer increased the rhythm of her heart. In one fluid movement, she moved around the table and jerked back the cover of the tray.
Her belly kissed her spine. Spread before her was an array of sliced cheese, dried fruit, wine and roasted pheasant. Not a blade in sight.
His amused chuckle filled the air. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I took the liberty of removing all sharp objects from the tray."
Ciara's gaze snapped to his. The lethal desire in his eyes scared the life out of her.
"You see, I have not forgotten your earlier threat to turn me into a eunuch." He paused a breath away from her and let his gaze travel the length of her velvet-clad body. "That, my dear, would be a horrible tragedy for both of us."
She bit her lower lip and retreated a step. He did not advance. "I cannot --"
"You forget I have seen you naked, Ciara," he said, not allowing her to finish. He filled a goblet with wine and offered it to her. "Rest assured that you can indeed fulfill your wifely duties."
Ciara sank into a chair. MacDonell placed the goblet on the table and slid it toward her.
"Duty," she whispered, unable to meet his gaze. "Is that truly how you want me?"
"Nay."
His whisper drew her gaze. The emotions mirrored in his eyes were too numerous to identify. Yet the despondence of his voice tugged at her racing heart.
"I grow weary of the chase, Ciara. This event should have occurred the night we wed. If not for my ho
nor, it would have. Our bedding cannot be avoided forever. Without consummation, our marriage is not valid."
Ciara lowered her gaze to the goblet. She thought he had not realized that the marriage could be challenged. 'Twas foolish indeed to believe him so ignorant.
"Ciara, look at me."
She would rather not. Right now, she felt like the village idiot. How keenly she had fallen into his trap! While she thought herself cunning, he was secretly countering her every move.
The brush of his fingers beneath her chin raised her gaze to his. Tolerance shone in the depths of his dark eyes.
"I have made it quite clear how much I want you. The night of our marriage, I tasted your passion. You awoke things in me I have not felt in a very long time."
Tears stung her eyes. He was not being fair to her. Did he forget he was the enemy?
He sighed and removed his touch. "I have been honest about the desire you stir in my blood, yet you refuse to believe me. I must admit I enjoyed baiting you, tempting you into accepting me as your husband. Yet you continue to resist."
Ciara lowered her gaze and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "You promised me time."
"I kept my vow."
She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Not long enough."
Silence filled the air. Seconds that seemed like hours passed before he spoke. "Again, you underestimate me. I am not so shallow that I do not understand your turmoil." He sighed. "Eternity would not be enough time for you to admit you desire an enemy of your clan."
The truth left a bitter taste in Ciara's mouth. The memory of his kiss flooded her mind; the feel of his lips, his hands, his body. Yet she would sooner kiss the devil than admit her desire aloud.
Why? For the sake of a clan who would wed her to the first available man they could find. The only difference between that arrangement and her current situation was the choice of groom. Her brothers would pick one from a clan they wished an alliance with, instead of one they believed killed her sire.
And, truly, what proof was there that this branch of the MacDonell clan was even involved? Scottish clans were widespread. Each one had a troublesome section that mirrored those who sought peace.
Ciara lifted her gaze. MacDonell poured himself a goblet of wine and approached the windows.
Paper Roses Page 10
