Temptation & Twilight

by Charlotte Featherstone

  “I’ve poured your tea. The handle is to the left.”

  “Thank you. I had no idea that you—”

  “I’ve watched you for years, Elizabeth. I know how you accept your teacup, the way your plate should be ordered, with meat to the left, potatoes to the right and your vegetable to the bottom. I know you prefer red wine, and you have a sweet tooth. I also know that you would rather die by means of torture than to show any outward weakness.”

  “How well you know me.”

  “Did you doubt it?” he asked. “Did you think I would not know you as intimately as I know myself?” She glanced away. “I assumed—”

  “I know what you thought of me. What you still think of me.”

  Better to steer away from this conversation, which could very easily turn into a discussion of what had happened between them last night. For herself, Elizabeth had decided to deem the entire interlude a grave error in judgement, and forget about the entire matter.

  “I understand the weather has made a turn for the worse.”

  If he was frustrated by the change in the conversation, he hid it well. “It has. I shall have to intrude upon your hospitality for a bit longer, I’m afraid.” He spat the word hospitality out as though it were poison. Obviously, their politely strained conversation was at an end.

  “Yes, of course. Make yourself at home.”

  “At home, shall I?” he growled, and she heard the tines of his fork hitting the china plate.

  “Yes, of course. Do as you would in your own home.

  Although in this weather I doubt you will be able to bring your ladies by.”

  Silverware clattered to the table and Elizabeth felt some satisfaction for the dig.

  “Is that what you think I do all day? Fornicate?”

  “I don’t really think upon it,” she murmured as she took a small bite of her toast. “What else do you do besides chase skirts?”

  “My days are filled with many activities, mostly Brethren affairs and obligations to my clan and the Sinclair lands. There are many days and nights when I’ve been too damn busy to even think of fornicating.”

  “Well, that is very edifying.”

  “What do you do all damn day? Think of new ways to flagellate me?”

  “Of course not. I barely think of you at all.” This was becoming very mean-spirited, she realized.

  “What a little liar you are.”

  “I learned from the best, didn’t I?”

  “I can take whatever you dish out, Beth,” he murmured. “I can take the pain, the way your words are intended to strip me of my flesh. I won’t run and hide from you. I won’t cower. Let us discuss the matter right now.”

  “I wasn’t aware there was anything to discuss,” she sniffed. “And let go of my wrist. It isn’t seemly.”

  “It’s much more seemly than what happened upstairs last evening, don’t you think? Did you touch yourself, Beth, after I left? Did you complete what you would not allow me to do?”

  “Stop this at once!”

  He leaned in, pulled her by the wrist so that she came very close to him as he whispered, “I would have brought you off so hard you would have screamed, would have begged for it—for more of it.”

  “I no longer have an appetite. Excuse me.” He released her, but followed her out of the dining room, stalking her. He was so cruel, so…right. And she hated him for it. Despised that he knew that much about her. Fumbling her way along the halls, she was keenly aware that he was behind her, watching her struggle to get her bearings. He didn’t help her, just stalked her like a wolf waiting to pounce on injured prey.

  Finally, she found the door to the salon and opened it, quickly shutting it before he could enter. Letting out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, she collapsed against the wood.

  “I’ll let you go this time,” he said from the other side of the door. “But you can’t avoid me forever, Beth. We will have this conversation. You will hear what I have to say.”

  “Go away, Iain.”

  “Go away?” he said. “You ask the impossible, Beth, for I am so completely entwined with you that it’s impossible for me to separate myself. If you would only rest for a moment, and not try to run from me, you would see that the same is true for you. Just as water always flows to the ocean, we’re trying to make our way back to each other.”

  “I won’t go back to you,” she whispered to herself, but he heard her.

  “I’m coming for you, Beth. And there is nothing you can do to stop me.”

  AND THEY SAID SCOTS were a stubborn lot! He had never met a more stubborn woman in all his life. She’d avoided him at luncheon, and then at dinner. It was nearing midnight and still no sign of her. Outside, the blizzard had begun to die down, but the wind still howled, causing the snow on the ground to drift. He was anxious that the brunt of the storm was over and he had wasted a day with Elizabeth. He would likely be gone on the morrow, and his plans to make Elizabeth his had gone up in a puff of smoke.

  He’d underestimated her stubbornness, her resolve. Or perhaps, a voice inside him said, he had underestimated how much he had hurt her when he’d left her.

  Forgiveness was a complicated ideation. So was love.

  He wanted both from her, but perhaps she would never be ready to give him either. There could not be love without forgiveness. And no forgiveness without an explanation from him. He feared that. It terrified him, knowing he had to give her full disclosure for his actions. He was shamed by them. Afraid that after she heard his reason, forgiveness would be out of the question.

  He was a damn coward, unable to face up to his past.

  To the man he had been. No, he hadn’t really been a man then. He’d been a spoiled, selfish fool.

  Gazing about the salon, he tried to think of a way to make it right. To make it so that Elizabeth could trust him, would hear him out. He was not the man he’d once been. He’d changed, and would change more, too, if she would only give him a chance. There needed to be some sort of bridge between them, an olive branch that would help to pave the way to forgiveness. He had to ensure that the connection they had once shared flickered back to life, binding them, before he could begin discussing the reasons why he had failed her.

  Sinjin’s diary caught his eye, and he lifted it up from the table, held it in his hand and studied the writing within. There was a curse on the houses of York and Sinclair. No man and woman from those houses could ever fall in love, else that love was fated to die, to cause immense pain and unrequited longing. The curse had proved true for Sinjin and his lady. They had died apart, though their hearts were as one.

  Iain could hardly believe what he was thinking, but he rose from his chair and carried the diary in his hand, searching for Elizabeth.

  He found her in her room, sitting on the window box.

  She was dressed in a night rail and wrapper, and he found his gaze darting to the dressing-table chair he had occupied last night. Images of Elizabeth giving herself to him so completely gave him the courage to come deeper into the room.

  “In your diary, does it mention a curse?” he asked.

  “No, it does not. But I have heard of one.”

  “Do you think it’s true, this curse between our houses?”

  He sat on the opposite end of the box, facing her. She lifted her legs and wrapped her arms around her knees, hiding herself from him. A piece of his soul was chipped away. He’d done irreparable damage to her. He saw it in her eyes.

  “Do you believe that no man or woman from the houses of York and Sinclair can fall in love?” She shrugged, cast her gaze to the window, avoiding him. “I don’t know. It seems that way, doesn’t it? We certainly have been made miserable by our lust and the way we gave in to it.”

  “Is it only lust, Elizabeth?” he asked. “Do you not think there was more to what we shared?”

  “Don’t speak of it, Iain,” she begged him. “Please don’t.”

  “All right. Perhaps, then, I should honour my word a
nd help you discover the secret about the Veiled Lady, shouldn’t I?”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s done now. There’s no need.”

  “Have you figured out who she was, then?”

  “No. But there is little purpose in the matter.”

  “I told you I could help you discover who she was.

  I’ve never read much about Sinjin,” he murmured, ignoring her protest. “I found the diary and brought it up.

  I thought I might read it.”

  “You may.”

  “Here,” he said. “Now. To you.” She swallowed hard, and he saw the faint dusting of pink on her cheeks. This was her Achilles’ heel. Through this diary she could live through another’s words and actions. She didn’t have to put herself out there, expose herself. It was safe to be seduced by a diary—much safer than allowing Iain in. He saw that now. Knew the diary was the only way he could spend time with her. He had what she needed: sight.

  Clearing his throat, he began.

  “‘Second July, 1147,

  “‘I have seen her. Even with the strength of my faith and my Templar devotion I find it unbearable to resist her exotic charms and the enchanting way she has of looking into my eyes and sneaking into my thoughts. One kiss, I thought as I allowed myself to walk to her—the Veiled Lady, they call her.

  “‘I whisper her name, “Veiled Lady,” whisper it over and over again until I am chanting it in my mind. With one kiss I know she will give me the secrets of her soul, the passion of her body.

  “‘I step beyond the veils, to the bed of pillows. She is lying there, waiting for me, her eyes glowing like onyx and her lips a bright red—crimson—like the apple Eve used to tempt Adam. My destiny is here, in Jerusalem.

  It is her.

  “‘With long slender fingers she beckons me to come to her. I resist, but hear her whispered plea in my mind.

  “Come to me, my prince.”

  “‘I could not resist the lure of her voice, or the way her hand skimmed teasingly over her breast, exposing her flesh and the ripeness of her bosom. She rose to her knees before me. Looking up through a veil of black lashes she smiled a secretive, womanly smile as her hands divested me of my tunic. Heat flooded my blood and I could not seem to keep hold of my thoughts. She then stood before me, her jewels and headdress tinkling in the quiet, drawing my eye to the abundance of shimmering gold and priceless rubies that adorned her arms and neck. Her eyes seemed to glow in the lantern light, further adding to her exotic sensuality.

  “‘The musk-scented incense steadily filled the tent, making my head light, but the hunger I saw in her eyes unleashed an unholy need in me. One look into those hypnotizing eyes and I could not move. I did not breathe.

  “‘“Come to me,” she whispered, and not able to stop myself, I reached for her gold, shimmering gown and tore it from her body.

  “‘I looked down between us at her nakedness. She was rounded and lush, and roughly catching her about her bottom, I brought her to me so that our sex was pressed together. Hungrily, I took her mouth with mine, heard her purr like a cat being stroked and petted. Unable to curb the animal in me, I lifted her leg and brought her thigh to my waist and ground my straining sex against her flesh, which felt cool against my fevered skin. My hand stroked the contours of her firm thigh, then down to her ankle, which was adorned with gold-and-ruby an-klets. Her eyes seemed to challenge me, her pouting lips welcomed me with a shy smile.

  “‘With one thrust I took her, and she gasped, made a deep unearthly sound low in her throat that excited me, filled me with a need, a hunger, I had never experienced.

  “‘Ruthlessly I took her, standing up, and she encouraged me with her purrs and cries for more. Like two untamed animals we mated, and when she reached her pleasure I heard her purr turn from that of a kitten to that of lioness, and that was when I felt it, the sting of her teeth as she bit my neck. The pain was momentary, and led to an ecstasy that knew no bounds. The sucking of lips and tongue aroused me, freed me, and I thrust myself into her harder, taking her with a fierceness I could hardly believe I was capable of.

  “‘Collapsing onto her pillows, I loved her through the night, only to awaken in the morning to find her gone.

  “‘She was no feverish dream, or a dark need in the night. She was a flesh-and-blood woman, and she was mine.’”

  Iain looked up, caught Elizabeth staring at him. What was she seeing behind her eyes? he wondered. Was she envisioning the couple in the diary, or like him, had they somehow morphed into an image of her and him, atop a bed made of pillows? He could see her now, naked, adorned only in the moonstone necklace as he moved atop her. Was it just his wild imaginings or did the story of this ancient couple mirror that of his and Beth’s?

  “Did she write of that encounter?” Elizabeth asked, her voice so quiet. She was no longer looking in his direction, but had leaned her head against the window.

  “She did. She spoke of being claimed by him, the way her body yielded to him. I…I never knew what it was like for a woman to accept a man into her body, until I read her diary.”

  “You understand at last how very sacred it can be.”

  “Yes.” Closing the book, he placed it on the floor and reached out, cupping Elizabeth’s knees with his hands.

  This was the crux of their difficulties. Always Elizabeth had been far more advanced, more mature than him.

  Their loving had been sacred to her, and sacred to him only when he was old enough to understand the difference between fornication and lovemaking. By then it had been much too late.

  “I understand how it is for a woman to give herself—

  her body, her safekeeping—into a man’s hands,” Iain murmured.

  “She was a virgin,” Elizabeth stated. “He wrote of that moment, feeling her yield, giving herself to him. After, he reflects upon it—the power it gave him, the sense of possession. Years later, he’s dying, and he still writes of it, the memory of possessing a piece of her that no other man would ever have.”

  “You understand what it is like for a man, then, when he takes a woman for the first time. She belongs to him, that piece of her that is forever bound to him.” Lizzy blushed, tried to avoid his gaze. “I thought it insignificant for him.”

  Carefully, Iain reached out, trailed the backs of his fingers along her cheek. “It was never insignificant for me, Beth. Always, I carried that possession with me. I still think about it, still dream of that evening when you came to me so willingly.”

  “You asked me if I think the curse is true. I do. We’re cursed, Iain.”

  “I don’t. You know what I think? I think we’re two very old souls trying to find one another again, in a lifetime where they can be together. They were denied it once, in their original incarnations, and now they’re searching. And I think they’ve found each other at last.” After he spoke the words, he knew it for the truth. He and Elizabeth were meant to be.

  “Who was she?” Lizzy asked.

  “Do you really want to know?” He smiled at how impulsive she was. She never wanted to wait, always wanted to rush headlong into something. Like last night. He’d wanted to savour it slowly, and she couldn’t wait. That was why she had reached for his hand, showing him what she wanted. He’d denied her, because he knew that sometimes drawing out the pleasure made the climax all the more sweeter.

  “I want to know.”

  “I’ll tell you, on one condition.”

  “And what is that?”

  “That you go to the theatre with me.” There was confusion in her expression, and he understood it. Although they had shared their bodies for an entire summer, they had never been seen as a couple. He hadn’t courted her, he’d taken her. Pleasured her. Their relationship had bloomed through the physical acts of sex and the intimacy created. He’d been wrong to do it that way. She deserved to be seen, to be wooed and courted, not to be taken in a glen, away from the world, and ravished.

  “Will you, Beth? Will you go with me to the theatre?”<
br />
  “Yes.”

  He was relieved that she had answered that she would.

  He didn’t dare question the true motivation for her acceptance. He had a feeling it was all to do with the book.

  “Who was she?”

  “Are you certain you want to know? Don’t you want me to read more of her diary to you?”

  “No, I want to know.”

  “Impulsive angel,” he murmured, kissing her softly.

  “I should drag it out, make you wait.”

  “Would you be so cruel?”

  “No,” he said, brushing his fingertips against her mouth. “Not again, Beth.” He watched the pad of his thumb stroke over her lip, saw her head tilt back and her eyes close as she enjoyed the delicate touch.

  He wanted her like this, unguarded and relaxed. It would be so easy to lift her nightgown, part her knees and kneel between them, fitting himself deep inside her.

  Another time, when he could come to her freely, when she would accept him…

  “Her name was Marguerite, and she was a dancer in the King of Jerusalem’s harem.” Elizabeth’s eyes flew open, wild and unfocused, and he kissed her eyelids. “The king loved her, but could not take her. He was a leper, so he consoled himself by watching her dance. When the Templars arrived, he was dying. He decided to secure her future. It was, after all, the greatest way to show her his love. He betrothed her to a knight, bequeathed her riches, ensured she would be a lady of great standing.”

  “Who? Who was he? ”

  Iain smiled. Lizzy was breathless. She reminded him so much of the woman in the diary. Fiery, passionate, determined but loyal, even if that loyalty caused her pain.

  “Haelan St. Clair, my great-grandfather numerous generations removed. She became his wife, and Sinjin’s Veiled Lady was lost to him. But she loved him—it was always only Sinjin she loved. She kept her vows to Haelan and was loyal, but her love belonged to Sinjin. She continued to write in her diary about the yearnings of her heart. Her belief that one day she would die, and her soul would be reborn and she would find a way to be with her lover.”