by Mary Wine
“Ye find it surprising that I tend to my own horse, Elspeth?”
She frowned at the use of her Christian name. But a little ripple of sensation traveled across her skin leaving gooseflesh behind. He chuckled at her pout, clearly enjoying her annoyance.
“I suppose ye believe that the laird of the Monroe clan would be above doing chores, but I’ll tell ye something, lass—any man who will nae rub down his own stallion does nae deserve the trust of that animal.”
“I agree.”
Her own hands were moving along the flanks of her brother’s horse, and even if her fingers lacked the strength of a man, she would keep at the task in spite of the ache that often invaded her joints. It was how she showed the animal he was more than just a beast of burden.
Monroe nodded. “’Tis a point of honor to look after good Hector here. I’m longing for the day that I can teach me son to honor the same tradition.”
“Ah, of course, the reason ye are here.” Her voice sounded hurt and she struggled against the feeling because it shouldn’t make any difference whatsoever why the man was on Leask land.
“Well now, lass, would ye prefer that I came to meet ye because of the number of sheep yer brother offered me to take ye?”
“No.” She rubbed a little too hard, gaining a snort from her brother’s horse. “Why did ye name yer horse after a hero who fell before the end of the battle?”
“Because he carries me, and all men have flaws, lass.” Monroe stopped working and looked over the back of his horse at her. “I have desires that distract me and I’m no fool enough to say otherwise.”
“What ye want is a sin. The church could have us lashed for even talking about handfasting, ye know.”
He laughed, the sound deep and brassy. With a final pat on Hector’s flank, he stepped around the animal. Elspeth felt him nearing her. Her belly tightened and her eyes were glued to him in fascination.
“Lads and lasses have nay stopped surrendering to their passion. We Scots are too lively for that to ever happen.”
“Ah, and now we’re to the root of what ye want, aren’t we? Surrender. ’Tis so easy for a man to ask that of a maid.”
She turned her back on him and went out into the rain once more. At least the icy droplets cooled her skin and sent a shiver down her back that had nothing to do with Hayden Monroe. It was disgusting the way her thoughts were becoming so wanton.
But she shivered again and again, the chill of the spring night making itself known. Rushing up the stone stairs that led to the double doors of the Leask tower, she then darted inside before Armelle the housekeeper caught her dripping water across the floor. The hallways were dim with only a few candles set to burning along their lengths. There would be a fire in the hearth in the hall but Elspeth turned in the opposite direction. Let her brother welcome their guest and entertain him. She wanted to dry her hair.
There were two sets of kitchens at Leask tower, one built in back of the great hall and a second one that faced the yard. Elspeth headed toward the smaller kitchen. Now that it was dark, it would be deserted but the coals in the hearth would still be hot. Picking up a log from near the hearth, Elspeth pushed at the thick layer of ash sitting in the fireplace. It looked cold and dead but she could feel the heat teasing her chilled nose.
The end of the log easily moved the soft ash to reveal a softly glowing bed of embers. Pushing the wood into it she reached over to pick up the bellows that hung from the stone side of the chimney. Pulling it open to suck air inside, she aimed it at the wood and closed the bellows. Air rushed into the hearth making the embers glow brighter. The heat increased, warming her cheeks, and the wood crackled just a tiny amount. It was wasteful to use a log here where only she might enjoy its warmth, but she craved the sanctuary enough to shoulder the guilt.
Just one log wasn’t too greedy. She worked the bellows some more, smiling when the wood crackled. A few more moments of patience and a small flicker illuminated the hearth. Elspeth fed it a few smaller branches to make sure the log would burn.
“Exactly what I was thinking, lass, to warm my fingers in front of a fire.”
Elspeth jumped. She swung around, landing on startled feet that lacked balance for the first moment. She righted herself quickly, shooting a glare at Hayden.
“I did nae invite ye here.”
“No, yer brother did.”
He was already halfway into the small kitchen and the expression on his face announced the fact that he wasn’t impressed with her temper. The man moved too silently; it had to be unnatural. She looked down at his boots and wished she hadn’t because she enjoyed the length of well-muscled legs that smoothed into strong calves. His boots were knee high and she gained a glimpse of bare skin above them where the pleats of his kilt were shorter.
“But I’ll confess that I was too weak to resist his invitation since my own home was full of men trying to peddle their sisters and daughters to me.”
His comment deflated her anger. Her jaw partially dropped open and a hint of merriment danced in his eyes. She looked away, jerking her head to the side as she realized he was watching her, intensely studying her with his keen gaze. But the moment her eyes were focused somewhere else, all she wanted to do was look back at him.
“I thought ye sought another wife. That is the only reason Dunmore made the journey to yer home.”
He frowned, his expression darkening. “It’s nae a home, not at the moment.” Each word was edged with pain. He walked farther into the kitchen and sat down on the floor in front of the hearth. He closed his eyes and allowed the heat from the fire to warm his face. Nothing moved for long moments except for the flicker of the flames casting their orange and scarlet light over his features.
“At the moment Rams Court is naught but a place I protect. Without my family, it is nae a home.”
Elspeth reached for him, the pain in his tone too much to ignore. Her fingertips made the briefest of contacts with his shoulder before she jerked them back. Heat shot down her arm as white-hot as the lightning that had sent the storm breaking around them out on the hills. She had never been so aware of a single touch, never thought that anyone might be.
He turned his head sharply when her motion gained his attention.
“I’m sorry …” she stammered as she tried to cover up her actions. “About yer family.”
She couldn’t ignore the fact that she found his grief genuine.
That was a surprise indeed and one that held her silent while she stared at him. He allowed her to gaze into his eyes for a long moment before shrugging.
“So ye see, Elspeth Leask, ’tis the truth that I used you as an excuse to avoid doing me duty.”
“Doing yer duty?” Amusement coated her words. Hayden raised one dark eyebrow in response.
“What? Do ye think that being hounded to marry is something that only happens to women?”
He chuckled, the sound rich and strangely attractive. Elspeth felt her cheeks warming and it had nothing to do with the small fire flickering near her. This was a blush and it stunned her because she couldn’t seem to recall ever blushing for a man before.
“I suppose I never did think about the fact that men get pressured into wedding.”
“Well we do. I’ve nae run away from anything in my life before but I confess that I willingly abandoned my own castle to escape from the pressure to choose another wife from among parchments and pleading from their kin.”
“Well, you did nae run away from it completely.” Her voice became softer and her blush brighter. She suddenly realized that they were very much alone. She’d been alone with men from her clan before, but Hayden was different, and she was keenly aware of him. Sensation flirted over her skin softly like the heat from the fire, awakening hundreds of little points that responded with enjoyment.
“That’s true enough.”
He reached out and cupped her chin. It was such a gentle touch, and she remained still, fighting against the urge to lean into it more. Somehow the id
ea that he wasn’t using his greater strength to claim her made her want him that much more.
“Yer brother said ye took his horse to go and think about me. I must say I find that an interesting idea, Elspeth.”
“Ye are using my name on purpose now.”
His fingers began smoothing along her jaw, stroking her skin in delicate circles that sent the most delicious sensation through her. Beneath her stays, her nipples drew into hard points, heat spreading over the delicate mounds until they were warm and willing to be uncovered with no concern for the evening chill.
“Maybe I am.”
She offered him a soft snort. Both of his eyebrows rose before he looked up and laughed. His hand dropped away from her face, making her almost sad. But the sound of his brassy amusement sent her lips twitching up into a smile.
“Yer brother warned me that ye were no simpering lass. I see Dunmore is nae given to muddying his words.”
“Ye may depend on my brother to tell ye whatever he thinks without any worry for how it will strike ye. Some call him blunt, but I consider it better to know exactly what he means instead of sifting through honey-coated words.” Her skirts were still wet and beginning to stick to the skin of her legs. Being so aware of her body made the feeling annoying. “But I’m being a poor hostess to nae offer ye a pint of ale.”
Elspeth stood up and her dress fell in heavy clumps around her because most of the fabric was still wet, making the wool stiff. She was conscious of Hayden’s gaze on her. She discovered herself fighting the urge to look back at him.
“Yer brother invited me but I find the idea of ye playing hostess a bit more pleasing than having him interrupting us.”
“We’re merely sharing a fire. At least the fact that ye are here will keep me from feeling too guilty for using the log.”
She searched through the kitchen, looking for the mugs that were stored away for the night. This kitchen had pottery and wooden dishes, the silver finery residing in the main hall. Elspeth turned two earthenware drinking vessels over and held one beneath a tap set into a small cask. The flicker from the fire’s flame danced off the pale brown ale that poured into the mug. She switched to the second mug and smiled as her nose filled with the scent of the ale. It was yeasty and tart and it drew a low rumble from her belly. Supper had been served while she was out riding the hills. That wasn’t unusual, at least not in the fact that it often happened that she was riding when the meal was placed on the tables. The fact that she was allowed to ride so freely was the unusual part. It was a freedom that Dunmore granted her, and it was a truth that most brothers were not so kind.
“Why did ye invite the clans to bride negotiations if ye are nae in the mood to wed? As laird ye could easily avoid the matter.”
She handed one of the mugs to him and placed her own on the front of the hearth. Moving back to the work table, she flipped cloths back to see what they covered. A broken round of bread gained approval and another plate yielded some soft goat’s milk cheese. Hayden didn’t answer her until she returned to the fireside with the food. A smile parted his lips, rewarding her for bringing along the food. She’d done the same for countless men, every day that she could recall, but her hand trembled slightly tonight. She hurried to place the plate on the stones of the hearth so that he wouldn’t see it shaking. It knocked against the hard surface and she turned to look at her ale mug to conceal her nervousness.
It was ridiculous to be so unsteady.
Yet she was.
“So why did you leave them? Most men like the dowry more than the wife.”
He took a sip from his mug, making her wait even longer for an answer from him. She suddenly understood why he was as powerful as rumor told. This was a man who danced to no one’s tune. He listened first, making sure that when he spoke, his words were the last ones that were heard. That sort of self-control she admired.
Would he be that way in bed? Patient and slow?
The blush returned to her cheeks and Hayden’s attention settled on the spreading stain.
“If I were that sort of man, I’d be there and nay here. I prefer it here.”
With her. That was a compliment. One that sent a quiver through her. A low rumble from her belly broke the tension of the moment. Hayden snorted and sat his mug aside.
“I’ve spent too many nights nursing a mug of ale.” He picked up one of the rounds of bread and broke it. “Supping with a pretty lass is far better.”
A ghost of a memory drifted across his face but he banished it quickly. Still, Elspeth found it heartwarming to see that he held tender feelings for his family.
He might come to care for her …
She was placing the cart in front of the horse. But she couldn’t stop herself from looking at him and seeking out things that pleased her. His beard made it hard to see his features and she decided that it made him look far older than his years. His body was large and his shoulders coated in thick, hard muscle. She actually felt small sitting so near him.
“Common fare but I think it better than anything I ever sampled at court.” He held out a portion of the bread that he’d slathered thickly with cheese.
“Ye’re flattering me now.” Elspeth took the bread but Hayden slipped his hand along hers and stroked the tender skin on the inside of her wrist while she held her arm so near him. She jumped and the bread went slipping out of her grasp.
Hayden caught it before the cheese-covered side touched the floor. He moved too quickly. She shivered because he was calmly sitting there to gain her trust. She pushed against the floor, intending to scoot back, away from his imposing presence. It was pure instinct to move and had nothing to do with thinking, only with the fact that she was suddenly keenly aware of how easy it might be for him to take what he wanted from her. There was a quiver in the pit of her belly that demanded action. So instead she stood.
Hayden was on his feet before her skirt finished settling. The bread was gone and her breath froze in her throat.
“I am flattering ye, lass. That’s a part of getting to know ye.”
He reached out and cupped her chin once more. The feeling of his skin against her own was too delightful to step away from. His eyes darkened almost dangerously.
“And I am wanting to know more of ye.” Something flickered in his eyes, a flame that was near as bright as the one in the hearth. “I’m wanting to know what ye taste like.”
His grip tightened just a bit as he leaned forward to kiss her. The kiss was neither hard, nor soft, but a tasting one as his lips slipped across hers in a delicate motion that sent pleasure through her. It wasn’t her first kiss, but it felt more intense, deeper than the others, and maybe the knowledge that she might take him to her bed was making her body more receptive to his touch.
Handfasting … it was time-honored … and there would be no need to resist the desire beginning to lick across her skin. She could simply surrender.
Her eyes widened. Surrender was exactly what everyone wanted of her and she would not give it to them so simply.
“I do nae like yer beard.”
He frowned and stroked his chin full of whiskers. “Many men have beards, lass.”
“Well, I do nae like it against my face.”
He stepped up close, moving fast, and she realized that she had grown too trusting of him. One of his arms slid around her waist to keep her near him. Her heart was pumping faster now, her lungs drawing in quicker breaths that brought his scent into her senses. She shivered, her body reacting without thought, but with enjoyment to not only the scent of him, but also the feel of his hard body against hers.
“Ye don’t like it against yer face?” His voice had dipped so low, she had to lean closer to hear him. He blew out a harsh breath, the hand resting on the center of her back, moving in a sliding stroke, up and down. It felt too good to be true; no touch should be so enjoyable and yet it was. He leaned over and pressed another kiss against her neck, the skin surprising her with how sensitive it was. The impulse to tilt her head an
d give him full access to her neck for more kisses was strong.
“It is rough … yer beard that is …” She stumbled over her words trying to force herself to recall why she wanted him to stop kissing her. She pushed at him, her small hand looking impossibly overwhelmed by his wide chest and the greater strength it held. But he straightened up, leaving her neck hungry for more kisses.
“Then ye can shave me, lass.”
“Me?”
He stroked her face, his fingers gliding over her upper lip and setting off another shiver.
“Aye, I can see how delicate yer skin is. There is nae a man besides me overlord and king that I’d cut me whiskers for.”
From the doorway came the sound of footsteps. Leask retainers spoke to one another as they sought a mug of ale to cut the chill of the rain. Hayden released her, stepping back, and Elspeth frowned because she felt disappointed.
“I’ll be finding yer brother now.”
Elspeth awoke in a foul mood. She squinted at the morning light, realizing that she’d slept past her normal rising time. For the first time in years the bells calling the faithful to mass had failed to wake her. Missing service promised her a reckoning from Father Simon Peter, and it would not be pleasant because the priest would ask her why she had trouble rising from her bed.
Admitting that she’d tossed and turned for a good portion of the night due to the memory of Hayden’s kiss was sure to gain her a penance that would take her a lot of time to complete.
Kicking at the bedding, she rolled out of her narrow bed. The shutters were still closed but the sun was high enough to shine in through the place where each side met.
Shave him? She would not.
Reaching for her hip roll, she tied it around her hips. The small undergarment was stuffed with all the bits of fabric that were too small to be used any other way, and it would help take up the weight of her skirts. She was always grateful for the roll when her wool gown became wet, tripling the weight of the wool. Next came her underskirt, and then she sat down to push her feet into her boots. They were fine leather, closing with antler horn buttons.
