Strange. He had been thinking about the true humiliation of learning the unintended consequences that Jocelyn suffered when some other memories or feelings surged forwards. Now they were gone and he felt fine.
‘’Tis a painful thing—exposing a man’s youthful stupidity to a beautiful woman who is the daughter of the man who exposed it in the first place. You now know my sordid past with your father, Isobel.’
Her hand still caressed his face and, with her kneeling at his side, it would be easy, oh so easy, to lean down and kiss the lips that tempted him so much. When she lifted her head and her mouth opened slightly, he did what he wanted to do.
Her lips were soft and warm against his and he could feel her heated breath against his mouth before he touched it with his. Athdar did not touch her, but she did not let go of his face, stroking it as he deepened the kiss by sliding his tongue along her lips until she opened to him.... For him.
God, but she was sweet.
He knew not when it happened, but his hand slid up and he tangled his fingers in her hair. Then he cupped her head, and held her against his mouth. His tongue felt the heat deep in her mouth and he tilted his head tasting her and kissing her. For a moment, he drew back, but she looked at him with such wonderment in her eyes, that he kissed her again and again and again.
‘Isobel?’ Margriet called out.
She pulled away and pushed up to her feet faster than she realised she could. Her mouth, her lips and tongue, tingled from the way he’d touched her, kissed her. Isobel lifted her hand to touch her mouth, but her mother’s voice came again through the corner of the now-darkened hall.
‘’Tis late and you need your rest for the journey.’
Had her mother been watching? Had she seen...?
‘Go, lass,’ Athdar said as he stood up and took a step away. ‘I will see you in the morn before you leave.’ His hand grazed hers as she turned from him and she fought the urge to hold him. ‘Sleep well,’ he whispered as she passed him.
Her body hummed with some kind of heat and every part of her felt alive and achy at the same time. But her mouth... Her mouth hungered for more. More of him. More of his mouth against hers. More...
She knew he watched her until she reached her mother for she could feel his gaze on her skin. This was unexpected. This was unplanned. This was...wonderful.
This was over.
The wave of sadness hit her as she walked through the door to the chamber for her last night in Athdar’s keep.
She could not meet Lady Jocelyn’s eyes or her mother’s as she undressed and prepared for bed. Her trunk was packed and a fresh gown lay there for use in the morn. Her heavy stockings and boots waited next to the trunk, as well as her travel cloak with an extra plaid to keep her legs warm along the road.
Soon, the chamber grew silent except for the occasional soft snores and squeaking of the bed-ropes. Isobel lay awake thinking about everything that had happened between them. It had been a good start and he certainly found her pleasing or he would not have kissed her so. Would he?
Men, she knew, did many things that made no sense. The explanation of what had happened between Athdar and her father was but one example of that. Men would kiss any woman who would let them. She’d seen it, been warned against it and had wanted it. She wanted him.
Unfortunately, any chance she had of making him see she was right for him ended now. In the morning, they would ride out before the storms closed the mountains to them. And by the time the spring came and the roads opened once more, her father would have arranged a marriage for her elsewhere.
Her father would not settle her on someone she objected to. He would make certain her prospective husband was a good man who would provide for her and oversee her person and her dowry. Since her father was an important man within the Earl of Douran’s household, and the natural son of the Earl of Orkney, her husband would be a nobleman who had some position within the Scottish kingdom or connections to another.
But, she did not want to marry for those connections or to move away from all and everyone she knew. Oh, that was what she’d been raised to do and trained and educated to do, but she did not want that.
If only there was more time.
Minutes, then hours passed and she tried to quiet the turmoil in her mind and the tumultuous feelings in her now-awakened body. Just when she began drifting off to sleep, words began echoing in her thoughts. Lady Jocelyn’s voice whispered them.
Mayhap ’tis better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission?
Forgiveness for what? she asked to the voice within her.
My cousins and I had the perfect hiding place when I wanted to avoid Athdar’s teasing. Up there. Some days, some lazy days, I would hide up that so I wouldn’t have to do my chores.
Up there. A hidden alcove. The perfect hiding place.
Isobel sat up, suddenly knowing what she needed to do.
* * *
The girl could be a problem.
He watches her and dotes on her. Attends on her words and follows her steps.
Worse, he laughs with her.
He does not deserve to laugh.
Ever.
He deserves nothing but pain.
She should leave...
Now...
Before it is too late for her, as well.
Chapter Nine
Athdar sought his bed, but never found the sleep he wanted. Instead, he could taste her on his tongue, a sweet flavour of innocence and desire that remained after their mouths parted. He could smell the scent of the soap she used as he had tangled his fingers in her hair and held her head. He could hear the soft sigh against his mouth as he’d kissed her.
Over and over.
His body hardened at her touch and at her kiss.
It was still hard and his blood rushed through his veins, heating him and pushing his desire for her to his limits.
From a kiss. It was only a kiss. Their first kiss.
But, if one kiss from her could do this, it was good that she was leaving at dawn’s light.
When he did drift into sleep, something from the depths of his memory moved again, bringing dread and terror and pain with it until he woke, silently screaming into the quiet of his chambers. Covered in sweat and unable to breathe.
He’d rather remain awake and think of her kiss.
He was no youth in the bud of first passion and yet he felt as if he were. He’d had women in his bed, and in his heart, for more than a score of years and Isobel made it feel new again.
He wanted her, he would not deny it, and it was in spite of every vow he’d made and every bit of opposition he would encounter.
Mayhap it was a good thing—for his peace of mind and survival—that she left in the morn?
Aye, a very good thing.
* * *
Finally the light of the rising sun brightened the darkness of his room and he rose. As laird and as a brother, he would see Jocelyn and her party off. Due to concerns about the weather and their overall safety, he ordered that six men would accompany them—three would ride ahead and three would travel as far as the pass and then return here to let him know they had made it through.
He dressed quickly and made his way down to say his farewells. Jocelyn and Margriet stood ready near the back of the hall, but Isobel was nowhere in sight. Worried over Margriet’s reaction to what she’d undoubtedly witnessed, he was instead greeted with a warm smile from both women.
‘Are you ready to leave?’ he asked. It was an indirect way of asking about her without drawing attention to his desire to know.
‘We waited to see you. The horses and cart are packed to leave.’
‘You are dressed warmly?’ He hugged his sister and kissed her cheek. ‘To be this cold this soon is not a good sign.’
‘Aye. Heavier cloaks and stockings. Boots—’ she held up her foot to show him ‘—and we have some extra woollen blankets for our legs.’ Jocelyn stepped back, allowing Margriet to say farewell.
‘If you
hit bad weather, come back. I do not want to risk your safety in an unpredictable storm,’ he said. Finally, he gave in to the temptation. ‘Is Isobel not ready?’
‘She has already gone ahead with the outriders. She was up early and decided not to wait for us. We will meet them at the pass,’ Margriet said.
‘If the weather holds, we should make it through before nightfall,’ Jocelyn said.
‘Give her my regards,’ he said. ‘Let me walk with you,’ he added, trying to understand the disappointment and not let it show. Surely this was the easier way, instead of facing her this morn after last evening’s kiss? What could he say when he did not know what it meant?
They walked outside to where the rest of the group was assembled and he helped Jocelyn mount. Checking the straps on her saddle and reins, he touched her leg and then her hand.
‘Be well, Jocelyn.’
‘Be...well, Dar.’
He nodded to Margriet and waved to the man leading the group. Following them to the gates, he watched as they rode into the forest along the road west. When he could no longer see them or hear them, he returned to the keep to break his fast.
The keep was once more his own.
He went into the kitchen to eat as was his usual custom when no guests were there. The servants knew it and a bowl of oat porridge was waiting for him.
Now his life would settle back to what it usually was and winter would come.
* * *
The day passed slowly for him; all his duties were the same. Meals were accomplished without much talking. He met with Padruig, trained in the yard with his men, made arrangements with Broc to send people to the mill to help Lyall finish up the season’s grinding before the water began to freeze upstream. Though the stone could be turned by men, travel between the keep and village and the mill would become difficult and nigh impossible once the storms of winter struck.
Since some of the more distant villagers would be stranded when the snows of winter came, they needed to be moved. And other tasks needed accomplishing.
Somehow, though, it all felt empty this day.
* * *
He had drifted through the rest of it and joined those who lived in the keep at supper, though he was not interested in the food. The exhaustion of having not slept the night before caught up with him as the food was being cleared away and he’d decided to seek his bed when a flicker of light caught his eye.
Glancing to the back of the hall and then up to where the walkway along the top floor met the wall, he saw it again. There was no one staying in the chambers there so there should be no lamps, lanterns or candles up there. Yet clearly someone was.
Athdar walked to the stairway and climbed to the second floor where his chambers were. Then he followed the corridor to the second stairway that led up to the battlements and roof. He’d almost reached the alcove where Jocelyn liked to hide as a child when he saw it. There, in the recess on the wall, was a small candle, its flame flickering as the air moved around it.
Had someone, one of the servants, left it here?
As he moved closer he heard a noise. Stopping and listening, he recognised the unmistakable sound of snoring coming from the alcove.
Who needed to hide here and sleep? All of those serving in the hall had a place below stairs. He had no guests. No one was unaccounted for. So who...? A runaway? A spy? Who...?
‘Bloody hell!’ he muttered under his breath and he peeked around the edge of the alcove and found...
Isobel asleep, wrapped in her cloak and blankets and tucked into the small corner space. Her head tilted back, she licked her lips several times as she snored softly. Then she shifted and leaned her head down against the wall to her side.
How?
When?
Why?
Questions flooded his mind as he watched her there. Well, unless and until he woke her, he would not find out, so he reached down and touched her shoulder. He shook her gently, whispering her name as he did.
‘Isobel.’ Then, louder, ‘Isobel.’
She stirred then, her eyes fluttering and then opening slightly. Her back arched and she turned her head back and forth as though working out a cramp in her neck. It would be no surprise if she was quite uncomfortable after being in this cramped place for however long she’d hidden there.
‘Here, let me help you,’ he said, holding out his hand to her.
At first—still asleep, he thought—she frowned at him. Then she rubbed her eyes and whispered his name. ‘Athdar.’
She accepted his hand and he guided her to her feet and out of the alcove. Near to the steps that led to the roof it was always cold. Even with the heavy travel cloak and blankets, she must be chilled to the bones. Without delaying, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her down to the main floor and took her to the hearth.
‘Ailean! Some hot cider! Broc, send someone to get her things in Jocelyn’s hidey hole. Bring the chair closer.’
He continued to call out orders until he had her wrapped in several more blankets, close to the now-blasting fire and with hot cider to sip. Athdar read the shock and surprise in everyone’s gazes—hell, he was surprised to find her here—but did not slow until he could see some colour in her fair cheeks and the shivers disappearing.
Then, with a nod of his head and a meaningful glare, the servants and others left...quickly, though he would be surprised not to find them listening at any and every crack. He pulled a chair up next to her and waited.
Minutes passed. The logs in the fire crackled, sending off sparks and bits of burning wood into the air above it. He could be a patient man when need be, but he was not now. Especially not when so much—her reputation, his life—was at stake.
‘When did you return?’ he asked.
She squinted and pursed her lips. Then she grazed the edges of her teeth over her lower lip, all the while looking as though she could not find the words to say. But it was the guilty glance that gave him the answer.
‘You never left?’ He stood up and looked down on her. ‘Bloody hell! Does your mother know?’
‘By now, aye.’ Her gaze darted to his and then away.
‘And Jocelyn?’ Again, her guilt shone on her face. Added to his own misgivings and suspicions about Jocelyn’s behaviour about and through this visit, there could be only one answer. ‘Jocelyn put you up to this?’
‘Nay,’ she said, standing and letting the blankets fall around her feet. ‘I did this. Jocelyn only...’
‘She told you about that?’ He nodded up to the alcove.
‘Aye,’ she said. ‘She and my mother thought I’d ridden ahead. I stayed behind.’
He walked closer and studied her face, trying to discern the truth as he asked his next question. ‘Why, Isobel? Why did you do this and stay behind?’
She thought about how best to answer him. Honesty was crucial, yet how much did she dare reveal to him when she had no idea of his own feelings? Saying too much would make her appear a foolish, infatuated girl. Not enough and he would never realise how serious she was that he should consider a future with her.
So she decided on the real reason, unadorned and true.
‘I did not wish to leave.’
He seemed to begin to argue with her several times before stopping and just watching her. Then he dragged his hands through his hair and shook his head.
‘Jocelyn knows you are here and safe? You are certain?’
‘Aye.’
‘Isobel, you cannot remain here without your mother or my sister. On the morrow, when my men return, we will make arrangements to return you to Lairig Dubh.’
She would not argue—it was futile at this point. But if all the signs were correct, there was a storm moving towards the pass and only those already through would make it the rest of the way. That was why Lady Jocelyn left when she did.
‘Very well,’ she said, backing away a bit.
He smiled then and picked the blankets up off the floor. ‘Did you hide food with you, as well?’
&nbs
p; At that exact moment, her stomach made its emptiness known with a loud, grumbling growl and she smiled.
‘Not as much as I would have liked.’
‘Come then,’ he said, motioning in the direction of the kitchen. ‘It is not so far past supper that we cannot find you something to eat.’
She followed him into the warmth of the kitchen where a fire was tended at every hour of the day. Servants and watchers scattered as Athdar walked with her to a table set off to one side of the large room. The cook’s wife approached them.
‘Jean, Lady Isobel missed supper. Can you find something for her?’ Athdar asked.
‘I do not need much,’ she said, knowing how inconvenient it was to expect to be fed now that the kitchen’s work was done for the day.
‘No matter, lady,’ Jean said, with a smile nearly as large as the woman was herself. ‘We always keep a pot warm since many of the laird’s men come back late after their duties. Finding enough for ye—’ the woman paused and examined her shape for a moment as though she found her wanting ‘—’twill be no bother at all.’
‘My thanks,’ she called out as Jean walked to one of the cooking hearths, pulled a large pot to her and began ladling some of it into a bowl.
Soon, the large bowl, a crust of bread, a piece of cheese and some ale sat before her and her stomach answered with its own reminder of how hungry she truly was. He said nothing as she ate, standing a few paces away, arms crossed and leaning against the wall, watching everything she did. Her hunger assured that his observation of her did nothing to stop her or slow her down as she ate and drank all but a few crumbs of the food.
‘My thanks, Jean,’ she said once more as she finished, wiping her mouth and hands on the piece of cloth left for her use. ‘It was quite good.’
Jean strode over and collected the bowls and plates, smiling at her. ‘Did ye eat yer fill?’ The woman squinted, looking at the bowl and then at her.
‘Aye.’ Isobel made a great show of sighing deeply and patting her mouth once more. ‘I could not eat another bite.’ She thought Athdar laughed then, but when she glanced over at him, he was staring off in another direction.
Terri Brisbin Highlander Bundle Page 49
